the bridge of throngs
there’s a queue of muses
on the other side
of that great bridge
across that great divide
all have tickets A to Z
waiting to pass
through the guts of me
waiting to pass
their messages to you
i have their words on
the winds that blew
their lines of poetry
from them to you
they are unruly bunch
these poets dead
jostling and pushing
to get inside my head
although
some seem to be quiet
reticent slow to raise a hand
at the back in their chair
as if it were planned
to sit it out
to wait and see
what scribe am i
what i profess to be
that i fear no critics view
that my eclecticity
is deemed poor in taste
and that i need pity
will i seek to conform
to be the norm
or will i say it
as i am bid
and having done so
close the lid
No comments:
Post a Comment