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I flipped through the channels
Click click click ooh.
I see young people on a stage
Pouring their hearts into their art
And I cried
I cried with a passion
Lost to me since the death of my inspiration
The chills still creeping
Down my spine
I can not pick up a pen fast enough
My creative soul is on fire
My hands shaking the words on the page

Poets easily half my age
Ripping out their hearts
Pumping blood upon the microphones
As if the ink that filled their quills
Ran through their veins
Reminding me of the reasons why I pick up
A pen in the first place
And I cried
Not out of sadness
But out of pride
My art is far from dead
And my reality is shattered
Being a starving artist
Does not mean I have to be hollow
I chose to be this way.
A nine to five feels beneath me
But it does not mean I look down upon it
My eyes are pointed to the heavens above
I will grow wings of ink and I will use them

This is not arrogance
It is a challenge
Not only to myself
But to everyone, who calls themselves a poet
We can not let this stand
And be outperformed
By the younger generation
We need to be their benchmark
Their brass ring
And will bean with pride
At finally being judged by our standards
So when they look back
At the journey it took to get there
They will finally understand
Why we did
What we are going to do

This is not the last you will hear from me
I have a long road ahead of me
For I have rusted in my stagnation
I will set that brass ring
So it will shine like a sun
For all poets in my wake
And inspire them to greater heights
This is not arrogance
This is a promise!

if the pen is mighter then the sword then the word processer must be mighter then the missile

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The following comments are for "The cry of a rekindled poet"
by johntellall

For I have rusted in my stagnation
Can relate to this. Haven't been writing much poetry lately. Short stories, yes. But, alas, very little poetry. And then I see all the young (and often illiterate) kids proudly cranking out poem after poem on networking sites. Sometimes I feel dumber having read their offerings but then there are those rare poems that make me glad to be alive.

Anyway, what I'm getting at in my longwinded way is that the older we get the harder we are on ourselves as writers. But we sure do appreciate those moments when inspiration hits.

Great offering, sir.

( Posted by: toscano [Member] On: November 2, 2011 )

Old is better!
Love this John...Never apologize for being old/older. And you are right...we example...lead the way for the young.

I don't know about you...but I feel I have "come of age" at this late stage of my life...when the AH HA moment strikes us and all the learning and teaching of our youth, finally makes sense.

Let's not waste it...but leave a legacy for the next generation. Having said that...I DO delight in reading something brilliant from a young poet pouring his heart out.

Good write!


( Posted by: Beatrice Boyle [Member] On: November 3, 2011 )

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