The Poet's Yoke

Yes, I’m well known for my big mouth. Today, however, I’d like to climb down off my soap box and take the seat of humility for a change. In my commentary, I try to convey that fact that I am doing business with this myriad of issues right alongside my readers. As I have previously mentioned, the most difficult thing for any honest man is to coerce his life into living up to his own lofty words. All the more so for one who would call himself a poet, a prophet or a teacher. For those who would take upon themselves the supposed mantle of wisdom must also accept on the responsibility for their words and endeavor to support the message with a lifestyle and commensurate personal choices. I am clearly imperfect. Perhaps even the prince of imperfection, but I do take my own words seriously. My writing is actually the process of doing business with these issues in my own life and wrestling through them. It is how I think. The fact that my musings end up on paper is simply a bonus in the larger package of my giftedness, which allows me to share them with others who may be thinking through, or going through, the same things. I hope you find them of benefit. Rest assured, furthermore, that I also try to read my own work through the eyes of others because I understand the dangers of placing oneself upon the narcissistic pedestal of the pundit. To that end, I take very seriously the yoke I place upon myself by offering you my words and opinions in such profuse abundance. It is what I refer to as the “poet’s yoke” and that is what today’s poem seeks to explore. The wise man, who would speak, must himself be a part of the audience.

The Poet’s Yoke
The poet, the weaver of wisdom
Whose light shines so bright in the dark
Can he bear to keep his own counsel?
Will he, to his lofty words hark?
So quick to dole out the full measure
The world may have earned from his pen
Yet, once the ink dries, is he willing
To read alongside other men?
If his words are worthy, by all means
May he be the first to concede
To the yoke he would place on his brother
Then his pen may be worthy indeed
By Frank Carpenter©