O we poets are poor creatures:
Scratching around amidst life's ruins;
For Time's worn out, discarded details,
Like that famed scavenger: Rauschenberg.
We try to sow seeds of deep longing
And nurture them with the sun and rain
Of our labours. Yet seldom are
We likely to reap a rich harvest.
Sometimes we may strike tainted gold,
If we're lucky, and discover
Curious, resonant things; which
Glimmer with the faintest of lights.
We have no gods or idols to serve;
Only our troubled, nagging visions.
And our vague hints and guesses at form
Are often mocked by smirking critics:
O we poets are poor creatures:
Fluttering around on the margins.
Yet the world would be somewhat lost
And so much the poorer without us.
We try to sow seeds of deep longing And nurture them with the sun and rain Of our labours. Yet seldom are We likely to reap a rich harvest.... and then the lovely ending, well done dear poet.
Your words are well-received and spoken like a true poet. A great poem and I loved the message. Thanks for posting. : -)
So beautifully written with deep insight. Thank you Dominic......Full stars for the poem
Yet the world would be somewhat lost And so much the poorer without us.
Thanks Chinedu for your comments on this poem as well as several others...much appreciated! I hope you are keeping well.
A sad truth elegantly worded, really very unfortunate for poets. An insightful piece nicely put together.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dominic how right about this you are. James
Thanks Tamara and James. I truly appreciate your kind comments!