Poetry's My Armament And Muse - Poem by Patti Masterman
Poetry's my armament and muse;
I wield her- both amusing and profuse.
She keeps the bore many lengths away,
As he's confused by her- too much to say.
The ambitious too, have no use for her,
And yes-men simply sit, and stroke her fur.
As weapon, she is far beyond complaint;
A catapult for fools, when they feel faint.
A line frustrates the most obnoxious gossip,
Who feels like something's fallen in her pocket;
It's burning her with news she can't decode-
She feels it slip away- and does that goad!
My poetry unlocks me like a key,
And keeps closer, the ones that those should be-
It screens like Emily's poem, society-
And shuts out undesired company.
Comments about Poetry's My Armament And Muse by Patti Masterman
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