Jul 192014
 

I finally decided to declare myself

the Poet Laureate of Mulberry Street

to hell with the agents

 

to hell with the trade publishers

to hell with the academics

 

I know my work is good

Enough people have been

moved by it

 

I’m tired of battering my head

against an impenetrable stone wall

Tired of the snide comments

 

of the agents and publishers

and if not snide comments

robotic comments

 

I finally decided to self-publish

my poetry book on Amazon/Kindle

and why not?

 

My family and friends and few fans

want to see it, maybe even buy it

though money is not the object

 

No one gets rich writing poetry

except the muck-a-mucks

 

who somehow claw their way to the top

 

I’m tired of the game-playing

and I’m not one for conferences

 

I’d much rather spare my poetry and music

with other grassroots artists at an open-mic

 

What I write and play and sing for

is to dig deep into my spirit and psyche

and share the result with family

 

and friends and a handful if fans

What I write for is to explore language

What I write for is to take risks

 

expose phonies, fight for justice

paint pictures of my country and culture

explore the mystery of the cosmos

 

Open myself to intuition

 

That’s the reason I write

and I write every day

 

because my psyche and my soul

demand it, my mental health demands it

My integrity demands it

 

my sense of right and wrong demand it

 

To hell with the critics I write for the folks

who can immerse themselves in a song or poem

Though I may never be known

 

beyond Mulberry Street, except through the net

And yes, I declare myself the poet laureate of Mulberry Street

No apologies, no groveling in the dirt, no more kissing up

 

to the New York City snobs

on literary row pretending to know all

pretending to care about the poet

 

and the poem, the poem, the poem

mirror into the soul, gift to others

 

Honest words, also a gift

to family and friends

 

and grassroots poets

and a handful of fans

I love them all

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