Kerouac Lives - 271 Poem by Richard Wlodarski
Kerouac Lives - 271
They're not poets...
No words from heart
Where is their soul?
You want me to...
Compromise me?
I'd rather go
To goddamned hell!
Richard is a soft-spoken poet, as far as I understand from his poems on this site. But here, he does not hold his words back. A bit strong words. But true. Good to see him forthright. Top score
2) Thank you very much, my friend for having added this poem to your favourites!
THX so much for your compliments and positive constructive criticism as it applying to me. However, I am writing throughout this series as if it was Kerouac communicating!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/29/2026 6:18:21 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
It is a suffering of an artists to pour there souls into their work only for those that lack any warmth to try and kill their fire. The critic and the cynic are realities executioners
Love this very insightful and wise response. And so would have Kerouac! THX so much, Kevin!