Saturday, September 01, 2007


“Does it mean nothing to you?? Fame
I mean, accolades…adoring women…stature
Of a god, you know…Does all of that
Leave you cold? Why, it is in the nature
Of poets to hunger for a pretty pat
Or two, the heady wine of acclaim!”

The incredulous tones of a fellow-poet
Who’s known and seen it all, now dismayed
By my cheerful obscurity. Who knew,
Such indifference argued a shade
Of something other perhaps… A hue
Of conceit for those who’d know it.

But sloth – for such it is – has no lines
To read between, and inertia’s bland
Of meaning: both enough to keep me grounded
In my unfamous state. Hard to understand
No doubt, but reasons well-founded.
Poets? I suppose it takes all kinds…


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