1.
Some women, will give you a chance
they will coax it out of hiding
They will work for it
while others, cut it off
and it slinks away
like an inch worm
trying to find another cuby-hole
to hide in.
2.
Some days,
you must hide
from reality.
There is no escape.
You are doing time
in prison,
writing on a wall.
It’s the only power
that you have.
3.
What is writing?
It’s commercial
and packaged
and
a dozen different things,
I find sickening,
but I believe in
the simple poem.
4.
I am a King
because of poetry.
I might be doing anything.
My kingdom
could be a cubical
smaller than a cell
but I am free,
if I can write poetry.
5.
I might be asked
to fight in battle,
or go into the board room
and fall on my sword,
or my ass–
it doesn’t matter,
if I can write a poem.
6.
“Why are you so calm?” I am always asked.
Because it’s worth more to me
than all the money
in the world.
7.
When the bombs start dropping
people won’t know what to do,
and I will be there writing,
just the way I plan to
when I am lying in my bed
getting ready to die.
8.
The world won’t care.
It forgets celebrities
in less than a week.
All that matters
is what I care about
like writing this poem,
for instance.
Intellectual Shaman 
for sure 🙂
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Awesome! It reminds me of something E.E. Cummings wrote… here’s an excerpt:
To be nobody-but-yourself — in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else — means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
As for expressing nobody-but-yourself in words, that means working just a little harder than anybody who isn’t a poet can possibly imagine. Why? Because nothing is quite as easy as using words like somebody else. We all of us do exactly this nearly all of the time — and whenever we do it, we’re not poets.
If, at the end of your first ten or fifteen years of fighting and working and feeling, you find you’ve written one line of one poem, you’ll be very lucky indeed.
And so my advice to all young people who wish to become poets is: do something easy, like learning how to blow up the world — unless you’re not only willing, but glad, to feel and work and fight till you die.
Does that sound dismal? It isn’t.
It’s the most wonderful life on earth.
Or so I feel.
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It takes a true poet to love his calling so much he can endure anything else.
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Yes, poetry flows out of me, or it doesn’t!
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Spot on! Same for us storytellers.
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I relate so much to number 3 – well expressed 👏🏼
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Thanks tawrahy!
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