Posted in 28 Days of Unreason, Poetry

Poet Gig

Blab, blab, blab
because right about now
I’m wondering why the hell
this quote just doesn’t
do a thing for me
I mean
I’ve spent this whole month
being a shyster
posing as a poet
but it’s just that
smoke and mirrors crap
Merde
which is my favorite French word
because it sounds so much
nicer than
shit
which I have
always been loath
to say
mostly because
I don’t like how it sounds

So
this poetry gig
is just
Merde
it makes my head
hurt
it makes me
pace around
and whine
with a kind of
restless sigh
because the walls
are closing in

And what the hell does
it really mean
to be a ‘Poet’?
They all look
at you like
you are a freak
or alien.
Even the rest of
the English teachers
say things like
‘bless your heart’
and
‘of course you wrote
a poem about that’
even though they
teach cummings
and of course
Shakespeare
because it’s in
the curriculum
but when that
colleague’s
husband died
of brain cancer
and they came to you to
write a poem
to be presented to her
even though you
never knew him
barely know her
and you spent
three lunch periods
standing at the window
that overlooks the
school’s baseball field
(which makes it my perfect
classroom)
crying because
the poem
cost you something to
write
but you kept your
door locked
so no one would
know you cried

Then it’s okay
to be a poet,
when they want
someone to bleed,
but still
it’s all
just
Merde
(I like that word —
would like it a lot more
if I could afford French
wine, like Harrison
drank, but, hey,
I’m a school teacher
and the pay…well, you
know)

So, does that cover it?

© Jilly  All Rights Reserved

For Day 16 of 28 Days of Unreason

“You can’t write the clear biography
of the aches and pains inside your skull”
~ Harrison from Skull / Songs of Unreason

Author:

A wild soul writing poetry.

26 thoughts on “Poet Gig

  1. Nobody has ever accused me of being a poet, but I can imagine the lack of comprehension. It isn’t just writing the rhymed messages for greetings cards, it’s digging some fundamental emotion out, exposing it, and then hiding away to weep quietly in a corner.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. “I’m a school teacher // and the pay… (is Merde)!” That’s just my reader finishing your poet’s poem, ala Hirsch. Yeah, you covered it. There are certain callings in life where, when pressed by someone asking, “what do you do..?” you go straight into redirect mode… or flat-out lie. The teachers! ESPECIALLY the English teachers, can be so condescending. What do I do in my spare time? I am a PRN embalmer!

    Great poem, Jilly!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Charley! Love the idea of saying you are an embalmer – might be more acceptable – LOL!
      Regarding teachers…tell me again, what you teach? Aren’t you an English teacher yourself? (hahaha!) Thanks for reading my ranting bit of merde.

      Like

      1. Southern 101: heart blessin is reserved for fools and little children. As in, “and then she drove her car right through the garage wall and into the pool, bless her heart.” Lol!

        Like

      2. It is still such an amazing Howl that your writing this happened at the same moment, with completely predictable and soporific effect on those assembled.

        Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s