Quantity is not
versus quality.
And
Anyone who says it is
has run a false dichotomy.
I like to run quick and deep,
leap like a stone skipped
over a fake lake (or a literal
one, for real) and smash
from ripples to waves
on far shores of any
ol' pond in range.
Why not? Why not stunt,
lark, fling and swing away?
Rarely
and preciously,
when it happens
- I am succinct. Rarely that.
Fecund, though! - even though
that's not a very virtue,
is it?
Point is: I put out.
I write poems bad, good
rarely-to-never indifferent,
every which way to loose
in the eye of random
passerby, and call it
blind luck
when one good one
turns up.
Is this an invalid way
to go? I'd love to see you
stake, make and defend
that case,
honcho
I am an online poet of some (1) note.
I'll thank you to notice, I do not gloat,
but I'm glad in my small way
to make. As I allude to up there,
it's about as good as a scale
paper boat Spanish Armada
hauling ass, grass and cash
(or gold) across some puddle
cosplayed as a midsize lake,
and pretending to seas.
No comments:
Post a Comment