a writer’s confession

creative would you describe me
having witnessed how bravely
and openly this nonsense i babble?
in truth have you found me thus
what purpose this praise when
finer voices do hymns compose?

rather pauper poet invest me
for i have fallow fields furrowed
ever naively, i must now confess
seeding intentions so delicately
dressed yet smelling deservedly
of naught more fair than dung

expecting brilliance to blossom
urging accolades come cascading
yet reaping mildewed mediocrity,
husbanding such noble sentiment
as saints might lustfully proclaim
while gathering this putrid chaff

wishing pointless this coccyx me
a more righteous portion to attain
and still abstain from eyes open
spying the barest magnificence
inherent in the tiniest drop of
sweat that indifferent graces daily
the graven brow of any mother

now see you me for what i am
a man of no little reputation, yes
feeding off the efforts of others
suckling at the scabby tits of
a world i had no hand in making
and yet know i that in breaking
her back might i thereby erect
a monument to my own majesty

Salt Lake City 09 Jun 2012


8 thoughts on “a writer’s confession

    • Thank you, Pete. Most of what I compose in verse, I approach with attention to sound. I don’t usually have an idea at the beginning of exactly what I want to say. But I become attached to how certain words or phrases sound and go from there. Glad you caught that.


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