Words on Robson Poetry Contest Winner:
Fran Bourassa
I'm giving up poetry.
It took along time but I finally got the message. Poetry is no magic cure-
It's is no substitute for a mother. It can't bring back your father.
It can't buy you love or even pick it out of the crowd for you.
It doesn't make you a better person. It isn't a shield. It's a mirror you're
always checking
your reflection in. It's a rear view mirror and I've seen more than my share
-the light and all
the darkness and yesterday I saw it coming, I saw death coming straight for me.
I'm giving up poetry.
Life's too short and I can't dick around anymore. Don't fool yourself, a pen
isn't
mightier than a sword, it's only a skinny stick to poke at the world with. It's
not a
divining rod. It's clear to me now. Poems aren't crystal balls - I see metaphors
for what
they are - two-faced half truths.
I'm giving up poetry.
Poetry isn't religion though I can't tell you how many times I have knelt down
and
prayed out loud. Gulping down its verses; words in my dry throat like communion
wine.
And the rush of a good line is nothing more than addiction. Poetry - my drug of
choice.
But I've emptied the waste baskets, silenced the voices, thrown out all its
literature. Hid
all its pictures because I know, I know how words can turn into a rhyme at
anytime and
lead you into temptation.
I'm giving up poetry.
It's time to face only the facts. NO more walking the high wire, wavering on the
thin line
between this earth and heaven. I know its time to plant my feet on the firm
ground
because, because, because, my heart just can't take it anymore.
