Of Course
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
“Demodocus, a mere rhapsode, [is] led into the feast to entertain…the Phæaeacian court….
Though blind, Demodocus makes his audience see things and deeds that furnish the Greek
and Trojan worlds…. He is paid with food and drink.” ~ Michael Schmidt, The First Poets,
93
Things never change, or if they do, they change
To even worse. Today a poet gets the sop
Of being published in a blog. The strange
Thing is that, still, the poets write, chop, chop,
For nothing, really, in exchange. The deal
Is this: you write, and write, and write your heart
Out while alive, and then we bow and kneel
To you when you are dead. You’re worth a fart
At most when you are here. But once you’re gone,
We’ll worship you, and then anthologize
Your poems (well, just one or two). We’ll fawn
On you too late and won’t apologize.
..Dead poets are supposed to be as pleased
….As paltry punch at last—and feel appeased.