An Answer

An Answer

You ask me
how to be a poet,
and I tell you
to climb into yourself,
into the bitter parts,
into the wells of hurt
so deep
that the light frightens you
and you scramble back out
in fear of your
sanity.

Sleep with witches,
the ones who can slip
in and out of
madness at will;
the wild eyed ones
who frighten the people
with their songs,
the dull flat people
who cannot read
seas
nor hear stars.

Go ask the gypsies
who wear rings on their tongues.
Go ask the children
who carry dreams in their eyes. 
 Go ask the moon,
 the candy moon.
 
 You ask me
 how to be a poet.
 I tell you
 marry a fool
 and walk
in her dances.


 Mark Conte, copyright, Cross Cultural Press, 1986

imaginationfree verse

♡Like0

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.