Ahhhhh … those poets aren’t worth a grain of salt
What’s their place in this world any way … posterity?

Posterity … smoshterity
Who needs them
LET THEM DIE!

Fahrenheit !

And Shakespeare met hot ashes
Elizabeth recoiled,
to witness Lord Alfred
kindle friendship, with Mr.Yeates,
in a hush of smolder and ash

Approach was slow
TV became unleavened, then,
in quickening dead, rolled silence

Artists laid down palette,
Said, "Oils lack poetic face"
Architects failed sketch their plan
Alarms greeted morn, in monotone of beeper
~~
For there was no music of the poet
No words to light the song
And musician’s notes played monotone
as they now lacked poetic grace

Industry of vocalizing and recording ~~
Ceased
No U2, jazz or pantomime
For pantomime is like word
of the poet, and we cannot break the law – now can we?

Chefs laid down pots – pans
as soldiers sat by wayside of parade
No marching bands
Flowers refused to grow, in neglect of
Gardener’s lack of kneeling on sod and soil
No birds, no bees without plants
And so they flew up country … far from the city

Children cried to mother "Please, recite a rhyme?"
Mother answered, "No word may be spoken in song my child"

And so the child grew, without song or wealth of word
Then did leave the city ~~ to draw from nature’s own

The beauty of the hillside and wildflowers
Sang their songs in wind and tree
Birds played instrument of voice
Actions created poetic scenes
Now she knew what she must do
Write the word of nature, colour, wind
Freedom of poetry flowed from her lips
Thus a song born out of words
In happy tones and promise

How many times they've tried to kill The Poet
But She still refuses to hide her face

You can kill The Poet
But you can’t kill the poetry … it speaks on its own merit.

©CG MAIR 14/01/01

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