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I’d love to be inside the head
of the Phantom Oner as she
strikes again… with one deadly One,
cuts the previous ten right down
to a grovelling 5.5…

‘that’ll teach you, you big-headed smug,
with your groupies and brown-nosers; all your pissy posse…
THIS IS NOT A POEM…’

and with one bound – I’m free!

No longer need I try to write
a poem rich in metaphor like some jewelled scabbard,
declaring sparkling wealth and power;
distracting from the question,
is the sharp sword, of discrimination,
still there, sharp, inside?

or a poem so full of music’s sound,
it sings itself into the mind
like leprechaun with emerald guile,
in the ear of sleeping child…

or, any other sort of poem –
I’m free … now I know I can
please everyone, someone, no-one.. on a scale
from nought to ten or should that be
from ten to nought?

I can now just be; be my one self…
write from the heart;
remembering that all others have a heart…so,
thanks, O noble one…

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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