The Poem, The Poet And The Reader
An overstatement, diary,
A searching sleuth’s discovered truth;
A momentary passing-by,
A life in sixty some odd lines,
Chance to speak in secret signs,
Daring layers ingrown,
Language you alone own.
A chance to feel what you’ve not lived,
Flailing in -ner –finity:
A poem.
For writer a way home;
For reader, leader;
An instructor and conductor
From the darkness into light;
A dark night like my own, but yet
The chance to know one may be right:
For poet,
Chance to play the fool around
Ridiculous-meticulous.
Poem, poem on the paper,
Who’s the most important shaper
Of the culture?
You are sage, keeper of the holy page.
Who’s the culture’s biggest schnook?
You who never read a book
Or fill your nib.
The tribal scribe is always prime,
And in the times of culture’s ebb,
The poet has a foothold:
Scribe is golden –
Reflection of the culture’s texture.
Poet, with his storm,
Is digit underlying form.
Lucky he who writes, who reads,
Fulfilling tenderest of needs.
Om, ok, and then,
Amen again.
©
The Poem, The Poet And The Reader 96.7.23Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;
Arlene Corwin
