Calligraphy's a vain pursuit, akin
To sniffing one's own toxic, home-brewed farts!
I mean, what should be merely plain & practical
Breeds a stylish craft of futile arts
And hideous pride in small & worthless, personal
Deeds? The feckless grandeur shown within
Italic, even Gothic lines, reflects
The weakness such strong, caring hand protects!
But, poets don't subscribe to myths like this!
They scribble on in crabbed, half-legible ways,
Avoiding ghastly smells, the shit & piss
We give, receive & take in slapstick days;
Creating things of beauty, joys forever,
Here & now, not elsewhere, soon, nor never!
L. A. Barron
[13/4/2017]
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