Good poetry

Can any one be a poet?

Like good taste many people think they have it, but its subject to others scrutiny so that not every one will agree on the offered perceptions merit.

Can any one be a poet? Yes!

But not every one will be a good poet...today.
Wait a week or two and who knows.
Many a famous work of art and poetry were no different, having developed an audience as tastes have changed over time, makes even the worst attempts at audience recognition a possibility for future examination.

Like any art form, the audiences appreciation of a work may be hidden from the public's acceptance until that perception changes to fit the artist's view.

This is nearly proof positive of the forgiveness of sin.

You can mess up today and be deemed a saint tomorrow depending on whose perception rings authorities voice on it in future days, and of course the reverse is also true, proving the universe has the last word on judgment. I'd like to think there is a constant that keeps good taste and art at a level that inspires a higher plain, but the truth seems to be simpler.

Good art, good taste and good poetry "connect" to an audience nothing more. That connection can not be explained in simple words so there are thousands of attempts to explain it over the centuries of time. That seems to be what we call schooling. Good schooling enlightens, where as bad schooling constricts and binds the spirit to conformity and sometimes divides us from our artistic connection toward life.

Art, like true living, is a free expression of our interpretations of what we believe and are willing to show the world.

You might as well say you are trying to find the universes ear. We all want to connect. We all want a voice and we sometimes find the same tone others are using to find that same thing. If its near the truth it resonates in time, if its false to that universe it fades. One thing is for sure, that if you don't speak up, then you won't be heard and that silence, although forever pure in its form, has no audience.

You may as well say we are all self taught authors of our own existence.....we all try to connect and become what we think explains ourselves. Good or bad...that is art...a connection freely expressed and sometimes it sounds like poetry...its a matter of taste.

The value of dirt

For the most part those that have worked in dirt know the price of dirt….....civilization would be the wiser to pay attention to that known value

In the quiet dawn above the heavens stretch, the light of day and shadows fetch
A floating scene of iridescent smoke, where mountains look like castles cloaked
Heaving waves of misty ocean, swelling now in constant motion
Let the morning glow declare, heaven on earth, is every where.

The beast has arisen

The beast has arisen,
Awakened at the dawn
Of a new century rising
His evil will spawn
A new generation of anger
Deceit and pain
As he tightens his coils
On souls to drain
Serpents tongue
Dank festering stare
Unjustified scrutiny
Increasing despair

Wrath is upon us
Disguised in speech
Sublime and beautiful
Sweet as a peach
Succulent language
Convincing blurbs
Eloquent treachery
Satisfying words
Who will hear us?
In our pain
Voices arrested
Suppression the gain

The serpent is reaching
For more to bind
Under slithering scales
All will find
Hope is extinguished
By such as this
A convincing orator
Smooth as a kiss
Takes more than his share
Through temptations lot
Stealing the future
More than you’ve got

Venomous snakes
And mongoose spit
Prove once again
A poisonous fit
resultation
From resisting a beast
Then drooling becomes
Victories treat
Sign me up
For the battle has come
Spasmodic dancers
Pound on the drum

One should not begrudge a King

One should not begrudge a King

One should not begrudge a King,
his podium or his throne.
Without induced elevation,
a midget we’d see alone.

Once he lived an empty existence,
never fulfilling his life long dream,
Of ruling over better men
than he could ever be.

The rest of us, having our talents,
share in liberty and freedom for all
Without the need to inflate ourselves
Or to make others feel quite small

So next time elevated self purpose
Steps upon its pompous throne
Turn away in laughter
And be thankful it’s not your home

And you and I can wryly laugh
while kings are viewed as stinkers
spending their days concocting laws
With their head up in their sphincter

Your rewards

Your reward

How does evil come to power?
Does it give you something of value?
Does it promise you hope?

How is evil able to win the game?
Does it open your mind?
Does it help you cope?

How can anyone resist?
Does evil provide sustenance?
Does it coddle your ego?

How does evil stay in power
Does it make you rich?
Does it make your enemies go?

What is evil to you?
Your friend, your comfort your god?
Let me know

What then is goodness to you?
If evil fills your soul?
Will you exist playing evils role?

Abide by your truths
Upon death you will address
Receiving what you gave and expect no less

Will evil keep you?
Will evil forgive you?
What in the end will be you?

Abide by your truths
Upon death you will address
Receiving what you gave and expect no less