Jan. 24, 1973 Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

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"If Tom is Listening"

Bartering lampshades, oblong prisms
Spreading reds and greens
Through our own personal quintessence of being...
I am not in contention for a prize
I am not urging unfortunates to vote for me
I am a poet
A soft brush of lips in the dark
Gentle caresses at midnight
-I am not unmatched
-I do not revel in perfection
These scribblings on white paper
Represent my present feelings
They are my mirror to reality-
Reflecting lost emotions--
Guiding certain people homewards
If a poet were competitive,
He would never let the songs of the gentle muse
Dare touch his lips again.
A poet is but a wisp of silk
In a world of plyboard
Ethereal like the words he indites.
I am writing verses
You may be critical
You may be touched
You may remember, "Yes, I felt that way once."
But do not fight me
Because I will not fight.
I may not be a perfect writer
I do not profess to be
I am simply a poet
And this is simply a poem
And let it be to you nothing more.

1973

copyright 1999-2004 by Michael F. Nyiri
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