MARQUEE
I put on quite a dinner party, I cooked the finest roast.
I even washed behind my ears, ever the gracious host.
I basted well that hallowed flesh, a cavalcade of words.
When I woke my verse had gathered dust, alas, no one had heard.
Left alone in the morning after, the smoke had risen to the rafters,
And I slashed my fingers to the bone, here at my writing desk alone.
Though I sat and bled and bled, still my words remained unread.
Was it that the readers lacked the time or that my couplets did not rhyme?
Was my one and only consolation the empty promise of tomorrow,
Left to my scholarly poverty and my beautiful sorrow?
I even asked a few wise souls, what do diners want these days?
My words were zero calories and quite form fitting,
Would they rather I made bouillabaisse,
Or something to be consumed at a single sitting?
The ones I asked diplomatically either did not know or lied,
Or wondered why I cared so much if my magical creations died.
But I ask you art for art’s sake folk who dare to even listen,
What’s the point of making your art your solemn mission?
What if you made a roast and it rotted in the fridge?
Would that fact not trouble you or hurt you just a smidge?
I put on quite a soiree, like a silver moon it glistened.
And I took to the foghorn of Facebook, begging folks to listen.
I pulled out all the Scrabble letters, polished ‘til they gleamed,
And careful not to hope for much, laid bare my fondest dreams.
Perhaps I was a Debbie Downer, too much a pessimistic Paul.
Too broken from the Parkinson’s, too enamored of the funeral pall.
All I know is a lot of nothing and yet I think I’ve learned,
This blogging game’s a lot of pain for diminishing returns.
But all was lost at quite a cost, to self esteem and my own damned ego,
If I were a TV show, I’d have been canceled more than a year ago.
And if I were a singer, I’d be dining alone at the table,
Singing at half filled nightclubs and dropped by his record label.
And if Google ever finds out my dirty little secret,
Why, they’ll be the first to cut the cord,
Brandishing their cyber revolver as if it were a sword.
I put on quite the lavish show, my name on the marquee,
‘Til the Scrabble letters spelling my name in glass,
Shattered in pieces in front of me.
I may be back or I may not, we’ll see just how the numbers crunch.
Perhaps I am having an awful day, just got my undies in a bunch.
But I just cut my hand on a Scrabble shard and it’s left an ugly scar.
And I cry out in my deep dismay, wondering where the readers are.
Those damn Scrabble letters still have me in their dreadful midnight hold.
And it’s only I that can decide if it’s time to play or fold.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Your first stanza made me laugh with your metaphoric washing of your ears.
ReplyDeleteI wonder if poetry is just out of vogue for now, though there seems to be a surge of interest in poetry slam, combining poetry with performance. I wonder too how wonderful but at the same time dangerous the whole blogging thing is. With online activity we get used to the instant gratification, the facebook phenomenon. A certain intellectual laziness ensues, a deficit of attention. Poetry is not to be consumed in that way; it requires time to be savoured; it makes us stop and think; the language and metaphor challenge us. I wonder if poetry and internet are not a good match. It is better suited to a small collection in a book to be picked up and opened on a quiet, rainy day with an accompanying cup of tea - no television, no radio, and certainly no internet to distract.
So I look forward to buying your first published, hard-copy collection!!
I think maybe only after I die, Claire, will I ever achieve the honor of being published. I have a now rather outdated poetry book comprised of 50 poems in the Library of Congress. I wanted something to show publishers and every now and then I've heard poets get "discovered" there. Well, the good news is I did. The bad news is it was by a company that would agree to publish me for $600.00 of my own money which of course I didn't even have then, when i was still working! But I think you are right. I always have more interest in my FB page than my blog, ALTHOUGH I had 30 page views yesterday! I think that was a record for this blog. Were they all your views? Cmon, you can tell me! There are other poetry blogs that have like 90 to 100 followers and they are very good, but I'd put mine right up there with them. I don't know. It's a very strange phenomenon. I just finished a new poem yesterday about when i was 38 and diagnosed with Parkinson's they were forecasting a cure in five to ten years. Now I'm 50, still no cure and we still don't even know for sure what causes it! So the wheels of medicine and the appreciation of my poetry apparently creep very slowly! Thank you for reading! It means the world to me!
ReplyDeleteNO, I did not hit your page 30 times! Maybe the tide is turning. Since your work does require that care and attention I spoke of, I only sit down to read your work when I know I can do so without interruption which is almost never. That is why it sometimes takes me days to get to any new posting.
ReplyDeleteI didn't think so. But I am grateful for whenever you can hit it! I'm sure Michael is a handful and requires even more care and attention! Thanks again!
ReplyDelete