Poetry Without Words

by Wayne Mason

When your young

you think of the muse

as a beautiful thing

But that isn't

always the case


she is ugly

and cold

But what does

an artist do

but illuminate

tiny truths

that most wash away

in the static

of t.v. screens

How many

poems birthed

by walking through

factory doors

or the malicious scowl

of supervisors

cold stare

How many

lines penned

under the influence

of hunger

and cheap beer

or to the tunes

of sirens and

bombs dropping

on CNN

In a perfect world

there would be

no poets

only poetry



Ego would melt

into yellowed pages

of archaic verse

and all that

would remain

would be the

poetry of sunrise

with a stiff drink

and a good women

Poems written

in open air

with each

and every


Poems written

with blood

sweat and