Fashionable face make-over, ditto theme,
I set out to fulfil my poetic dream:
Dysoned-up the reputable magazines;
cut out rhyme, quashed rhythm, got with the machines;
toned up / down my images (metaphor's a knife crime);
churned out pseudo oddities to work the time.
The Emperor's clothes are quirky cut;
ghastly earnestness will pass for thought: -
termed myself 'they' in mini-biography
wherein I over-egged diversity of progeny,
claimed 40 days on mushrooms in my youth;
and that my aim was high-wire-walking truth.
But I could not convince them,
since my lines
were strewn with crackers bursting those designs.
..................
*'termed myself they' - not getting at people here.
It is just that some magazines insist on mini-autobiographies
to be framed in the third person as biographies, which seems odd,
since 'I ' is not generally a cause of falling out - and then the third person plural insisted on,
I suppose as a well-meant gesture of solidarity.
Envoy
Go little book,
by hook or by crook,
from inglenook,
warm fire of mind,
out to world unkind,
where bobbins of time
robin tongues unbind,
to mummery and mime,
all words from words,
pages blooming mould
deleted from a cloud,
scattering flocks of birds,
unless they find
a reader kind
and mind to mind
breathe in the wind,
subvocally sung,
in semantic love,
the Logos of
re-kindled tongue.
...............
My idea is to put this as the last page of the collection, but maybe write a few more, before finishing.
