Some idiot

Some idiot

Who may have been

An agent provocateur

Asked what makes a guy think

He/she is a poet

As if there was an easy answer

To a self-reflection

From the self-absorbed

What does it matter?

What is poetry anyway

When it is part of life.

Is it art?

An expression

A desire to communicate

Lord knows some words hold power,

Terror, beauty.

The first thing they do

If there is a revolution,

A great change,

Is to tear down the statues

Pull down the paintings

Burn the books

Hail them as irreverent

Unholy,

Subject to blasphemy.

Hoarders store them away

Until another day

When the world turns

Outward again.

I write stuff

But is it poetry

If nobody reads it

Buys it

Wants it

Feels it.

Does it matter

Is everybody a poet

Nobody?

A reconstructed levelling

Up or down

Power to the people

But not too much.

Art is elitist but

Expressionism

Is accessible.

Pull down the barriers

Level the playing field

Make it bland

Artificial intelligence

As creator.

What is so different about an artist?

Is it the Emperor’s new clothes

Is it decadence

An unessential barrier

To equality?

Ars longa, vita brevis

If that is what you like

Why not.

Shakespeare is an irrelevance

Auden a wag

I am just a windbag

With a loose tongue

A fondness for good wine

And enough foolishness

To believe original thinking

Is a necessary evil.