READER-SUBMITTED POETRY

I walked by the store every day, passing it in the windowThere it sat, winking at me, increasing my sorrowIt glistened at me, gold, shiny, and smooth, like a ringReminding me of what I could one day bePlaying for crowds in parlors, and restaurants, to bootRising perhaps to the same status as the DukeBut for now, it is but only a mere wishBut for now, it is but only a mere wishFor I have no more music ability than the most violent fish.

“The Saxophone” by Billy G.

“Freedom” by John H. LangstonThe chore of the thoughts and labor of the dayI shall surely pass out from the unbearable painI guess I have nothing to look forward to after allBut wait! What now? You speak of escape?You mean a few small bottles will stop this gloomy rain?I say, you have a twin, why didn’t you introduce me?And why must I hold on to my chair to prevent a fall?And why must I hold on to my chair to prevent a fall?

“To Read or Not to Read” by Phil M. Scott Hemingway? Gertrude Pound? It’s all one big mess to meThe mostly say the exact same thing anywayYou are all a Lost Generation they accuseAs if they were the ones intending to amuseIt’s no wonder no one reads them or listens to what they say For they left this great country, they are lunatics, and always will be.