Like bulls and bears
within the market pit
the publishers and critics
seek the prize investment
next great no-risk,
sure to rise in value,
erudite certificate.
Proust, Shakespeare, Mozart,
Joyce, O'Keefe and Welles,
as culture's blue chip icons
they will stay
(I think the bubble burst
on Hemingway)
It's brand demand
not quality that sells.
I don't crave chauffeured wealth
or glittered fame.
I want my verses heard,
enjoyed and taught.
So will you broker me,
promote my name
for public offerings
of private thought,
make interest soar
in just one heart
who cares to see
my folio's unvalued shares?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem