This is in response to a challenge of one of my favorite bloggers, Calm Grove. It voices an opinion often thought, but not as often said out loud,by people who don’t particularly like poetry, or take the time to understand or enjoy it.
Pictured above is a pink multi-petaled rose and bud covered with rain drops.
Poems are pretentious schlock.
Poems represent a block
To intellectual ferment.
And that’s not all they represent.
Your rhyme scheme puts us in your thrall.
You think you are above us all,
Manipulating rhythm, sound.
More useful ways to work abound.
And still, you do insist, persist,
Deceiving, like an alchemist,
As if combining sounds of old
Could spin mere copper into gold.
But now I see. I waste my breath.
You listen not. You pirouette.
Your red shoes prance across the floor.
The poet dances evermore.
Copyright 2018 Andrea LeDew
For another way we express approval or displeasure in our modern lives, read Like.
Andrea, I love this poem. It scratches for attention despite the poet in me trying to look away from its truths.
The rose photo is superb
Thank you Robyn! It means a lot to me that you like it. It is true that a poet can’t help but write poetry. But I think this poem tells us more about the speaker, and all the ways in which he spectacularly misunderstands poetry. It was a lovely rose, wasn’t it!
hehe nice use of the word schlock 😉 Really great poem!
Well, what a pleasant surprise, to have such a dedication! And to be addressed as a poet — coo, what an honour! Thanks, this is wonderful.