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WE ARE TOO ADDICTED TO PRAISE IN OUR CULTURE

by Dawn Davidson

IF I PUT A POEM OUT THERE I DO NOT COUNT NUMBERS
THE MYSTERY OF WHO READ IT DOES NOT ENTERTAIN MY THOUGHTS

THAT IS ABIT WEIRD FOR ME LIKE PLANTED MY GARDEN AND
NEEDING THE ON LOOKER TO BE EVER PRESENT IN MY LOOKOUT MIRROR

IT IS ENOUGH THAT HAS A SURFACE IN WHICH TO SWIM TO BE
THAT SOMETHING HAS TRANSACTED BETWEEN ME AND THE WORLD

WHO WHAT OR WHERE IS TOO MUCH LIKE PROSTITUTION OF THE WORD
WHO GOT AND HOW MANY, WHO IS THAT DESPERATE TO WATCH THE FLOW

OTHER WORDS WILL COME FAME IS A GAME AND EVERYONE CAME
TREES ARE ENDLESS POETS

IT JUST THE WAY I FEEL I WRITE FOR MYSELF THE PLEASURE OF WORDS
AND MEANINGS I GARDEN FOR MYSELF PRAISE THE MAKER MOSTLY SUN AND MOON

I THINK IT IS JUST THE CONSUMER WORLD OVER TRADITIONAL SOCIETIES
ONE COUNTS THE OTHER COUNTS FOR SOMETHING AND POETRY IS IN EVERYDAY

LANGUAGE TO THOSE COMMUNITIES NOT BOOKED AND SOLD, THOUGH I ENJOY
BUYING AND MAKING ENJOY THE FLOWERS IT IS ALL SO MUCH BIGGER THEN ANY

OF US IT DOES NOT BOTHER ME REALLY LOOK OUT AT THE SEA FOR YEARS AND YEARS
AWE IS ON MY LIPS FOR THE GREATNESS OF EVERYDAY GIVEN TO US, AMEN

06/11/2018

Posted on 06/11/2018
Copyright © 2018 Dawn Davidson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 06/11/18 at 04:43 PM

*AMEN*

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 06/11/18 at 05:56 PM

Not me. I like to imagine who might be reading my work. The numbers are helpful in keeping the plagiarists away. A couple of my poems have already been pinched a couple of times, but were fortunately caught.

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