What is a Poet?
A pampered child?
A soft spoken butterfly?
That has no guide,
Of where to fly,
A constant Dreamer,
Mortified,
By stale Events,
That are Glorified!
So many Planets!
Poets have theirs,
For they really think,
Stars do have stairs,
That they can climb,
And with time,
Become pure Rhyme!
So if you want to live a Lie,
Become a Poet,
Now you know Why.
Nice poem Sandra, but not quite accurate. I like to think I can write, but I'm a 240lb ex fireman. I suppose we are all diverse in our occupations. One of my former poet friends was an ex Rugby playing consultant gynaecologist. Another was Deputy Headmistress of a senior girls school. But Dreamers...... Yes, I think you have us there.
Most poets live both in a world of reality and of illusion. Good one Sandra.
I am smiling at this :) Nicely written poem and thank you for your warm response. G.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I agree with Valerie - Poets live in both reality and illusion. Why? Because our senses perceive the physical world, it cannot be denied. But our minds intuit another world of being which will not be denied. This is what Blake called the DOUBLE VISION and your poem can be read as an expression in contemporary terms for contemporary poets.