I fear being well-read

becoming lost in a deep

morass of others’ cleverly

sculptured words,

 

a Venus flytrap poet

stuck and slowly strangled,

sucked dry by the influence

of those who’ve gone before

all originality desiccated,

 

I want my words to drip like

blood, soaking the reader in

life-giving warm embraces

not spilling with a caustic

rattle like breakfast cereal

on a bone china dish,

 

influence can be viral, it

can taint, lure and divert

a poet’s purpose, a maze

of misdirection, a slough

of desperation, a quagmire

of the ordinary, I must

stay true to my words

© Graham R Sherwood 3/25