Poet Momentous!


i am not fazed by spurious notions 
     of what is good or what is bad
i just flip open that temporal wallet 
     & spend (it's like getting laid 

or tying one on & imagining X 
     could well be my imaginary friend
or else i simply steal someone else's 
     idea (it's true i have no shame

laughing in the face of those fogey
     poets who call meh 'a disgrace'
to them i bellow simply that my 
     muse must be obeyed (and paid!

who said that art's god's way of 
     helping us pass the time? what rot
equally crap's the notion that we 
     write to please this so-called god

do i write to illuminate some trace
     of time on a sky's tight canvas?
to harp on about beauty? no! 
     (unless it be a sniper's silent gun

i'll trade both the names i call 
     myself for ern's eponymous knacks
the only mystery is how far i've 
     come without being hit by jitches!

for an undisclosed sum i'll gladly 
     write an ode to the constitution
& for not much more i'll pen a laud 
     to a common or garden hose

whatever the turgid coolhunters 
     recommend as being of the now
i'll damn with my seething stanzas 
     (yea i'll even consider it fascist

like mosquitoes trapped in amber 
     they'll learn to regret their fads
& those requiring elegies (or funeral 
     songs will simply have to wait

theoretically I'm something of a prick 
     (i'm not too proud to admit
to prostitute my talent thus while 
     so many good poems beg to be - 

but I must somehow make the down-
     payments on my Etruscan villa
& for those of us in the industry 
     this means writing is simply a job

i am poet momentous (no more 
     moody or sleepless nights for meh!
i'd rather see my poems on greeting 
     cards than yell at empty chairs

now there's no poem that can match 
     the noisome grandeur of war - 
but at least i can think about peace 
     while praising cheap champagne

‘A Poet of the Moment’
B. O’D. (date)

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