A poet lives a sad and lonely life.
Her days and nights are filled with grief and strife.
But as you know, when all is done and said,
this tumult just exists inside her head.
She labors hard for many nights and days,
with metaphors to turn a pretty phrase.
But what of poems—does anybody heed them?
There are more poets than the folks who read them.
The modern world has too much competition.
Who wants to read a full-blown composition?
Truncated thoughts are sent through phones with texting.
Distractions fill our lives in forms like sexting
and YouTube’s videos of stupid tricks.
Success today has been reduced to clicks.
The literary poems of Robert Frost
in our fast-spinning world are almost lost.
And great slant-rhymers of the past like Emily
are buried deep along with every simile.
We poets must accept the world that is,
and make our poems short and full of fizz.
We’ll use a style that sings and stings and zips,
and tattoo verses to each reader’s lips.
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