Poetry Thrives

Poetry thrives in the ache behind my eyes
after a day of sweeping,
weeping at the rhythm of each new morsel
on the playlist.

Poetry bathes in the brassy bubbles of a concert hall,
eating alto voices, healthy and raw;
Sporadic, unexplained static–
Poetry is trusting a feeling and betting it all.

My poetry pays rent in a pop-up tent
under a busy overpass,
growing like marram grass by a brackish sea.
It dwells in the mosaic empty spaces left behind
by winter’s nudist trees.

Poetry thrives in the battle cries;
a canvas for people repressed.
After a famous shower,
poetry is horny and undressed.

Poetry panhandles on street corners;
breaks rigid rules;
defies every dictatorial threat.

It bikes further than failure
and flicks its finger without regret.
My poetry always drinks another cup–
Poetry likes it dirty and rough.

Poetry sticks, and pricks, and lasts.

It sets sail without destination or map;
on the ship of life, poetry is the mast.

© khartless 2021, All Rights Reserved

Share with me what poetry means to you. Have you written a poem about poetry? I’d love to read it, please link it below.


      1. poetry lives in the years,
        tears, and broken
        hearts endured,
        traveling in-between
        the light, and
        dark, reality is stark…
        displaying tendencies
        beliefs, and
        lessons dreamed
        as we put pen to paper
        relating the love

        Liked by 2 people

      2. I love the transitory nature you portray. Poetry as vehicle, vessel, and reflective shiny shield. Thank you for sharing, Jeff. You should definitely post this sometime. Cheers.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. There’s certainly a lot of people on here write poetryFor me, the quality varies from excellent to impenetrable.

    It’s not just a case of “some people are better writers than others”, because people can come from totally opposite directions.

    That says to me that “poetry” means different things to different people. But perhaps the motivation for writing it is the same?

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you, kind Hobbo. My muse likes to take a bit of a break this time of year, so I’ll be pulling out some old favorites (this one included) to fill in during her absence. Hear she’s hibernating happily, though.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, John, and you are right. I wrote this verse to prove the higher purpose of poetry. I’d like to feel that fire again. Will just need to find someone to stand up to me, I guess. Billy Collins humor and wisdom appeals to me; like someone else I known actually. 😀

      Liked by 1 person

  2. My response.

    Poetry can throbs like a stiff pulse rising at 5 am.

    It lingers while your wandering mind searches for stimulation.

    Read it till the release allows the blood to flow from the veins.

    Poetry closes with a numbness that softly settles you back into slumber.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Not really. I did pick up a few things from it. Not much tho. He’s got an air about him I find rather annoying. He is not particularly talented I would say, I think he follows the “rules”. I like to write free or light verse. No rules for me 😁

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Not the best review. I may still sit in-doing dishes and what not. I’m not good with rules, but my muse does enjoy the challenge of a bit of structure, even if it’s ultimately cast aside. Thanks for your review. Cheers to you!

        Liked by 1 person

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