“ A Poet ” ~ on more than allusions ~

When is a poet

A poet to be,

How will he know

It won’t be free,

To find reveal

What he’s to tell,

Starts on journey

Going thru hell,

Hence be the way

He learns to feel,

Afore he can say

What is real,

Thus to give sway

To worthy notions,

Be want of attention

To issues deserved,

More than allusions

Kept in reserve,

The while he lives

Born of a heart

Which can but give,

To occupy minds

That a poet seeks find!


                                                                   © Jean-Jacques Fournier

9 thoughts on ““ A Poet ” ~ on more than allusions ~

    • Terrific, I love it…! You’ve scratched my mind with the rose you’ve thrown to decorate my poet poem! Tho while the idea of your compose blurs the question, as of when is a poet, a poet, by the prickly thought of a gentile rose, that in and of itself seems far more certain than an aspiring poet’s likeliness of becoming a poet. Alas, poor poet to be, we knew him well!



    • No need to… it is indeed perfect. Just a few words that says much, neath the surface. Marianne has a knack of staying creatively afloat, while tempting the subject, quite successfully, to explore of what she is alluding. Must be a lawyer thing, check with Terry.



  1. How did I miss this post!!! Yikes!. Here’s my thinking of poets – they allow us to embrace ideas and concepts that speak to the human experience. With a few words placed gently together, we feel a kinship that binds our lives, our generations, our entire history. I love Marianne’s reference to Gertrude Stein – perfect!!!!

    • Well, my dear friend, if you’re having missed this referenced post, brought to fore this historic word, “Yikes”, I am most pleased for this, shall we call lapse attention that has us busy enjoying life. I had not read or heard the word Yipes in too many years, so please accept my thanks for making my day with its use, and introducing this gem to Marianne.

      Added to this opening pleasure, you further expound on the significance and import of poets and poetry. Those driven sufficiently insane creatures, who even now persistently dedicate a large part of their life, in an era that gives little or no recognition to poetic scribblers, as compared to the recognized writer/author poets of the past, when poetry was not only educational and entertaining, but an important communication medium.

      What can I say, save we are not all blessed with choosing our passion, as just as often, it is our passion that chooses us, and by doing so tortures us into submission to live with this addiction indefinitely. Thus there you have it, from a humble member of said creatures, forever addicted.

      Thank you Rebecca, for your ongoing kind words!



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