In the dark corners,
Of the Universe, of the Infinite,
Poetry starts to die,
Now almost all is permitted,
Principles, seem to fly
Out the window, forever,
Never to come back,
It's a World not worth a feather,
To put in your crushed up hat.
Do not be pulled down with the current my friend, it is times like this when real poetry makes its stand, remember that it is during a drought that water is most precious and though there is little water today on the page, heavy rains will come again! A wonderful poem Sandra
Thank you Bill for the support and encouragement! I will always standup for purity and authenticity, never fall into the swamp of today. I'm no prude or politician, but I think that in Art especially in what we still call Literature there are certain limits not to cross for then it no longer is literature but trash. There are certain things that just don't fit, no matter how open minded you are or Modern or Hip. Very grateful for you sincere words and encouragement, Bill
Principals seem to fly. Poetry starts to die and this provokes thought entirely. Sometimes disappointment comes in mind. But evolution has its own way. Amazing poem! ..10
Dear Kumarmani, Always such a pleasure to hear from you! Your comment and feeling for this poem is quite amazing. Thank you, so much!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Alas, we wear featherless, crushed caps! Yes, I agree with you, Sandra. Anything goes poetry is not really poetry in my opinion. Even if it doesn't have strict form, it should have something poetic about it - a metaphor, a play on words, a pattern, etc. And the content of some poems is simply shocking.