Master
Poet Mark Knopfler
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_Knopfler
(c)2012 Bob
Atkinson
seems here a
decision needs made
should I go
with the flow
or send out
large waves
stand for
change, or bury my thoughts
let them
alone, or shake up the process
toward the
shores of calm lakes of the past
tranquil
mediocrity crowds out progress
keeps the
emotional elements suppressed
rips out the
works of the best
this lets the
world stand still
and a genre
fester, sadly killed
keeping the
Poet as not a large man
one with soul
lacking, not with talent
or, should I
without remorse
no regard to
safety of my name in due course
shout it out
loudly even if vainly
not my style
to be quiet I'll hammer it plainly
in my mind
current
establishment can't hold its own
gives accolades to drivel
to their own they throw bones
if this
shakes some conventional airs
my thoughts
wildly passioned carried by stares
as I look at
what we have produced
our libraries
and bookstores lie dusty unused
if it costs
me so dearly in getting support
then so be
it, at least have not lost my goals
to swim in a
school of sardines so aligned
a shark only
smiles as his teeth cut spines
here's the
dilemma
please help
me decide
which course
leads toward harmony
away from the divide
which way to
proceed
which route
to take
whose
feelings do I hurt
when I stand
up and state
an
establishment that feeds on egos ferment
an old way of
looking at those older precepts
cannot, will
not, move toward the future
without
redirection in assumptions of usage
poetry,
hereafter, garners much fame
when
acknowledge as useful within all our brains
prior to now,
we see those who use
words with
some useless, careless attitude
they call
themselves poets
even have
credentials of note
from org's
and associations of folks
who seem
important and fixed
with
attitudes of the stately mix
although
their impact to life is just nil
would not in
all earnest from them get a thrill
can't lift
wings of a gnat their words have no power
don't garner
approval from a younger crowd
from the
masses of people of different classes
both young
and old, the lads and the lasses
some very
timid some loud some bold
some learned
some savvy some overly stoned
they call
themselves talent
but talent
eludes all of their works
which they
publish though useless
walls of
halls in apartments of brick
are lined
with vanity's sickly garbage tricks
that which
they see as oh so unique
makes some
like me think they are dopey not slick
they give out
as presents
to all
relatives and friends
their "great
works" toiled
many night
times in bed
their friends
buy their books
only when
cornered
relatives
smirk smugly
when not
rightly sober
their wives
smile sweetly
when reading
diatribes
not wanting
to work
on soothing
hurt pride
so.....here
in this verse
I do now
declare
a quiet war
of words
about those
who don't care
that poetry
in form
has many
central themes
can come in
all forms
from whispers
to screams
from spoken
to sung for anyone
as long as
it's words shouted or written
and brings
out emotional feelings
it is poetry
which has useful meaning
if it doesn't
bring out emotional bursts
laughter,
singing or some such loud spurt
elation or
sadness or wicked gladness
with
some form of
confusion or sad illusions
then poetry
it isn't and a poet he's not
and his cheap
self image hasn't bought
him the title
which he gave himself
that Willy
Wonka toy on his belt
he or she
must
in order to
be Master of Poetry
write with
the Master Poet's hand
must have
purpose and grand emotion
to the word of
mankind have pure devotion
I leave you
example
a good
refrain
by Mark
Knopfler
a Master Poet
of fame
if your words
don't match his in depth
then you're
not a poet and thus you should quit
leaving the
verse to those who can write
who
understand the meaning of words not so trite
"........You
get a shiver in the dark
It's raining in the park but meantime
South of the river you stop and you hold everything
A band is
blowing Dixie double four time
You feel alright when you hear
that music ring
well now You step inside but you don't
see too many faces
coming in out of the rain to hear the jazz go
down
competition in other places
but the horns are blowin'
that sound
Way on down south way on down south London town...."
(Sultans
of Swing, by Mark Knopfler)
