Poetry by D.W. Walker

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Poetic Licencees

In one corner, the Purists,
Specialising in classical references,
Opaque symbolism and obscure imagery,
Rigid metre and complex rhyme,
Alliteration, assonance and resonant sound,
Issuing demerit points for perceived lapses.

In the opposite corner, the Verbal Graffitists,
Scorning rhyme, reason or humanity,
Using only four letter words
Starting with c, f and s,
Intending only to shock and annoy,
Chalking up bonus points for each irate condemnation.

In the middle, perhaps those with something to say,
Thinking that words are useful
When carefully chosen, organised and juxtaposed,
Hoping that someone will listen to them,
Understand, appreciate and take to heart
Their deep and meaningful insights
Into the world and everything in it.

But does it matter?
We know that nobody's listening,
And anyway, someone's already said that
Somewhere, sometime, much better than you can,
And somebody will tell you that if you give them a chance.

So why bother?
Why not go away and do something useful
Like cheering at the football or blowing up Parliament House?

Unless, of course, you're addicted
And write stuff anyway
In the hope that maybe, occasionally,
You'll get a laugh, a sudden look of understanding,
Or even a gasp of indrawn breath,
And leave on a high, knowing that it's not a total waste of time.

David Walker


Copyright D.W. Walker, 2008

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