every poet

every poet is an idiot
a fool before a king
a living dungheap
a stank that crimps the nose
a lost cause
and the flag that dragged it there

what do I know of that
when nonsense
is our way โ€”
and all the worldโ€™s

Image: Rachel on Unsplash

9 Thoughts

  1. Had to save this because god damn, I love how you delve into the foolishness of ourselves and the worldโ€™s indifference.

    I can also verify that yes, every poet is an idiot. Starting with myself. ๐Ÿ˜ Kidding aside, I think itโ€™s with our vulnerability and chaos that we let out on the page. We let it be seen and thus are fools in our ways. I think this may be what you delve into a bit but that is just my subjective interpretation. I love the theme of no matter how we are, the world still turns and is indifferent to it all. Makes no difference to how it turns. Beautifully written!

    1. Not to say that I wasn’t slightly(?) in my cups when I put this together and not to say that the receipt of another rejection notice via submittable had anything to with this (wink wink), but yes, as you say, we throw our vulnerabilities and chaos out into the world, our hopes as well, I might say more courageously than most other engagements and with little hope of return. In that we are fools, methinks – but hey, sooner poetry than endless widgets.

  2. industry
    what do I know of that
    when nonsense
    is our way โ€”

    But sometimes nonsense requires the most effort, requiring the most energy, the most industry. Good nonsense, i mean. I’ve been up all night, some nights, fine-tuning my nonsense. (It makes the rejection letter that much more bitter, eh?)

    1. I fully embrace our foolish endeavors, rejections or not. And given the renewed interest in poetry, there is hope that our efforts are not in vain. I tend to get a bit pissy when people regard this work as mere flippancy, hobby or avocation. And there it is again, the rolling of eyes. You know what I mean. This is work, this is a job far more important in my mind than my flipping of burgers, which is satisfying in and of itself, but doesn’t get at the core of what makes us tick.

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