Hail James Ragan, King Mpw - Poem by Hiram Sims
Hail to James Ragan, King MPW
Retired now, but not from memory.
The first poet to have a steady job
teaching young troubled minds by western sea.
There never lived a fairer dean than he
with English elbow patches on his sleeve,
and all the mercy that a man could give
to desperate souls in need of some reprieve.
I speak of mercy that I too received
one August morning but twain year ago,
One month after I sent an application
into a school I nair deserved to go.
But with my humble heart, I did it so
with grades lower than distant pits of Yore,
and GRE scores that would barely knock
upon the graces of admission’s door.
But in that August, as I said before
I yet did reap the chance to make my trip,
into the hall of Waite Phillip the 3rd
despite my violent cough and nasal drip.
I walked up to him with my quivering lip
and said, “Good Morning, might I take a seat
so that I could explain my horrid grades
and why thy grace and mercy I entreat? ”
He said with tone pronounced and indiscreet,
“Fear not, young man, take comfort in my chair.
Take sup of water, tea, or anything
I have to offer in my Kingly Lair..
I know you think your grades a cross to bear
but here those letters hold no solid weight.
Thy words are what will make or break a Man,
Your poems are the things which hold your fate!
And after reading them, I’d have to state
that I will grant you what you doth pursue,
A poet’s heart I find in thee, young lad
WELCOME TO RAGAN’S MPW!
But this one thing will be required of you.
Use all the cunning of your words and rhyme
to catapult your boisterous voice amongst
the major poetic voices of your time.”
And to this day I think those words Sublime
A calling to Arise and take my place,
among the writers of the verse which hold
the joys and sorrows of our human race.
But whether I have swift or staggered pace
I’ll never lose thought of who brought me through
a time when I knew not which way to go,
My liege, Fair Ragan, King MPW.
Comments about Hail James Ragan, King Mpw by Hiram Sims
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You