a poser's dilemma

.

a poser's dilemma

maybe old poets

ferment

like good wine

or 

turn green

not like an amateur

but like moldy bread

or

have loose stools

by their desks

incontinence of words

or

seal the leftovers 

too tightly

no leaks, no nothing from the pen

or

steal others' lines

rife with impunity

who would think sweet old poets could ever?

or

just lay their body of work

to rest in a grave

next to the ashes of the unknown poet

or

just disappear without a trace

or maybe just a trace

if we look hard enough...

the outline

a body?

or a body of work?

is there a name on the headstone?

or just 

"anonymous"---

a flagrant fool to his wares.

or...

erin-cilberto

4/3/22

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

I have read poets who died young centuries ago. They are real to me and still taste like fine wine. Their emotions reach the heart centuries later. You never know who will be reading your words in the future. Your words may survive you. That's what a poet hopes for. Writer's are no fools to their wares
They live to write.

Chris

[jacob erin-cilberto]

or write to live...thank you so much for your words, Chris,
j.

[William Michael Reeves]

Hey there Jacob. Bill read your poem and went and buried himself in a grave. Russian Orthodox. It had a crooked cross posing on the headstone. I think he thought you were writing about him. I dug him up and explained your poem to him like this...

On the stone was writ
Anonymous s**t
Buried the moldy poet
Green as the grass
Fertilized in continence
Left over lives
Disappearing
Dead
Out of line
Writing in a fit
Not knowing when to quit
Unknown poet
New to words
Knew they had no ink
Fooled by the poem
Stolen
Rotten
Letters like grain
Swim in the sweet spit
Rowing till they bit it
Or, oar ore
Mined with an empty pen and mind
Heavy as the head of a poet
Stoned
Posing like a body working in a grave.

I think Bill got it 'cause he jumped out of his hole and struck a pose like a poet, proud!

Sincerely, Billigami

[William Michael Reeves]

Whoa! I'm coming back to this. Please stand by....

[jacob erin-cilberto]

see you when you get back....

[Pete]

i can see that kilroy was here. very clever and poignant. i think they retire on dusty bookshelves. an eternity waiting for occasional curious fingers to revive. we only hope that our words are carried in someone's heart/soul somewhere ... :)

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Occasional fingers do revive....hopefully to do as well as in the first life.
thank you, Pete,
j.

[renea]

i love the way emotion in this poem i felt so much coming from this it made me remeber about the past a lil

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, renea,
j.

[JE Falcon]

no headstone,
nothing but ashes scattered
among the roses and the hollyhocks.
No, nothing left behind
but words.
Just had to leave it open-ended, didn't you my friend, LOL.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

or....maybe not.
thanks, JE,
j.

[Lathen Griffiths]

I enjoyed the loose stools lines, my mind was sent in all directions, I suppose none of us ever get to know of the legacy we leave behind, I suppose it makes the now all so much more relevant.

Lathe

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind review, Lathe,
j.

[Cherrie]

What comes next,
after the turning of the page?
Then the closing of the book.
Will that final word make us weep, then possibly read it, once again.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Probably both, I would guess.
thank you, Cherrie,
j.

[Patricia]

Yep, feeling it, about to give up the pen myself and disappear again, I’m good at it. Hint… I love Utah such great writing here! I almost cried :( That’s a compliment btw

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for the compliment, but please, no disappearing act...we have enough magicians in the world, we need our poets.
j.

[Laz K.]

Just yestarday I re-read Shelly's "Ozymandias," and this poem made me think of that proud tyrant that also wanted to leave something of himself to posterity. We know how it turned out for him. Or, one could point to Shakespeare's Sonnet 18 - "...But, Death shall not brag Thou wanderst in his shade." I am convinced that creative work is never lost, but that the realizations one makes in the process are carried over even beyond the grave. It is part of evolution - not of the body, but of the soul.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I really like your response and do hope it is true even now, and not just for the older poets of yesteryear.
thank you, Laz.
j.

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Jacob... in your golden years-- you need to be kneaded like dough rolled out with flour to be baked at 350 degrees in the Oven of a Lover.
Then smothered with Raspberry Jam and Butter. gently, Pat

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your words, Pat,
j.