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Begging Myself for Real Poetry

Is it just me or has “poetry”,
Become a word for “vomit”,
They’re words without phonetic symmetry,
As if “poem” was synonymical for “omelet”.

Can a poem truly be anything and all,
A writer deems or seems in any way?
Are words without rhyme or flow to y’all, 
A “poem” no matter what they say?

I long for Shelley and Whitman and Wilde,
Whose content coalesced with form and lyric,
Rather than the written words of a child,
Whose empiric entries are at best satiric.
  
Oh poets remind us of what our voice can do,
When laced with lust for literature and nomenclature,
Whose languid lore can lavish in tone and hue,
Within the art that best defines the beauty of human nature.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 5/6/2018 9:08:00 PM
Awesome write -JT
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Date: 3/30/2018 9:13:00 PM
poetry in the eye of the writer, but I hear you :)
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Date: 3/8/2018 4:43:00 PM
Great message. Interesting question as to where to draw the line between interesting and grotesque, or vulgar and real... Well written on your part, Brendan.
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Brendan J. Simons
Date: 3/10/2018 1:38:00 AM
Thanks, Line! I’ve been noticing my poetry shifting from genre-genre and from effort-mindless, it’s somewhat of a plea for myself to dig deeper. I look forward to reading your work!
Date: 3/8/2018 10:06:00 AM
A well-expressed outlook, presented in an enjoyable and rapidly read package.
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Brendan J. Simons
Date: 3/10/2018 1:37:00 AM
Thanks Leo, I look forward to reading your work!