I'm wading through mediocre,
looking for a tome.
Of words and wishes many,
that I can take to home.

I'm choking on the arrogant,
with answers that are strong.
But filled with fine hypocrisy,
still many go along.

I'm struck by those of faith,
who throw their fears aside,
by believing in indoctrination,
something I cannot abide.

I'm overwhelmed with intellect,
of those on higher plane,
can't get down to earth at all,
from their refined terrain.

I'm shunned by the exclusive,
under their special rules.
Upon a close examination,
just a bunch of silly fools.

There is so much promotion,
of cures for nearly everything.
Just sign up and pay your money,
get certified and swing.

Write for mass consumption,
quality is not required.
Just lots of shock and action,
your audience is already wired.

Just pick your bloated fantasy,
and let the sequels unwind,
get them hooked on escapism,
and groupies you will find.

Across this landscape barren,
I work my way with care,
someday on the horizon,
to find some classics rare.

Floating on a riffraff raft,
of data mining deep,
the future may find,
a classic I can keep.

Mediocre Isn't Remembered

Image © Roche Mamabolo

There are now more awards and more
genres, as well as those that titillate,
shock and pay. We also know that
there are more writers and bloggers
every day. Political spin, lying and
sin. With text and tweets and selfie
sweets, classic writing is harder to
find. Cursive is near gone already
and ink on paper is probably close
behind.  There are still gems to find.

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More Poems

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Copyright 2015 © Ronald W. Hull


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