The Poets Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

The Poets

Loved poets of old days
-since as kid to my teens
-saw them as the learned.

They knew, were aware;
-masters in rhyme, meter…

Their poems were lyrics
-soft, great and sweet
-or sharp, hard as dagger
-to cut hearts and livers.

They could be poison
-for sinner, Socrates…

Hate to call me poet,
-in these days, now-a-day!

I feel like cork in net
-on rock-side in ocean
-where net is broken
-and in it are the dead
-fishes and few whales.

Swollen, they stink;
-rotten are, with brains empty!

Up and down, yellowish
-go shallow bubble, waves.

Therefore I,
- "Am poet? "