Odd Poet Poem by Sathya Narayana
Odd Poet
Sang yodels a romantic bard
On his love’s round buttocks
Few years afterwards
Rued at those skin-sacks
“Love, nature and beauty!
Is this all real poetry?
All these evanescences
And earthly fetish”
Wondered an odd poet
Wavering in the spoils
Of struggling third world
Weighing his penchants
All his senses aching
Soaked in lamentation
Of his own kith and kin
The poor and downtrodden
From his trembling hand
Slipped his mighty pen
From esoteric heights
Down to the earth and said
“This soil is my text, my quest
As well, my blank note sheet
Where all my letter-seeds
I wish to sow and harvest”
Sathya, keep sowing your letter seeds that appeal for a much fairer world for all. Your poetry is superb, your plea's much needed lets hope for a leveling off of the hills of greed. Bob
An original mind is definately at work here. Your last lines are especially effective. Excellent work. Warm regards, Sandra
The great carnage of poor, poet shed tear for them, All his senses aching Soaked in lamentation Of his own kith and kin The poor and downtrodden
I liked this one very much-a nice way of reminding us how poetry needs to be grounded sometimes, or necessarily grounds itself. The pace and imagery are crisp. Thanks.
I liked this one very much-a nice way of reminding us how poetry needs to be grounded sometimes, or necessarily grounds itself. The pace and imagery are crisp. Thanks.
my blank note sheet... yes this is what life is all about and we are all writers who use our mighty pen to create history and nostalgic memories for tomorrow. well said.
Like this everyone is a poet in his or her own way in every field.
i like this poem even though i find it a little hard to understand and follow at parts yet it paints such a beautiful picture of poets soul u make it seam so beautiful
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/6/2025 7:00:12 PM # 1.0.0
Inspiring poem about the poet's soul, voice andwhat we harvest with our poetry.if all the world had the breaking heart of a poet and felt those sorrows and truths of life could we make life better? Or should we be complacent with our own? Lovely a ten.