Never Make Friends With a Poet (a cautionary tale)

Never make friends with a poet.
One minute they’re sitting at the table
Shovelling couscous with you, polite conversation
Then – BAM – they’re gone:

They’ve thought of a radical rhyme or a snazzy
Bit
Of
Enjambment.

Never make friends with a poet.
All the time you’re talking, spilling
Your guts out, they’re greedily gobbling up the entrails
Laying them out, secretly, in bloody lines and gory stanzas.

Never make friends with a poet.
You can’t go for walk with them
Without them turning it
Into some sort of symbolic journey.

Of life.

Never make friends with a poet.
Those flowers they bring to your party,
Pull back the paper – there’s bound to be
Some hidden message.

A rose by any other name, is probably
The fragile ambiguity of friendship.

Never make friends with a poet.
Small talk looms large.
Nice weather for this time of year?
A cloud, is never just a cloud.

Never make friends with a poet.
That poem they’ve sent you
Just to see what you think.
It’s probably about you.

(Unless of course, it isn’t. You egotist.)

Never make friends with a poet.
It’s just not worth it. Even for the
Assonance. The sibilance. And it’s even worse
If they’re a blogger too.

About number6

I am not a number, I am a free woman. More or less.
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4 Responses to Never Make Friends With a Poet (a cautionary tale)

  1. Macleod says:

    I didn’t know the meaning of assonance and had to look it up. I still don’t know.

  2. Lucy says:

    So glad you are back – though it has taken me this long to realize! Not, be reassured, because of lack of interest, but (unfortunately) tedious forgetfulness. Will have to call myself by my real name now as have tediously forgotton (for the second time) what I called myself before. Great poem.x

  3. Ruth says:

    Some of my best friends are poets … (and, yes, that is plural) … but I have to confess when I dabbled in creative writing to resurrect my brain after the latest round of childbearing, the poetry thing was *hard*, much, much harder than prose. So nowadays I just make do with knowing a few poets and being impressed. Including a *real* one who lives just down the road …

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