Should I enter for a poetry competition when I never win?
To quote myself, when do I begin?
Has it all been said before, who am I to speak?
A nobody yet somebody my voice has not grown weak.
I speak for all who speak for true, I speak for me, I speak for you.
Do I need to win a prize?
I walk under rainy skies.
A poet lives, a poet dies.
A prize would come as a surprise.
To an unknown such as I.
I dare ask why.
I do not believe a lie.
I butter up no buttercup.
So I am told to shut up.
My answer, no.
So on I go.
The fee is money down the drain.
Irish criminals live in Spain.
Is it a crime to write in rhyme?
I write for now and all time.
I mean what I say.
Meanwhile the world puts on a play and looks the other way.
I do not want a prize, acclaim.
Here below I write my name.
Money would be welcome, who pays for poetry?
Don’t ask me.
I live in Hell, all is not well.
An artist describes what he sees.
Who wants truth in times like these?
Who makes honey, honeybees.
So alone I wander on.
If I enter, money gone.
Am I sorry just for me?
No, I’m sad for history.
Will I, won’t I, should I do it?
Its only money, there’s nothing to it.
I am in two minds, as you may see.
A schizophrenic, that’s me.
Who will win, someone better?
Or in common parlance, wetter.
Come on world, must do better!
I’ll leave it at that.
As Shakespeare said, I smell a rat.
There’s something rotten in the state.
I hold my nose, await my fate.
This poem may go on too long.
Am I right or am I wrong?
Should I take up writing prose?
I don’t know, maybe, I suppose.
2nd September, 2017