Secret Lives of Poets

Iíve often wondered, you know
what they are really like
these elusive, reclusive versifiers

Too bad I canít fire up the remote
go to the poetry channel
then watch the all telling documentary

So, I guess Iíll simply have to wonder
about the veiled rites and rituals
behind their literary enchantment

Do poets travel alone like noble, solitary bards
or gather in flocks, herds, or prides
and itís covertly called ďa reading of poetsĒ

When it comes to mating is it
iambic pentameter foreplay
tickling punctuation
drawn † † †out † † †spacing


line breaks

crescendoing twitch and stutter
sputtering ink
sheets of wet, dripping parchment
feathering to the floor
in a heaving pile of


While rearing their young
do they begin nursing them on
Shelley, Keats, and Bryon
then shift to more erudite delights
Hoagland, Collins, and Bukowski
when theyíre old enough
for more solid things to chew on

Behind their gifted poeting
do they sit on Tuscan terraces
gaze upon clear Italian pools of reflection
sipping hot licorice tea
peering at the world
through forever
kaleidoscopic spectacles

You might ask what prompts
such wild poetic imagings
all I can say for certain is

when adrift in their verses
I tingle from deep within
as their souls brush mine

But sadly, I fear their reality is much, much
more prosaic
littered and mired with real jobs, bills, doubts,
and neuroses
just like me

Written by LeColonel
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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