A Good Poem

I was asked,

“When do you know you have written a good poem?”

Oh, the question

I have yet to answer.

I don't know. I haven't written one yet.

Bad poetry is easy to spot,

but a good one

takes time to read, ingest,

digest.- whereas,

a bad one burns

the stomach

and no amount

of antacid, Pepto

or Prilosec

will cure it.

A good poem

makes the poet go mad

looking for

the right word

-not any word-

the perfect word,

torn from the bone

and placed on the plate

to be devoured,

filling the gut.

Yet still needing to

mirror life,

mundane...exciting,

mediocre...explosive!

A good poem,

to the poet,

is as evasive as

The Flying Dutchman,

Elvis or

D.B. Cooper.

A good poem

is best created at night (so says Hank)

anything else is like

running naked through a shopping mall.

It is best created

with a warm buzz

of beer,

whiskey

or cheap homemade wine.

The lack of either creates MADNESS.

The surfeit creates

beauty.

A good poem

rips the heart out,

mends the soul,

exposes the truth

and exaggerates

the

mundane.


© Charles Scott 2014

A Good Poem

I was asked,

“When do you know you have written a good poem?”

Oh, the question

I have yet to answer.

I don't know. I haven't written one yet.

Bad poetry is easy to spot,

but a good one

takes time to read, ingest,

digest.- whereas,

a bad one burns

the stomach

and no amount

of antacid, Pepto

or Prilosec

will cure it.

A good poem

makes the poet go mad

looking for

the right word

-not any word-

the perfect word,

torn from the bone

and placed on the plate

to be devoured,

filling the gut.

Yet still needing to

mirror life,

mundane...exciting,

mediocre...explosive!

A good poem,

to the poet,

is as evasive as

The Flying Dutchman,

Elvis or

D.B. Cooper.

A good poem

is best created at night (so says Hank)

anything else is like

running naked through a shopping mall.

It is best created

with a warm buzz

of beer,

whiskey

or cheap homemade wine.

The lack of either creates MADNESS.

The surfeit creates

beauty.

A good poem

rips the heart out,

mends the soul,

exposes the truth

and exaggerates

the

mundane.


© Charles Scott 2014

Slow Motion Death Sentence

Will someone get me another beer?

As I sit here watching the faithful few,

playing pool, 

as they drink PBR

and hope for sex,

I see the trapped.

Trapped in the mundane.

Trapped in the routine.

Trapped in some white trash birthright.

The flashes of neon beer signs

flicker in such a way

that slows down their mediocre existence,

staving off death one second at a time.

Slow motion death sentence.

I am but a visitor now.

I broke out of your prison.

For now,

will someone get me another beer?

© Charles Scott 2014

Slow Motion Death Sentence

Will someone get me another beer?

As I sit here watching the faithful few,

playing pool, 

as they drink PBR

and hope for sex,

I see the trapped.

Trapped in the mundane.

Trapped in the routine.

Trapped in some white trash birthright.

The flashes of neon beer signs

flicker in such a way

that slows down their mediocre existence,

staving off death one second at a time.

Slow motion death sentence.

I am but a visitor now.

I broke out of your prison.

For now,

will someone get me another beer?

© Charles Scott 2014