Some of my poems
aren’t really poetry
     more
     exercises in futility
     at night
they’re fresh
     as peppermint wafer
by AM
only morning breath

Some of my failures
are masterpieces in disguise
     some masterpieces
     only
wishful thinking
I answered the muse’s call
     amid adolescent rage
     and now
     having weathered the years
dance calmly together
to the insults
     and compliments of life

Some of my poems
have been put away
     indefinitely
I want to forget about them
     but there again
why should one be embarrassed
about their own children?
when others rave
     openly
about their naturally curly hair

Some of my successes
aren’t expected
     some expectations
     never realized
a bard is like a fisherman
who casts his net into the sea
     hoping for a bountiful catch
but not until others have tasted
and approve
     the quality of his product
can he himself fully appreciate
     what has
     or hasn’t
been accomplished

© 1987

690 hits as of April 2024

03/19/2016

Posted on 03/19/2016
Copyright © 2024 Chris Sorrenti