Happy you day, happy me day. Happy first day of poetry month

by jhon baker

in 1984, Marvin Gaye was murdered by his father in LA. Who believed that?
in 1917 Scott Joplin died in a mental institution, it probably wasn’t known for a few days back then. No internet and all.
I always laugh a belly laugh when I remember that the fledgling day of poetry month is A day for fools. That is what we are – fools.

a poem not about E.E. Cummings

Cummings wrote some wonderful stuff
about the prostitutes of France.
painting them remarkably deteriorated and
    painfully beautiful;
the fragrance of nightly breath enough
    to usher tears into existence.

so many,
I’ve painted and/or sketched words
about were this.
more we’ve made great who
were not, some
lent away greatness, now
insignificant.

never have I been a whole lover.
never have I known to give at such a level.
only that I have been the prostitute
in some sense of sense;
never the sexual admirer
that was E.E. Cummings.

– Hoc Scripsi

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