*****

Recorded Reading (2:59): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/2nwcom7qfsuzt4jpd7gfb/Real-Deal.mp3?rlkey=uct0rmt8ppzyriaot6yguc1d1&st=8ssl70t7&dl=0

*****

This poet has been trying so hard to make her recently donated tiny-home van work legally and well. For her to return to life on our sidewalks is unthinkable as the disabled sixty five year old she is.

However ~ diagnostic work is now necessary to document the EMP attack which drained its battery in a few hours of sitting still today.

A private parking space is essential before any police complaint can be filed, and until further EMP protection can be purchased for it and any repairs made.

Do you patronize the arts? Then this is the poet’s outcry to you.

*****

Real Deal

Generations after they have gone to their
Eternal rest, reincarnation, or
Journey to meadows verdant, warm and fair —
Wherever people go when gone before —

Folks shake their heads the fate of writers o’er,
Whose merest scraps of paper now command
Ridiculous cost ownership before
Ne’er to be tickled by an ungloved hand!

“How could they not have known?” we now inquire,
“They in the presence of true poets were?
How could such presence failed have to inspire
Any observer greatness to infer?

How ignorant those people must have been
In that far gone and unenlightened day
To let the author of these writings keen
In underheated illness — waste away!

Oh, were we granted but one moment in
Such a grave presence, straight away we would
To put our deepest questions swift begin
Striving to make account of selves as good,

Then, thoughtfully considered, we pronounce
Opinions worthy of their great respect,
On subtle chance for humor timely pounce
And th’occasional bon mot not neglect!

Truly, we must have come so very far
From that dark age when such might walk among
The ordinary folk on sidewalks are,
As if upon mere sidewalks such belong

And not upon luxur’ious pedestals
Surrounded only fond admirers by,
Accept for autograph their annuals,
Each word doted on every list’ner by!”

— You have not come so far, not grown so well
Not spread your mental wings, you do not fly
In such clear air you can a poet tell
Any better than they did. Here stand I:

The poorest of your poor, least credible
And most despised among you, subject to
Humiliations so incredible
An enemy would not wish them to view

Do you buy paintings? List sopranos sing?
Specialize in an antique period?
Why do you not this living artist bring
Some sweet relief while it still do some good?

*****

The poet/editor of this website is physically disabled, and lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level.

Arts patrons may visit http://www.UgiftABLE.com , using code 72D-31S. It will take about two weeks for the poet to be notified of your patronage.

Thank you for supporting quality in the fine arts.