The Love Life of a Poet
Man and poet? Bet you know it
Tender verse can get you girls
Plain or – whoopee! – eager groupie
Matching your poetic pearls
Just how much you get to touch, you
Can ascertain easily
You’re a freshman? Write for trash can?
Or a man of fame - like me?
Publications! Invitations!
It’s a never ending show
Celebrations! Admirations!
Fans will line up in a row
They surround me, flitter ‘round me
For the words I’ve put to rhyme
They adore me and ‘encore’ me
For my sonnets so sublime
My reciting is inviting
My performances include
Joy, devotion, self-promotion
And an ode to womanhood
As I’m signing, I’m defining
Who this night my dear will be
Conversation, dedication
They’re an open book to me
This one swinger, she will linger
Help me with the volumes left
To my room then, love will bloom when
She applies her fingers deft
Just imagine how she’s stretching
On my long, luxurious bed
From that point though, things just won’t go
As I planned them well ahead
Yes, I crave to, and will slave to
Pluck the fruits when time is ripe
But there’s something interrupting
I’m the more reflective type
I stand thinking, she keeps winking
Wishing me into her arms
But I know I’m not to go, I’m
Captured by my muse’s charms
She is urging, I am searching
Words to frame the scene I see
Not her figure is my picture
But the form of poetry
Pentameter, hexameter?
Which will suit my feelings best?
She’s lascivious - I’m oblivious
Of her want, her heaving chest
Should I sense her like a Spenser
Honouring his Faerie Queene?
Or recall her like E. Waller
‘Lovely roses must be seen’?
Should I make clear like a Shakespeare
‘Love looks not with eyes but mind’?
Or bring words forth like a Wordsworth
‘Weak our will, our judgement blind’?
Observation, contemplation
Passion has eternity?
Confirmation, cancellation
Love will live, but not for me
Out of lust she hurries past me
Picking up some clothes en route
My excuses, they are useless
It’s goodbye, for now, for good
Oh, I could have and I should have
Known that this would come about
Not the first time, nor the worst time
That my love is running out
Plus point of it: there is profit
From each unfulfilled affair
A collection – quite a section –
Of the finest underwear
But no gain is where no pain is
Fame and fail go hand in hand
Greatest glory, saddest story
My career’s ambivalent
All the lauding and applauding
All my virtuosoships
It will sway by, can’t outweigh my
Hundreds of rejection slips
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