A Modern Poem

A Modern Poem

By Matt Purland

I'd love
To write a modern poem
I'd love to feel
The
Freedom flowing through my pen. Like fuel
No stanzas would I
Being
Young
Have for
What use have I for them?
I would prey
Upon my life
Giving
No excuse
For my muse.
I would write of my toaster
Sleek and black and my toothbrush
Which hangs
Rocking
In its rack.

Not art or life or love for I
Eschew
The tools of romance. What use have I
For it?
Nor heroes of literature
Myth and verse
They make my rhymes
Worse.

For inspiration I would go to the front
Door
And look out.
Not to books
Do I look
Or a painting or two
Well, maybe a canvas
All covered with blue.

I do not need to feel
Pain
To be able to write
Not I
I look to a
List
For shopping
And revel in its bliss imaginary
Thinking
This is a poem
As true as Keats.
As brave as Yeats.
As full
Meaning is meaningless

I abandon all thought of it
A poem is what you want it to be
What does it make you feel?
What does it say
To you?
What can you gather from its
Tangle of words
Is the key.
If you ask me what is its meaning
What is its point, its reason for being
You will be shown a smile.
Whatever you want
Friend
If you ask me isn't
This
A cop-out
I will reply
This is a
Modern poem.
The old
Rules do not apply I have no need for punctuation, wit or verve or
anything chiefly which will make for you this a poem to cherish
and
Love

Rhyme is a sin
Isn't it?
Unless
I wish to make a point.
Alliteration adds mystery
To
My meaning
When
By happy chance
I implement it.
Nothing to swoon
Over
Here.
My everyday
Trials
Are
Laid
Bare
For
Your
Interest.
What is most interesting is

If you look
Closely
At
My modern poem
You will see
A collection,
Merely
Of sentences
Cut up
And
Splashed
Across your page
Randomly.
Like
A cup of spilt tea.