The End?
Have you noticed, and possibly you haven’t
Since you are so, so lucky
Perhaps your only experience with outside
Is walking from your air-conditioned car into Starbucks
There are no children on the streets
Playing tag, riding bikes, pulling hair, throwing balls
The modern, cool, plugged in world
Has eliminated all this and more
Like poetry
Nobody reads poetry anymore
If a few and dwindling number of teachers didn’t make their students
Who would know poetry even existed?
Of these
Most assign a value less than valueless
Poetry, like cursive or going outside or politeness
Vanished in that time we didn’t even watch go by
Luddites who have developed an affectation for poetry
Use their fetish as a way of separating
Declaring nobility, insight, depth to any who will listen
(No one outside the self-selected club ever hears)
(Most never even knew sounds were made)
Today’s “great” poets aren’t great for what they write
But what they look like
Or who they knew when
Or that their words may be used by those in power
Or those who want to be
5 thoughts on "The End?"
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Steve. I’m with you.
I can’t even get my own
family to read my poetry
even when it’s about them.
But still, poetry SPEAKS
There are no children playing on the …
How beautifully said.
I, too, was asking where all the children were on a summer day. The more chaotic the world get, the more “poetry SPEAKS,” as Jim says
I saw and heard a musical ice cream truck on Second street heading toward Elm Tree Lane yesterday at dust, with kids around it and mothers on their porches giving the kids money to pay for their ice cream, and one for Mom too! I thought I was back in 1963. How strange society has become.
Steve, I am in Guatemala until July 6… I will send you an email when I get home.
Rudy
Old Seventy Creek Press