Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017: #21

Micropoetry MonthThey say poets shouldn’t write poems about poetry… but then, who else will!

What about poetry though? Bring your thoughts on poetry- how far does it reach, can it make a difference, are people who aren’t writing poetry, reading poetry? Or do you write for yourself, because you can, because you have to and it doesn’t matter if anyone else reads it or not. How do you engage readers, be effective, cause change, does that even matter? Be a poet, writing about poetry, for today!!

Share your micropoem through comments or using Mister Linky. Hope you also stop by to read the lovely poems shared by fellow bloggers.

Upside Down

He sits across from me
on the 8.14 train,
his eyes keen on the bottom half
of his folded tabloid,
I read the poem hanging upside down
on the back of his paper,
its silenced voice smelling of curdled ink,
its forced smile overturned into grief,
its wordless monochrome arms,
flapping like oversized shrouds,
unable to hold up the new world order.
He looks up and smiles politely,
turning the page.

 

 

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47 thoughts on “Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017: #21

  1. Oh I’m trying to imagine those ‘wordless monochrome arms, / flapping like oversized shrouds,’…and after reading this I don’t know how I dared write my lines and post here. Poetry is a topsy-turvy world, isn’t it?

    Like

    1. Your poem was beautiful.. thanks Sumana. Yes it is a completely topsy-turvy world.. don’t know what I’m doing sometimes trying to write and then there are the rare good moments that are entirely satisfying!!!! For some reason one came by yesterday when I wrote “Myself from Myself”!

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  2. This is so powerful! Especially this; “I read the poem hanging upside down on the back of his paper,
    its silenced voice smelling of curdled ink, its forced smile overturned into grief, its wordless monochrome arms” ..took my breath away!

    Like

  3. A myriad of emotions in this, stark loneliness was one, but also the daily humdrum of modern living, and as Milan Kundera put it, ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being.’
    Once again, I am humbled.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. 🙂
        Urgent poems write themselves. The poet can claim ownership, but the poem knows better (“We dance round in a ring and suppose /
        But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.” – Frost)

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  4. Whoever says poets shouldn’t write about poetry hasn’t felt (or read) enough poetry. What nonsense. Why should anyone stop writing about the thing that feeds them? Nonsense, I say.

    That final smile, in your poem, made me smile… Because I’ve seen it. And I’ve smiled, too. 🙂

    Like

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