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Shoot the Poet!

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Below is the poem entitled Shoot the Poet! which was written by poet John Heck. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Shoot the Poet!

Denial?

Victors make me chortle.
Underdogs are most often ego-debatable
and intentionally deflatable.
Also-rans usually return and haunt -
their silenced homilies are
draped upon greased hangers 
riddled with semi-grimed defeat. 
Me, I shuffle my filthy laundry,
to a nameless immigrant's 
dry cleaning domicile;
forcing those wanton beggars 
into cherished heathened sniggers.

Vagrant epoch odes are spic & spanned -
aortas are far from being perfectly cleansed...
such as theirs? Such as mine?
Yes...
for idled peasants rarely 
guffaw over me.
Will you twitter over me, pumpkin? 
Doubtful!

Denial?

Me - a lost survivor of Columbine?
Breathing and clutching an 
unread copy of Oscar Wilde's
The Importance of Being Earnest -
closing my eyes and envisoning
the corridors of a devoid insanity - 
Eno's transient noise poisons deafened ears.
Not mine...
certainly, 
not mine.

Denial?

Am I...?
What?

Thristy for a nuance-wanting -
albeit a goblet?
Gayana was mystical long before
plastic cups and synthetic dementia
became ignorantly fashionable.
Sir HG Wells was popular
long before nature staged an
unrehearsed implosion 
contaminating utopia -
flinging his choked larynx into
a poetic hibernation.
I watched him.
I studied him.

Am I...?
Blinded. 
Hardly...

You see - I am seemingly comfortable 
in a humbled corner now.
Cinderella content.
Dunce-cap grinning - a box of quarter-inched nails 
enrobe my burnt shoulders,
in a sleek, camouflage couture;
emulating perfect homage 
against an imperfect, stabbing heritage.
Never mind me ...
God is certainly not responsible
for a babysitter's actions?

Denial?

My apologies extend 
to no one. 
Not even to myself.
Accepatable sneers
force loners to bite their
precocious lips and wink -
fatten their flaps and one's 
obvious skin tags will soon
flitter, flutter and falter
into a snared stare.
Misanthrope's eventually bleed
a disappointed cauldron of formidable, 
pathetic lies -
tugging upon the deafened ears
of their
specialed someone.

Am I jaded...?
Never...

Cup your palms
below your perfectly chisled jaw.
Exhale slowly - then envelope the
weary wonder of him.
Let the aroma dizzy and dazzle;
a personal scent invades
your afternoon daydreams.
Unhappy with the results?
Surely I am... 
well then...

Do it!  
Do it now! 
Shoot me! 
Shoot the Poet! 

Forget it -

for I've already 
murdered 

the man.



(DENIAL)


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  1. Date: 5/21/2010 11:30:00 AM
    Dear John: Great poem. It reminds me of a scene from Shakespeare. Have a great day. Yours truly: Sheol

  1. Date: 4/8/2010 2:17:00 PM
    John~Wow is right, My friend such a strong intriguing message about ones self denial . I love your use of language edgy as ever of course. Love this line "below your perfectly chisled jaw" And so many more lines, a delight to read keep wowing all of us here on the soup! Excellent write! Love Laura :)

  1. Date: 4/6/2010 5:59:00 PM
    WHAT.

  1. Date: 4/5/2010 2:56:00 PM
    Wow, John! Sir Heck is back with style. It's been a long time since I read a poem that was so well composed, each piece adding to the theme so carefully. The statement you made about denial still has my head spinning. You have an amazing mind. Just...wow! To my favorites. Love, Carolyn