so many poems come in an instant
writing themselves in water words
in rivers of mind; there are still
other poems in a lifelong reply not
posted it is a strange fate in a long life
I never met anyone who ever supported
my writing poems; not a single friend
none among those I met in daily discourse
while my wife is hostile to my writing poems
if they do not make money
of what use are poems
therefore a useless hobby
my mother is negative to indifferent
my elder sister a bitter blade of accusation
a poet cannot: possibly be a good father
must be neglecting wife; must be neglecting
daughters could not; possibly be taking
family out to restaurant meals movies
at least once every week could not
possibly be devoting real time
sacred family time in love giving
poems cost nothing to write but
time energy focus on concentrated art
form not like drinking smoking
gambling womanizing investing
guilt for time wasted; absolutely none
because poems never cost income
poems cost no travel time income
all bills were paid finances met,
food laid on table expenses paid
words that come free easily
can be freely given need not be sold;
poems hold their own truth
if I do the math then yes it was
in some ways easy to live in peace
to not write a thousand poems
especially with no place to post them
none mourn no writing insight wisdom
lost no beauty to survive enrich lives
what does a poem cost?
what will a poem cost?
who pays a poem cost?
Terence George Craddock (Afterglows Echoes Of Starlight)
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The snarling hoggish face of a venal politician portrays the pain of a poem not written.