27-A Wimpole Street   
We don't find poetry. Poetry finds us. We don't produce poetry. Poetry creates us. But poetry can only exist if it is written and shared. That is why we write and speak.

Straddling the 20th and 21st centuries, poetically incorrect but deeply smitten by the power of words and the beauty of human imagination. Come & let us seek poetry in everything we see and encounter!

Please feel free to visit my Twitter & Pinterest accounts: crypticbard and Facebook: poet galateus.
raucous blether @ crypticbard.blogspot.com/
________________________

Many thanks to those that support my Muse.
We don't find poetry. Poetry finds us. We don't produce poetry. Poetry creates us. But poetry can only exist if it is written and shared. That is why we write and speak.

Straddling the 20th and 21st centuries, poetically incorrect but deeply smitten by the power of words and the beauty of human imagination. Come & let us seek poetry in everything we see and encounter!

Please feel free to visit my Twitter & Pinterest accounts: crypticbard and Facebook: poet galateus.
raucous blether @ crypticbard.blogspot.com/
________________________

Many thanks to those that support my Muse.

#tbh,* our days are linked
By a series of tags
From hash brown mornings
To grammed hash brags

Our days are filled- with
On screen notifications.
Hash tags steer our way;
How we feel and what we say.

Before I lay my phone
On the bedside table
I take One last peek to see:
Glowing flattened crystal ball

"Mirror, mirror in my hand,
Am I merely her #mcm?"
Or a has been #bff, perhaps
In couple of days her latest #tbt

*Read #tbh as 'to be honest'
Read #mcm as 'man crush monday'
Read #bff as 'best friends forever
Read #tbt as 'throw back thursday'

Poets are human too

Some flood the threads with copious texts,
Others comment like a troll on speed...
Several will promote and spam and solicit,
A few  gush and audibly sigh lugubriously.
Many are avowed grammar nazis and
Forever dredge the net to criticise and berate;
While the rest debate and opinionate tenaciously.
Some rhyme too much and some not at all.
Some are social butterflies and hardly write.
Some are fadnatics, snobs of haute littérature..
But each one feeds and feels and faints;
Each fawns and fears and fights...
Every poet, we hope is fully human;
Part god, part mad... a genius, a thinker,
Generous of heart and elocutionally sartorial.
All poets understand they truly don't,
But never give in and pursues with valiant resolve:
Thusly affirming that poets are human too!

How fickle the adoring public,
From age to age, from era to era...
May you never be found in error;
else find yourself a lynching terror!

A thought on the ever changing tide of popularity.
  Reposted by Frederick Kesner  ·  Jul 28
Elizabeth Squires

magpie's liquid caramel calls plied
through the village school's grounds

You've worked on your summer body in the winter,
Now you wonder its worth as dreams fade and wither.
As autumn nears, your landscape begins to change colour:
Where is this promise that once offered us forever?

Frederick Kesner
Frederick Kesner
Jul 28      Jul 28

Another month, another chapter.
We're all seeking happily ever after.
And yet a silent realisation dawns
Happiness is here in our front lawns...

Of course, not everyone has a front lawn...
Frederick Kesner
Frederick Kesner
May 17      May 17

When will the lights illumine the evening sky?

In the distance the lanterns are lighting up like fireflies...

They wink and dance, making this stranger's arrival less bleak.

Perhaps they shall hasten before the monsoon begins.

 
To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment