"forefingers" poems - Hello Poetry

***“Who will judge, as many trudge through mud, mucking up the rug, a coating of clay formed by God on a particular day. Yet talent is ingrained, whether sane or insane, and verse is treasure or a curse, unrehearsed, dispersed for all to see, will they applaud or disparage, this marriage of mind and rhyme, by design aligned, a sign of the times...”*** ms. patty m ~~~ once again a thunderbolt command hits between the eyes, on-right the precise spot where the head aches with desire to fulfill the write! but to what can I add to this encompassing question already better answered by the questioner? who will judge indeed! all the time and far too often, the flotsam rises to the surface, when better left ignored, while the jetsam jets nowhere, buried deep though breathing yet, on unseen sea bottom of ignorance, luck of the draw by one who designs, who aligns, a capricious starscape in the firmament as well as the infirmity & ignominy of caskets lying quiet in sea trenches that the answer herein contained, a supposition, a poor poets speculation, a soul’s lactation, the very question is a cyclone bomb by competents who are blinded+bound+blessed by incomprehension the only judge and jury is your forefingers tip, if it tremble a-slight when caressing the key called send, your cellular fiber has adjudged worthy, and no dare disagree talent and distinction randomly and irrationally distributed, but the courageous caress of a send key pressed, is all that is needed to impress the only judge and jury that authorized you in advance to love yourself insanely well enough to write and to send for a request for sentencing

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Mar 14, 2019

Mar 14, 2019 at 11:31 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Who will judge?

***“Who will judge, as many trudge through mud, mucking up the rug, a coating of clay formed by God on a particular day. Yet talent is ingrained, whether sane or insane, and verse is treasure or a curse, unrehearsed, dispersed for all to see, will they applaud or disparage, this marriage of mind and rhyme, by design aligned, a sign of the times...”*** ms. patty m ~~~ once again a thunderbolt command hits between the eyes, on-right the precise spot where the head aches with desire to fulfill the write! but to what can I add to this encompassing question already better answered by the questioner? who will judge indeed! all the time and far too often, the flotsam rises to the surface, when better left ignored, while the jetsam jets nowhere, buried deep though breathing yet, on unseen sea bottom of ignorance, luck of the draw by one who designs, who aligns, a capricious starscape in the firmament as well as the infirmity & ignominy of caskets lying quiet in sea trenches that the answer herein contained, a supposition, a poor poets speculation, a soul’s lactation, the very question is a cyclone bomb by competents who are blinded+bound+blessed by incomprehension the only judge and jury is your forefingers tip, if it tremble a-slight when caressing the key called send, your cellular fiber has adjudged worthy, and no dare disagree talent and distinction randomly and irrationally distributed, but the courageous caress of a send key pressed, is all that is needed to impress the only judge and jury that authorized you in advance to love yourself insanely well enough to write and to send for a request for sentencing