The Poets
Loved poets of old days
-since as kid to my teens
-saw them as the learned.
They knew, were aware;
-masters in rhyme, meter…
Their poems were lyrics
-soft, great and sweet
-or sharp, hard as dagger
-to cut hearts and livers.
They could be poison
-for sinner, Socrates…
Hate to call me poet,
-in these days, now-a-day!
I feel like cork in net
-on rock-side in ocean
-where net is broken
-and in it are the dead
-fishes and few whales.
Swollen, they stink;
-rotten are, with brains empty!
Up and down, yellowish
-go shallow bubble, waves.
Therefore I,
– “Am poet? ”
Leave a Reply