....about the cockroach
There was a poet who claimed a cockroach came at night and tapped out poems on his typewriter. The roach could not press a letter and the shift button at the same time- thus was born poetry with no caps
I knew not of a cockroach
who could not push "shift" with his head
I knew not of Shakespeare
cold in his grave and dead
They told me of Peter the Pumpkin Eater
withholding the details of foot and meter
So, I studied the rules and regulations
and felt quite distinct a segregation
from those with high levels of education
who held me with obvious reservation
(William Packard certainly didn't write for me
his dictionary of poetry!)
But unlike some, since birth I've known it
every cell in me is poet
I need not copy the structure of others
Like me they felt it-we are brothers
Feel free if you are able, apply your literary labels
To you who choose to strictly adhere to the rules
who's to say what you might lose
It's the sound you hear inside your heart
not just your ears that makes it art
Poetry by Kathryn Watson
Read 717 times
Written on 2007-03-26 at 23:28
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There was a poet who claimed a cockroach came at night and tapped out poems on his typewriter. The roach could not press a letter and the shift button at the same time- thus was born poetry with no caps
What I Felt, Not What I Learnt
How was it that I came to be creator of such poetryI knew not of a cockroach
who could not push "shift" with his head
I knew not of Shakespeare
cold in his grave and dead
They told me of Peter the Pumpkin Eater
withholding the details of foot and meter
So, I studied the rules and regulations
and felt quite distinct a segregation
from those with high levels of education
who held me with obvious reservation
(William Packard certainly didn't write for me
his dictionary of poetry!)
But unlike some, since birth I've known it
every cell in me is poet
I need not copy the structure of others
Like me they felt it-we are brothers
Feel free if you are able, apply your literary labels
To you who choose to strictly adhere to the rules
who's to say what you might lose
It's the sound you hear inside your heart
not just your ears that makes it art
Poetry by Kathryn Watson
Read 717 times
Written on 2007-03-26 at 23:28
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
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