Don’t Pay The Poets

 

Don’t pay the poets.

There is no value in words,

we all use them

to some degree

and poets just turn them

into clever rhymes,

meter and verse.

 

Don’t pay the poets.

For there are no tunes

to back their silly ramblings

and they make us feel

uncomfortable

with their ‘expressions’

and ‘feelings’.

 

Don’t pay the poets.

Because we’ll

have no money left

for covers bands,

comedians and DJ’s

recycling other peoples

greatest bits.

 

Don’t pay the poets.

They suffer for their art -

so make the buggers suffer,

make them starve,

make them hurt,

make them spin their hurts

into gold.

 

Don’t pay the poets

or they’ll think they have value,

they’ll think they have worth.

Let them cry into their absinthe,

let them skulk in corners,

let them carry their bags

of paper passions.

 

Don’t pay the poets.

They do it for free -

nymphomaniacs

rather than prostitutes.

Pay them only with your applause -

never your money,

never your time or effort.

 

Don’t pay the poets

or they will become sentient -

they will rise

and rebel

and use their words

to bludgeon us

to our knees

 

and then the wars will end,

the bigotry will cease,

the poor will become rich,

the world will turn

on an axis of flowers.

Don’t pay the poets

for they know not what they do…