|
About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
|
Green Peas at Stake #385450 added November 11, 2005 at 1:22pm
Restrictions: None
Sacrificial Lamb
Oh, you the pathetic one,
the empty tankard with the unhinged lid,
the lowliest of the teentsy writers!
You’re the slipper the dog
has chewed on.
Though your vocation remains the same
with no wages and no days off,
you tantalize
one subject after another, as if a slave
changing masters, and
while others write tomes
of fancy words,
you check into a dictionary
--bigger than your size—
for not-yet-discovered phrases,
to find yourself tearjerker chores,
mixing experiment with anti-form,
and keeping a close watch
on a few tawdry lines.
Then, during your ridiculous tenure,
to humor the muse,
you call yourself a poet
on a burning impulse,
like a sacrificial lamb
with resignation.
|
© Copyright 2005 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Joy has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
