Yes, in this youngest world
Maybe women can be writers
And achieve fame and livelihood
Without barren men to falter their craft
Maybe ten thousand martyrs are enough?
For women poets to be read and loved
To flourish from the pen of their wombs
And not find society admitting incapability
We who live in an increasing illiterate world
Must fight the language of our times
For all those who would profit, must
In a way, abandon their love of art
Technology being mobile, is a visual parade
Where books, and sages of wordsmiths must
Write alone, or else post on very tame blogs
Imagine private authors doing social media?
And become published in niche magazines
Yes, in this youngest world
Maybe writing in elegance has been lost?
We who ornament our lives with so much skill,
The ethereal spark of creators a transient tenement
Sex is not sex, when gender is so fluid
Are we satisfied with being intelligently ignored
By a world so satiated with mass media
That we do not respect creativity in its earth
Or share a sense of reverence for the philosophical
The poetic, the artistic that requires some thought.
And, if poetry is surely dead, then become novelists
Industrial poets, digital marketers, online journalists
Geniuses of new media, invigorated by the liberty
Of online avenues, content writers on applications
Be the interface with the poetry of the past
Reincarnate your gifts for a new world’s mediums
That publick faith that women best express
In allowing the world its distinguished femininity.
