Wednesday, March 30, 2011

History of Poetry

The old poets
Knew the name and views
Of every Hero of Antiquity
Of every God and Muse
Of every flower and tree

The old poems
Spoke of beauty and truth
Followed rules of rhyme and meter
Praised passion and youth
Were devoured by every reader

The new poets
Bust their rhymes to primal beats
Or else in ivory towers slog
Recount their epics in the streets
Or record them on a lowly blog

The new poems
Speak of pain and loss
Of life on the outside
Paint this machine world in gloss
Its showy digital smile hide

I am a poet
Who knows not names of leaf and bud
Lives in a time when gods are dead
But feel the words run in my blood
So must bleed them from my head

Dearest reader
Do not think I write for you
In truth I do it all for me
Projecting my reality is what I do
That is what makes me free

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