DEAR POETS / Poem by Joanna Svensson

Poem by Joanna Svensson



I have met an abandoned poem
That no one wanted to acknowledge
He was badly limping and Oh, so sad
And freezing in his torn clothing

He would have been a most wonderful poem
Decorated in wonderous shades
With a beautiful context
But the poet was so whimsy
And his words started staggering
With letters getting out of place

So, in sheer rage and anger
The poet tossed his poem
Wrinkled and torn
Straight through his bedroom window

It was raining cats and dogs outside
The Harsh wind swept
The rain drowned streets
This stormy night in October

Crouched together he sat by our doorstep
So I took him in my arms
And I let him in
Into our house and home

He looked amazed and said very shyly:
-But so many beautiful poems live here!
I see bookshelves filled with names
And I know them all too well!

Oscar Wilde, Heinrich Heine, August Strindberg, Jean-Paul Sartre
Kirkegaard, Nietsche, Yates and Bates, Karin Boye and Nils Ferlin
Even though some were controversial
And not just cherished by all
I was never given the chance
To grow interesting and big
I was just thrown out
Unfinished – into the gutter
Half naked
In the autumn wind

I know that you can polish my words
That you can pluck my letters together
And feed new life into
What I really want to say

So Thank you! Thanks for this!
That you let me linger here
In your poet’s poem’s world
To nurse my sensitive soul

That I might get dry
That I May bloom
You give me new wings
To take to the sky
With your Lively elegant writing
On a newly cut piece of paper

Yes, you let my lines breath
With newly painted colors of fall
In all of the finest shades of October

So then I will get – as autumn like dressed
And colorful as all the others
Poets that live and thrive
All in your beautiful volumes

The poem tells us his story
How it was initially ment to sound
-‘Cause no one would know
How to write me down – except me!

The power of the poet
Has ignited in me
The words with magic energy

This crushed and wet
And gone astray little poem
That no one wanted to know
Got his self-confidence back
His self-esteem,
his power and his strength
Did get his chance to bloom
To tell his evangel to all of those
Who has red him ever since

So, dear dear poets
In what ever piece of mind
You may be
Never throw away
A help less undressed poem
No – let it grow instead
And rest and breath
Let it dwell with others
In the top shelf of your desk drawer
Let the flow of mind nurse it
And let the poem gain new life!

©® Joanna Svensson

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