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
Posted on July 3, 2014, in Poetry, Writing and tagged Freedom, Life, Poetry, Power, Truth. Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.
Nice that we all see some things differently. Life could get boring otherwise.
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Perhaps it is not our differences that make for problems, but rather our attitudes toward them, and then their acting out.
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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.
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Yes. And there’s a level or two of metaphor here too. 🙂
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I can relate. How fragile poets can be.
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And not only poets, I think. Also please do see my reply to Nicola above. 🙂
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I read it literally. But yes I’m sure we all can feel inadequate at times. Either way the message is excellent.
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Thank you. 🙂
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