What arms have a poet?
These flabby wings to lift
an instrument that will not fit
between the fingers of the soldier;
no heft behind its rest upon the page.
He does not hoard the black;
this pale rodent scrabbles and it oozes
from pitiful claws. The real man knows
the value of dark armour -- he wastes it not.
When drums and trumpets march
all good men as one, the poet stumbles
to a tune behind his own eyes; no flag
will bear his breeze, he flies his
standards far beyond.
What harm is the poet? Warriors branch
like oaks, standing strong against the world.
The poet is dandelion fluff, borne random
across desert and ocean, rooting by chance
where the crust will yield.
we hope that our ammunition has the ability to penetrate the mind...
emily dickinson said "words have the power to kill"
but are we real soldiers fighting a cause and making a difference...or do we just write about flowers, and love and such...and have weak voices with good intentions?
reminds me of the beat poets...the poets in the sixties..dylan, paul simon...something to say...something strong...those warriors were armed with words...
as poets we can only strive for that strength
you have it...definitely..
i am just blown away by your ease with such phenomenal phrasing...the twists and turns are such fun to take...
and they penetrate my mind like a silver bullet to a werewolf.
i like unspecifieds, only because (and don't shoot me) i am still [censored]ty at critique (and, apparently will always do it in my own way).
i was thinking about this title yesterday - fluff. made me think about the marshmallow stuff kids eat with peanut butter making fluffernutter, or some such thing.
what is a poet? what arms have they? what arms do they bear/bare? how does one know the power or patience or worth of their ink?
i love the thought of a poet being dandelion fluff. milky seeds sprouting where they may.
Submission Name: Fluff
