The Rogue Poet

Back when thought that words should tangle in twain.

 

The Rogue Poet

© 2003    Mark Pearce

 

 

‘Cross the windy pylons ‘round Wilshire breathes a specimen,

Aged in appearance yet menacingly sharp in craft.

Men will shake and daughters flee from a brutal fury unleashed.

 

The rogue poet.

 

Some say the beast’s of human origin.

It may be true.

Eloquent words which trickle from the tongue

Chill philosophers and judges to the marrow.

Beware –

For this beast kills through kindness and confrontation.

 

Take all precautions.

It may be best that you close your heart to the spoken word.

Discard your aspirations, as they can be used against you.

 

You’re but a helpless child wanting to hear more.

Listen to me.

You must turn from desire. Deny your thirst.

And run from the spell of the poet.

 

A word, the lethal tool, can obliterate the stoutest defense.

A simple phrase, with a tine, a meaning, a lilt –

And we sit here, smugly, with our “proprieties” and legal ramifications

Waiting for the spark of confrontation.

 

Caught!

Exposed and unaware.

Another hapless victim of

The rogue poet.

Author's Note

Pardon the rogue.

Reviews

[Siddartha Beth Pierce]

Quite a wonderful tale...the rogue poet is someone I should love to meet frankly - perhaps he could help me out of a scuffle of words or two...if he were to care enough to aid me in my time of need.

A quite like this fellow although he is menacing in a way. Nice write indeed. Thank you for sharing.
Light,
Siddartha