“A poet’s work …. to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it from going to sleep.” Salman Rushdie
What If The Poet Never Spoke? What if the poet never spoke, never sought to shape language, or take time to peel the sun-dried paint of culture from the boards of malignancy awaiting demolition, or to discover points of discrete difference and interventions of joy in this otherwise mundane carnevale replete with weeping clowns. What of the need of a poet to raid the sky so full of signs that need an interpreter who speaks in tongues of hope, though never of glory. What if the poet never spoke, even in their dreams? Copyright 2023 ©️Paul Vincent Cannon All Rights Reserved ®️
parallax 
What if a poet’s hopes exceed his/her grasp?
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Then it becomes a language of mystery as I see it, great question.
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Thanks.
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🙂
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Too sad to think of
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Yes, difficult to contemplate.
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That would be a sad day
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yes, doesn’t bear thinking about but it is possible, especially being silenced by power.
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Especially in the US where so many books are being banned
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Yes, we can’t believe it here, beyond belief, staggering.
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Your poem brings to mind Shelley’s essay “A Defense of Poetry.”
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I haven’t read it Liz, I now must 😉
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I think you’ll appreciate it. 🙂
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Great 🙂
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Yes keep speaking up through your poetry – great poem
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Thank you so much for that 🙂
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I shudder to think what would happen then!
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Beautiful.. though maybe poets were poets even before language..feeling everything no one else did. Maybe…. 🙂
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I would agree, and some turned to music, thank you Rajani.
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We’d have even less hope of redemption than we do now.
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I would agree, we are in a difficult time.
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Difficult. 🙄
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Bloody awful 😉
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Even better phrasing! I thought for a second that it might be fun to pass it back and forth, trumping each other’s awfulness while getting closer and closer to an accurate description of the times ~ and then I looked forward a few entries in my imagination & decided we’re both too good at it to give this a go without inspiring somebody’s suicide 🤣
Okay, back to Sugar Frosted Poems. “They’re grrrrrreat!” 🥣
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Ha, indeed, agreed. I know my British heritage plays out at times, the understatement. Once during some flash flooding in our district I amused a friend by saying that it was a tad wet – meaning it was a disaster, lol. No sugar though.
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Just dampish 🤭
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Lol, yes! 🙂
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If the poet didn’t speak, I fear the world would sleep too much. Keep on keeping me awake, Paul. 🙂
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Yes, no conscience, no awakening.
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