Betray II

The criticisms still echo in my mind

Like the rumblings of a runaway train.

Well-meaning words spoken out of turn:

"How long will i teach before you will learn?"

Teachers are not so much at fault

In a system that forces ideals and ideas

Into a pre-set mold.

The attempt to capture the restless

Aspirations of a poet's dream-desire

Is like:

Nailing a board into the ocean,

Fighting fire with paper,

Wearing glasses in a pitch-dark room,

Building snowmen in a Georgia-June,

and Chasing the Wind.

Men and women brandish their degrees

Like weapons, fending off all aspects

                                            of common sense.

Poems are maps, leading into each

Poet's own world. The rules and laws

Vary from country to country.

The teacher who undermines the faith of

One poem, denies the freedom of all poems.

They explain what would be or could be or should be,

And in the same breath surrender

The sovereignty of their own voice

                           their own throat

                           their own lungs.

The sun blazes out of a hard slate sky

And the pencil-thin branches sway

With hints of inspiration.

A poet's hope.

The critic runs needlessly, heedless

Of the true plan... the TRUTH

That is so hard to understand.

The critic remakes the poet's map:

Erasing mountains,

Shading in lakes,

Changing the course of rivers;

So that finally the meaning is

No longer obscure...

...it is gone.

1994