Sunday, March 12, 2017

Kit Kelen #432 - no one is reading my poem today

no one is reading my poem today

no one is reading my poem today
no one is going to comment

how many lines were written just now?
who has time to read them?

do you think a thing like that's going to stop me?
I love to be lost in the stanzas like this

standing inside my own mirror
borne on the wings of my very own song

to make a way
where the grass is high

I won't say behind enemy lines
but I'm always bringing up fresh supplies

so many have lost the faith
sometimes I'm the only one fighting

no one knows why I'm writing this down
or what these words are for

no one is reading my poem today
no one is going to comment

can this be called communication
If no one can hear the notes I'm hitting?

how much masterpiece lost this way
the bottom drawer now is a pocket of sky

everyone carries one
we're all looking into it

but who's there to understand my song?
I could dedicate to the birds and the bees

but they're far from au fait
spindrift lovers won't give a toss

with 'in those arms I'm gonna stay'
no one can keep up with me

the chroniclers are far behind
in fact they can hardly be bothered
critics are this-minute minded
I can't keep up with myself

still I read over and over again
and sometimes wonder why as well

and what I'm on about
you have to ask – what's wrong with him?

and does he need special attention?
we all do

no one is reading my poem today
no one is going to comment

o this is a great relief
it lets pour on potential

blank of the paper, blank of the screen
these places can never be settled

such is my view from Darien
my own indigenous sea

what a fertile field I plough
with every crossing is Homeric

wine dark I go where I can't know
but that you're with me now


  1. Oh yes they are - reading - and maybe even fighting in our own way :) Love the rhythm and even the despair.

  2. Ha. I love it, Kit.

    Masterpieces lost, forgotten,
    to-be-written, read, unread, and mourned.
    Diminishing returns only wait for the tide to turn.
    The consolations of the act.

  3. ô yes! what a suffering! I sympathize with all my heart! And yet out of despair you write a nice poem... as a conclusion my father in law's words: "you artists need to feel bad for it's the fuel of creation...."

  4. Cut it out, of course we are, even in the wine dark blank paper.


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