This about the time we’re going downhill.
Trying to be politic, civil,
to cover up what rebuke resides,
to discuss rumors, to basically go
to the boondocks, running up and down,
marching even, like soldiers, or
orators having a kind of field day
twisting anecdotes, singing elegies.
We’re old enough for erasure.
Soliloquys are for the Hamlets
and so, when everyone dies, let’s hear it
for Fortinbras, man of battle, rattling armor,
undithering, victorious, ascending throne.
But poor poets, who make nothing happen
(to quote Auden), charge up that hill,
hoist the flag, to change minds.
Change–it’s what’s needed–war of
words–to get us to the next place.
Prompt: Poetry is an exercise. War is an exercise. I’m trying to compare the two, as to which role each is assigned. It’s really a difference between speech and action isn’t it? Unless of course, you’re trying to blend, in which case you get to the “war of words”. I’m not sure if it’s a very successful thread. It’s all in accordance with Writers Digest Day 25 Prompt, which is to write an exercise poem. Read ‘exercise’ in whichever way you want. Well, at least I tried.