Poetic License

I not sure I’ll renew my poet’s license this year, most of the keepers have been kept with the biggest ones caught, stuffed and hung on the walls of tumbledown fishing lodges. Although there are rumors, that the big one Bishop caught and released back in 1946 still swims somewhere in the dark waters between Nova Scotia and Massachusetts. These days, Brautigan would have to wade much further upstream to go trout fishing in America as bass have taken over the lower reaches, which have warmed due to climate change, aided and abetted by ATV's SUVs, Jet Skis and those monster Bass Boats with their three hundred horsepower engines which race across the waters in those TV Bass Fishing Tourneys, even though I must admit I I sometimes watch them in the channel’s free month. but now I must paddle and haul my canoe over three portages to find cool water and a bit of peace and quiet. Then too, poetry isn’t what it used to be with rhyme, rhythm and form relegated to dusty archives in lonely libraries. Nowadays, everything is computers and online, with pen and paper abandoned, as Instant Instagram Poets proclaim over this “new” medium, spouting their infantile insights regarding the mysteries of life and love into an existential echo chamber, leaving us unpublished old poets grumbling in our garrets as we scribble by candlelight. .