Scales Waved Aloft

SCALES WAVED ALOFT

I wonder what
She ranks
As being
A poem
And what not

She waves aloft
Her dependable standard
As if drowning

A what-not, she decides
A tchotchke, she declares
Worthless, disposable, tacky
Und so wieter, und so wieter
Und so weiter, und so wieter

She waves aloft
Her dependable standard
As if drowning

Not that he
Has the slightest
Of intentions
Of writing to
Her (black and) white specifications

While love simply laughs

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About Ben Naga

Pilgrim on the lam. Please feel free to explore the links to learn more. I trust you will find some things there will have been worth the effort. See you there.

Posted on July 3, 2014, in Poetry, Writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.

  1. Nice that we all see some things differently. Life could get boring otherwise.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Ooh, I like this. I think we’ve all had someone tell us our poems don’t “count”, unless we only write Petrarchan sonnets or something equally restricted.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I can relate. How fragile poets can be.

    Liked by 1 person

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