Hating Poetry Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Hating poetry

I read Cate full of hate
Is it me, my writing, is it her?
Chin on fist sit and think; in silence.
She writes of metaphors
(Leaving place in the text)
I sure think: "what nonsense."

Her kettle, her teapot
Pouring water, silver drops
Plastic her cookie
Mishmash is; mean nothing.
I am left with question:
"What's poem? "
My thoughts are particles, linger on.

What is art?
What is love?
What is life?
And so on...
And so on...

The sound of radio becomes noise
Meaningless and worthless
Songs are junk
Sun is free; not lion
She is weak; it is cold
Thoughts are waves, as if Woolf's

"Cuddling jumbled words, "
Now-a-day make poem
As I see and read them
Like monkey; mimic them
So I hate yours and theirs.
And of course I HATE MINE.