Photo Credit: Miesha Moriniere via Pexels

What’s the point in Poetry?

I realise to myself

As I recite a little rhyme

How these poems are not political

They’re just about the time

I hung washing in the garden

Or took a trip to France

Or ate baguettes and cheese

beside some flapping underpants.

Flapping in the breeze

‘cause actually it’s Britain

We make it through the summer

And still have on our mittens.

The point is, it’s not moving

It’s not going to change the world

And so these little words

Are straight and come uncurled

Like hair bounce without hairspray

At the end of a long night

(When you get home all dishevelled

And look a rather ghastly sight)

The point is, what is poetry

If it doesn’t mean a thing?

If we write nonsense; lucid fiction

What goodness does it bring?

Does it make you think

Or want to read it to a friend?

Is it creativity

Without beginning or an end?

The point is, your words matter

No matter what you say

So even if it’s nonsense

There’s got to be a way

To express your great big thoughts

And share with everybody

They may not like, agree or listen

But at least it’s more than shoddy

Attempts to sit at home

And live inside your head

It may not be great prose

Like the Shakespeare books you read.

But you have to share your story

No matter if its faff

One day you might write something

That isn’t quite as naff

And then perhaps just someone

Will read it to the end

Their life might change forever

You might help them to ascend

Up to a place of happy

Of winning, or success

It doesn’t matter what you write

Write what you think is best!

Cause some mischief and contention

Make a stir amidst the poets

Write something that no-one has

Not even all the ‘know it’s’.

Have some fun creating

Let the inspiration flow

You know not where it’ll take you

But it’s time to try. Now go!

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