About the Poem
I wrote this poem after repeatedly hearing people say things like . . .
"Poets don't get famous until they die, ya know." and "No one will appreciate your gift until you kick the bucket my friend!"
Often I have thought, Who needs glory? I'd prefer just to be heard and to touch people on that innermost level. So, listen to me while I am alive World. Don't wait until I am a member of The Dead Poet’s Society.
A Few Visitor Comments
From A Living Poet
|by Todd-Michael St. Pierre|
I Aim to be a Lyrical- Miracle,
With real substance, yet, somewhat satirical.
A wizard of words, stirring and stewing
Soothing rainbows while storm clouds are brewing.
A mid- winter rose or a cold desert rain,
Blending smile and tear, mixing promise with pain.
I Am . . .
The moon at noon, midnight sun, mismatched socks,
I'm the self- appointed Prince of Paradox.
To delight or disgust, for sneers or applause,
To mirror my world, to stand for a cause.
I please, I provoke, I keep their hearts pounding
But not until death are poets "Astounding!"