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Some Poets

Some poets carry pens

and folded papers in their pockets

so Johnny on the spot 

logging every whim.

Much the way the hopeless carry 

memories and dreams

anointing words of wisdom 

as their eyes grow dim. 

When I peruse the news 

what some folks are calling verse

I read what staggered prose

that goes on from bad to worse.

On either hand they have

they’ve lots of time to kill.

Paper tigers in their pens

with empty pages to fill.

So hard to find the words no one’s said before,

It’s easier to fake it than becoming a bore.

The images engraved on the lids of your eyes

Bring visions in your sleep and meet you when you rise.

So many favorites to treasure, I suppose,

like William Sonnets Shakespeare and Edgar Allan’s prose.

Dreams linger in the hope to stand among the few,

You listen, you read, you can’t shake the need to come up with something new.


How about you write a song today like Irving Berlin?

One that makes your fans say “where have you been?”

He certainly was king of all those New York boys

Who made memorable music out of Manhattan noise.

He turned an idle man’s pastime into an art

and gave personality to the treasures of the heart.

Those weaving words today hardly begin

to measure up to Irving Berlin.


Dutch Knickerbocker · 390 days ago
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Some Poets