A Poet I Held

By Cherbo Geeplay I supposed I was a poet whose ink was gilded With rich entrée that was settled and intrepid. I assumed I could bray the stony frothing ocean and see the dolphin Skate generously for free. I thought myself a poet, hiking the sandy beach. then I stood doubted, nervous, a handout to bleach the silver cobwebs divorcing the seas from the cloud then watch Mona go by, wrapped in a shroud. A poet, I held; I recognized what happiness was--- Jazz and trumpets flowing In a mid-afternoon cafe, jaws apart, in awe looking for novelty, and solitude that delights. Or waking early And seeing cracks pour light. I was that poet, modest In actions fivefold---then I misplaced my passions, apathetic, and cold. A difficult man alright, alone in his travelling mind. Taking in the beauty, The ersatz, waltz, And confined. The fear, of a poet who was Supposed to be brave Now vulnerable, torpid, Puny, thirsty for a crave To shake the hands of Kipling, but and only, IF.* He considers his travail, Soup, alone in his enclave; right there, with Ink link to paper. I supposed I was a poet Whose ink was golden With rich bite and wit that Was firm and fearless, am I? Note: IF* one of the author's favorite poem by R. Kipling _____ Copyright ©? Adelaide Literary, 2018, NY. This poem was finalist. Was previously titled, 'The Poet I Am'