THIS POET

THIS POET

I make no claims, I never have,

What you see is what you get,

All the words that I write down,

Are done without regret.

When you read you'll see yourself,

For sure you won’t see me,

And if my verses bring you joy,

Then with them you'll agree.

But then when scribed with bitter note,

That makes you feel unwell,

No doubt you'll choose not to quote,

Those words you cannot spell,

And while your thoughts discredit me,

They'll discredit you as well.

Tis not the Poet, but the rhyme,

You interpret when you read,

And you will not in verse of mine,

Reap of my personal seed.

Unless I choose to state it thus,

And then it will be clear,

Lest of it someone makes a fuss,

Disrespectful of my fear.

I place no man above myself,

Nor a man indeed below,

My mind is but a commonwealth,

That I hope my rhymes do show.

That does not dwell on simple self,

As only I do know.

I challenge in my verse all thought,

All actions right or wrong,

Though I might well be sometimes caught,

Where some think I don't belong.

You'll hide no private thought from me,

If you've thought it, so have I,

For I do seek to set you free,

From being dead before you die.

I'll make you shed bitter tears,

I'll make you rant and rave,

I'll make you face your deepest fears,

And wisdom you will crave,

I'll cause you to yourself be true,

To truth you'll be a slave.

What good is silence of the tongue,

If life is lived for gain,

Experience must though right or wrong,

Be revealed to conquer pain.

Untested patience has no power,

Scorn brings out bitterness,

Self-righteousness might well devour,

A humble man’s distress.

None who stand unchecked survive,

When truth gets in the way,

And if you are a soul alive,

Then you should have a lot to say,

Lest you are just another's pawn,

In a game you cannot play.

What is this poet writing for,

To wrap himself in fame?

To ensure that everyone adores,

His great and famous name?

Or could it be that what he writes,

He writes for you to read,

Hopeful that he brings delights,

To revitalize your seed?

Could it be he reaches out,

To touch you with his words,

That love within can do without,

Mistrust and its absurds?

Could it be he really thinks,

He sees what he observes?

To criticize the words I write,

Makes my heart feel good,

For I cannot be always right,

Though it would be nice if I could.

It matters not how you react,

If you react at all,

My ego will remain intact,

Being absent it cannot fall.

Judge me, the Poet if you like,

It will not change my lines,

Tis for you to ride your own push-bike

(and I wrote that because it rhymes)

Because even I, a humble bard,

Lack the words to write sometimes.

You may assume, guess, and say,

What you think as you please,

But the Sun will still make light the day,

It's rays filter through the trees.

If you think it's me who knows it all,

That's because you think it's you,

Such folk are ignorant, not appalled,

Who have such a narrow view.

I judge thee not but what I see,

That I have seen before,

I'll make it plain if I disagree,

Based on what then it was I saw.

For tis ignorant fools who cannot see,

Who lead us off to war.

We reap, tis said, what we sow,

But despite this the rain doth fall,

Too much and what it feeds won’t grow,

To little and we don't eat at all.

The less we say the less is heard,

And the more we need a drink,

For the mouth that utters not a word,

Describes a mind that cannot think.

Tis fine for those who rule the roost,

To say from words refrain,

It gives their egos such a boost,

And promotes their self-acclaim.

While preaching words not their own,

Hypocrisy is its name.

I find in life a host of views,

From folk who think they're right,

Are daily from the social pews,

Waved like flags before my sight

But if you or I decide to speak,

And state what we believe,

We are accused of trying to seek,

Thoughts that we would deceive.

Conform! Accept all that they say,

Keep silent and be mute,

For only they have right of way,

Those you cannot refute.

But strange as it may seem to some,

I wear a parachute.

Sometimes I'm told that black is white,

And that sometimes white is black,

And everybody else is right,

When they think I knowledge lack.

More oft than not they are surprised,

When I bring to light their sin,

And they wish that I had compromised,

That I become like them.

But that is not the way I work,

There is nothing false I can't see through,

In revealing truth I never shirk,

Be it in them, or him or you.

And those who try to dodge away,

Simply mark my words as true.

There are those robot righteous folk,

Who like to give advice,

Whom you can easily provoke,

And reveal they are not nice.

Simply disagree with them,

And offer up your view,

Tis soon out with the poison pen,

As they try to deal with you.

You see they are all not sincere,

Like a vain fish they often bight,

They must defend what they fear,

What they claim is wrong, not right.

For they think by quoting biased lines,

That you'll heed their selfish spite.

Few like the man who speaks his mind,

So I guess I have few friends,

And I find it easy to define,

The one who thus pretends.

I've shared the gutters with the drunks,

I've dined with Toffs and Sirs,

I've mixed with those who lived on junk,

I've been up and down the stairs.

I've been in the ring and in the cells,

Been among the social class,

I've climbed up mountains, been down wells,

Been without friends to cover my ass.

I've also been a Gentleman....

But on this I think I'll pass.

I have been alone and in despair,

Have known bitterness and fear,

Have suffered from a lack of care,

And shed self-sorrow’s tears.

Across half the world I've traveled free,

Malnutrition I have known,

I've been where no one cared for me,

But no hate in me has grown.

I've been the stranger and the star,

The patient and the nurse,

I've been where the Spirits of dead brothers are,

I've earned the right to quibble and curse.

So now you know so much about me,

You night like to read my verse.

Most of all and all the time,

I've been an honest man,

I've never let my thoughts decline,

To destroy what I am.

I believe in truth despise the lie,

And the unsaid lie the worst,

Which lives behind the righteous eye,

Like glaucoma set to burst.

I know the look; I read the signs,

So significant to me,

I can read between the flowery lines,

Through falseness I can see.

And when I know that I am right,

There is no way you'll bother me.

You would censor me if you could,

Lest I reveal your lie,

And even shed my noble blood,

For the same reason why.

I am not afraid of face to face,

Nor to look you in the eye,

But it would have to be a shady place,

Before you would thus comply.

Back doors were built for folk like you,

For the furtive cloaked retreat,

That all is secret what you do,

Far more than just discrete.

If a policemen asked you for your name,

And you fail to reply,

Your silence is to your own shame,

Considered to be a lie.

Tis quite the case when roles reverse,

That different rules apply,

But the fact remains that it is worse,

When the Policeman tells the lie.

You see sometimes one feels exempt,

From what is demanded of the other,

And is in truth a vain attempt

His own deceptive words to smother.

And when that goes unchallenged, mate!

The truth cannot recover.

Those who expect to be believed,

Should never tell a lie,

For it would be thus perceived,

As a sin they could not deny.

Even so they do deceive,

The folk who trust in them,

And plead that they do not receive,

What in others they condemn.

They seem to think their “purer” sins,

Are sins above reproach,

But yours belong in rubbish bins,

Where vagabonds do poach.

And thus again the liar wins,

Where the truth does not approach.

I have to thank you all, my friends,

For helping me to write,

And hopefully you comprehend,

How you inspire my inner sight.

I feed from you with great respect,

And nurture all I learn,

Though often you do so object,

As I seem not to show concern.

But being friends so dear and rare,

You tolerate all that I do,

That I live quietly in despair,

For my exploitations here of you.

For I am addicted to my verse...

And suffer deeply from what I do.

It is easy to upset a friend,

It is easy to challenge his view,

And from his reaction comprehend,

New lines of thought pursue.

It may not be wise and seem unfair,

To expose a friend this way,

But in the end I will have shared,

What discretion held at bay.

I can no more sail in a different sea,

Than I could wave a magic wand,

This is the poet, this is me,

This is where my thoughts belong..

So what you see is what you get...

Be it deemed as right or wrong.

So now you know what I am,

And what I'm bloody not,

A timid little diabetic man,

Who ain't quite done the lot,

You can curse and swear and hassle me,

And get the same response,

But never challenge my honesty,

For you'll do it only once!

I'm Loyal to and love my friends,

It makes no difference what they do,

And no matter how a bloke pretends,

Like a glass I'll see right through

And if a veteran needs a punching bag,

Then I'll try to be that too.

But I ain't gonna sit right back,

And accept all that I'm told,

By people who such knowledge lack,

Though they be grey and old.

Nor will I bow to any bloke,

(Though to a Woman I might submit)

And that, my friends, is no joke,

Boy some of them can hit!

I mean look at Faye, and Chris and Nancy,

Hell, what a team they'd make,

I reckon if it took their fancy,

They would every record break.

Not to mention necks and arms,

Of that make no mistake.

So that is it I guess for now,

I have opened up my soul,

For soon enough it will somehow,

Be rotting in a hole.

And who the Hell will really care,

What would be the bloody point?

It is one place I cannot share,

Lest the coffin is out of joint.

I guess we all someday must go,

No trace of where we've been,

So kick the door in; let us show,

Though we're not evergreen,

We'll leave our marks where ere we go,

And they'll know that we have been.

Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork

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