June 02, 2007


Slimy slithering censors are more profane and dirty
     than the “S-H-I-T!” they cut from works of Poetry!
They never run out of work;
     they label more evil whenever they need income,
     they “define” the standards that justify their labor,
     they can, they will, they do contradict themselves at will or opportunity.
And who censors the censors?

Like Batman’s signal projected against Gothom’s cloudy sky,
     censors paint crosses in the night!
They organize Witch hunts to catch the selected sin de jure...
     tonight: wanton serving wenches!
     tomorrow: topless entertainment!
     next week all politics other than their own!
Where most of us find ordinary life
     they find vast raging reservoirs of vintage sin...
     they pray for obvious signs, but use tinted glasses for ratification.
     they are blind to the boulder in their eye, but stumble over our gravel.

But we scribblers... those who mainline Poetry... we are junkies!
We like it! It’s the monkey on back side of our mind!
We write witch doctor prescriptions in exchange for a little free love,
We are Pimps getting laid in meter.
We Pantoum, and Haiku, and, Villanelle.
We flaunt our thread bare Caesura.
We drip Sonnets at the mention of Love.
We shout out in strange public places, main line in Coffee dives,
     compose on napkins at parties, and sometimes. . .
     we leave Limericks on pristine private walls. . . without permission!

There are even reports of onomatopoeia in the presence of children!
But, we pay our dues, there is always a fee for free verse!
If it sells there is a tax, and when we fail at market, we still pay the muse.

Shoot it up, drink it down, inhale, blow it out, suck it in, give it away!
Poets have secret knowledge and weapons of black type!
Thankfully, freedom is still addictive, and love is never dirty!
Remember! Critics and Censors get here the same way we did. . .
     life’s first poem was sharp smack on our wet bare butts;
    that first wail was an angry poem of protest, and. . .
     when death comes, protest is still the proper response!

Know this: Poetry records, sorts, catalogs, and explains. . .
     far better than History!

—Jim Lyle

Posted by dwaber at June 2, 2007 01:18 PM