Laureate

 

Beneath the monied keyboard of the poet laureate

I push against the letter pads

in the hope that she’ll forget

the publishers and critics the feeders and the few

that manipulate her fingers that would punch what isn’t true

 

But truth is easy purchased in the shallow world of words

and even those of principle are prone to polish turds

her stubby little digits used to hit the spot

but now she has an iMac and a memory that forgot  

 

©Wolfgar 2/2018 

 

🌷 (3)

◄ An Old Poet slips away

A definition of sanity ►

Comments

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Wolfgar Miere

Fri 16th Feb 2018 12:51

We can be prone to making assumptions about peoples reasons for doing things, often times they are completely off the mark and unfair.

Sometimes what appears to be selling out is a vehicle to achieve some greater good. I suppose only the passage of time truly reveals those who have sold their souls.

John Lydon sold his soul to butter to help him make what turned out to be a bloody fantastic record, its all relative isn't it?

Saw PiL in Reading at Sub89 some years ago now, bloody fantastic they were.

David.

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suki spangles

Fri 16th Feb 2018 04:20

Hi David,

Even Lydon was accused of selling out because he did some margarine ad, and appeared on I'm a Celebrity..
It's a slippery slope..

As for the whole Laureate comedy/farce..

Nice one!!
SS

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Wolfgar Miere

Thu 15th Feb 2018 05:23

This isn't about the current poet Laureate, it's a dig at all those who sell out.

I suppose we could all be accused of that by someone though.

So much fear, its sad isn't it.

David

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Wolfgar Miere

Tue 13th Feb 2018 21:25

As much as when I was a young man I enjoyed shooting at bad people, I wished I had earlier learnt to shoot people down with words and truth instead.

I have no time for turncoat lying money grabbing individuals, those types rarely present themselves on open ground, oh but when they do!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7VpVOC9-AY

Thanks Ray,

David.

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raypool

Tue 13th Feb 2018 21:19

i think you've hit on an important issue David. Words swim around, some like piranhas, some like lazy fellas, all in the swim of the murky waters that is pretence; some appearing grandiose, some humble, some manipulative, but nothing is what is seems. I think we might agree on the basic premise. The trouble is that bald journalism strips away; poetry is more sly I feel.

Ray

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