Poem: Creativity: A Poet’s Boss?
A creative person
Has no boss:
After all, creativity
Itself is the boss,
The process is the boss:
To create something
Out of nothing,
Is the true joy of life.
Thus,
Bosses become irrelevant:
Bosses feel like strangers,
Who are ultimately compelled
To resign and are soon forgotten.
After all, bosses are mediocre
And cannot issue marching orders;
Cannot force a poet to perform
Menial, mundane and trivial tasks.
A poet is not like
The masses: the poet
Is an ethereal being,
Who has a long and
Intimate conversation
With his muse in odd
Venues and at ungodly hours:
A poet has a date with destiny.
A poet creates spontaneously
And cannot be confined to
The four walls of a room,
Whether a prison cell,
Or an office space or a classroom.
Poetry needs room to breathe
Freely, after all, in the open
Air and wild jungle in
The lap of Mother Nature.
A work of art cannot
Be commanded into
Being by an army
General or Warlord.
An autocrat and dictator
Of a Failed State or Banana Republic
Cannot bark at a poet
Like a wild, prairie dog,
Expecting a genius
To submit to his wishes
Like a slave to his master.
Mercifully, the masses realize
Their mistake, bow to reason,
Push, shove and protest,
And, finally, the boss falls into
An empty void of obscurity,
Which leads to oblivion.
A poet is a sensitive soul,
Who ignores those who
Disturb the peace, create noise,
Call attention to themselves,
And demonstrate loutish
And boorish behavior in
Public places and polite society.
A poet, creative soul,
Reports to nobody else
Save for his muse;
An inner and silent knowing,
Which nudges the poet
On to a hidden pursuit
Leading to the emancipation
Of our human race.
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