TO POET OR NOT TO POET

They gnaw at the door with their pointy, daggered teeth
Guttural grumbling from the mindless
Ever hungry for the blank page

The lexical mob, the tattered verbiage 
Claw for a place on the blank page
A small appearance on the empty screen
As usual screaming to be heard

It’s not fair you know
I am hounded by the tattered many
The street urchins of the English language.
The short, the brief the abrupt
 
The royalty of the language choose another
They wait patiently for placement.
Knowing full well their beauty
Content in the quality of their “saying”

Billowing, blossoming, bulbous
Weighty words 
Impressive in their pachyderm-ian progress
Wistful, gossamer, lace-ian, flighty
Reserved for the best of the poets

I, alas, pelted with the paltry 
Splattered with the scrabbled
Glutted with the guttered  
I, so afflicted, am driven to poet

So I pick and choose among the rabble
Some choice four lettered peon
In an attempt to wax poetic once again
To stop the clamor, still their gnawing

Armed with these poor expletives,
Here I attempt to poet once again