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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 18:03:10 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 112449
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Poet's Tale
[time] => 2006-01-02 17:06:10
[hometext] => I forgot to post this... I wish I could post everyone else's... AP English, had to compile some 'Canterbury Tales' ours were The Millenium Tales, set @ Times Square, New Year's Eve 1999. Written weeks upon weeks ago....
[bodytext] => I’m a poet with an ink and pen The world inspires beyond my ken. I watch the earth spin round and round But an idle block confounds Me and so I waste away. Each thought has just decayed. I failed my last year’s resolution To clear my mind of blocked pollution. No blossom, not a bloom Is born of my mind’s womb And so I sit dejected For each poem that I’ve subjected To the paper doesn’t fit. The emotions won’t transmit The way they feel to me, inside So I discard them, for my pride. A fear I’ll never write again Has brought me here, out of my den And here I’ve got a tale like you. Let me share my story, too. This tale is a most lovely one Dating to when the earth had begun ‘Tis of the first of artists who All their inspiration drew From all the glories one can find In nature’s pleasures, simple minds. Painters captured sunlight’s rays, The times between the nights and days Or an innocent child’s tiny face. Sculptors molded each fancy vase In shapes much like fair female curves Purpose and beauty, each piece serves. Jewelers fashioned lavish things After feathers, scales, and insect’s wings. They slaved to capture color, light, The warmth of day, the depth of night. In all the world they could find beauty. To re-create it was their duty. They stopped to smell each single rose And managed something to compose. Singers sang about the breeze That, much like God, nobody sees. Dancers mimicked prancing fawns And springs that tickle bubbling ponds. Musicians made the sounds of thunder Of birds, trees, skies, each noise there under. Playwrights’ scenes depicted love And every gory mishap thereof. Story tellers fabricated Tales of how things were created. They pondered who, what, when and why. If no one knew, they’d tell a lie. They asked the sky why it was blue And brought conjectures back to you. The certain green that colors grass, They wondered how, surmised—alas! Such questions brought about great art. Early artists were clever, smart. They all knew to appreciate The simple things that make life great. Their passions were like burning fire That to this day, my soul inspires. A shame to know they’re dead and gone, A blessing that their works live on. An artist now in modern day Should model themselves in their ways, Think outside the so-called box And see the mountain, not just the rocks. I am very sure that none of you Have quite enjoyed the lovely view The way those artists did back then, Of course I don’t expect it, friends. Although you see now with my anecdote How I’ve no paddle for my boat, How I must strive hard to find a muse Because there’s subjects sparse from which to choose If I’m to become like artists of old I’ve got to search for perfect, gold! No, second best will never do I’ve got to find the greatest cue, The very best, the brightest treasure, Something of illustrious measure! Still I fear I’ll never write poetry so grand As what came through the early artist’s hand. Yes, I’m up poet’s creek without an oar Not one thing to write and no hope for A living made of beloved art It seems I’ve lost before my start. With poems so few and far between My book is empty, pages clean. I fear I may have to start over Become a cook, move back to Dover. Prove my friends and parents right. They told me I’d nothing to write. This gathering here, this celebration Is my last hope for inspiration, My last chance for a revelation To kick start a brand new year’s creation. So, tell your tales, the rest of you! Perhaps I’ll find a poem or two Among the things you have to say This night before the New Year ’s Day. I’ll listen hard and stay alert So as not to miss a single word. Inspire me, I beg you please Beseech my ink to flow with ease! [comments] => 1 [counter] => 284 [topic] => 25 [informant] => liquidsunshine [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 8 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => MiscPoems )
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