Poet Ed Dorn sat writing "Abhorrences" 
And the bastard persisted despite the assurances
Of posthumous poets who said "We don't like it a bit."
Ed Dorn kept writing. Said, "I don't give a shit."

He pissed off the gnarly and eluded the snobby
And he wittily titled his last book "Chemo Sabe."
And they all got together and demanded an answer.
So Ed Dorn lay down and then died of cancer.

So, farewell and adieu to the poor poet, Ed
Whose poems were better than whatever he said.
And, if he came back, he would wish he were dead.

David Latané recently reminded me of this verse from the Lost Poems of John Keats

How mini-bards geld the stallions of rhyme
With their verses. And how they do brood
Lisping the lucid light! Ah, nothing is renewed;
There are beauties both earthly and sublime
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
I think to write them… and say “Hey, Jude
There’s nothing to get hung about. Ah, Dude
Leave the throngs with their disturbance rude
And turn away and hear the midnight chime
The unnumber’d sounds that evening store:
The brusha brusha of great poets brushing off their sleeves
As candlelight causes them to grieve
In dulcet rhyme. Grieve for their Lost Lenore
In measured verse which even the moon bereaves
And brings to loving hearts the wild…the wild uproar!"




Another Poem from The Lost Poems of John Keats

Thanks for reminding me David Latané

On leaving some Poets at an early Hour

That one sonofabitch is really mean
And I don’t understand his asemic damned haiku
And what a jerk. What’s his name…Joe Green?
But what the hell is a po poet s’posed to do?
And the other guy. Asks me “Do you tweet?”
And I mention, by God, my nightingale
And what…he’s had six whiskeys neat
And tells me that he is out on bail!
And then they say “You goddamn Flying Monkey!"
And titter. And no… I don’t have no weed
Then they say the Sweet Coleridge was a junkie
And sneer at me when I cry out for mead.
So to the stars. The Wonders of the Spheres!
I flee to starlight…. but oh! The Darkness nears!

On Sitting down to Read The Chains of the Sea Once Again

O golden tongued Romance, with serene Uke!
The Quest for the Diamond at the End of Time
It o’ertops Tolkien and is a bit like Buk
And gives to Jimmy Joyce the Midnight chime
And he is there! There with, by God, yes, Mark Twain
Tolstoy, the Silky and the Loneliest Ranger
And the Visionary Company who once again
Ride out for All with no regard for danger!
Again and again they go to Wrigley Field
No where No when. God watching there forever
As the Jim Jims demand that all Love all Love yield
They cry out Oh Never! Never!
They die for us. Through them we ever live!
Divinity’s resurrection and all Nature’s purgative!