We “real” poets revile
the puerile viral instapomes
yet hide our tomes in musty
binders, dusty drawers and dank
cobwebbed corners, burying
our heads inside our shells,
complaining of the state
of literature, sitting
on our golden wisdom
like fireless dragons,
lights under bushels
in an intellectual void.
***
Poets! Have you heard of the experiments to write the worst Instagram poetry possible? How does that serve the common good? Is there an alternative?
I hereby challenge you to flood social media with your best writing! Let’s offer an alternative to the trite fare currently offered for consumption!
Please use the tag #realpoetry and pass it on.
This is a topic close to my heart! I echo your sentiments regarding Instagram and flooding it with #realpoetry. March on, sister! 💝💝
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
[…] right hand know what my left was doing (when giving) and “not keep my light under a bushel.” A bushel of what? I always wondered. When my daughter learned the song in preschool, she sang, “Hide it […]
LikeLike