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Poetry: Critics

by Charles Slavis

Judgement Day

I stand here
naked before you.
Do you care?
I start to abhor you.

You read my scroll
with eyebrows raised.
I bare my soul,
as I'm appraised.

Some of you scoff.
You laugh and smirk.
I'm written off,
as if a jerk.

This guy's no poet.
He can't even rhyme.
The words don't show it.
His work is slime.

And yet I know,
I've much to tell.
I want to show
what I know well.

As my words paint
rivers, trees, and water falls,
you voice complaint.
You are appalled.

I look again,
to see what's bad.
I need a friend.
But, find my Dad.

My hair is too long.
That awfull beard.
I married wrong.
Words go unheard.

I didn't mean
to bother you.
Just share a dream
between us two.

I walk away
with downcast eyes.
Mom starts to say:
"No need to cry."

Then my words
paint an eagle.
A majestic bird,
not just a sea gull.

Another critic
loves the view.
He raves about it,
and all I do.

Sometimes you go
farther with your mother.
When you show
to one or another.

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