I too, dislike it, the pretense and the fiddle
The showy display that's just a belittle
But reading with contempt, I find
A place for the genuine, in its kind
Hands that can hold, eyes that can see
Hair that can rise, if it must be
These things are important not for show
But because they are useful, and we know
When they become derivative and unclear
The same goes for us, if we can't adhere
To the things we can't comprehend
We cannot admire, we cannot befriend
From a bat hanging upside down
To a wolf sitting still, without a sound
The critic with his skin that twinkles
The fan with his stats, the mind that crinkles
All these phenomena are important, it's true
But we must make a distinction, it's not just a few
When half poets bring them to the light
It's not poetry, it's just a sight
Until the autocrats among us can be
Literalists of imagination, above the degree
Of insolence and triviality, we'll wait
For the imaginary gardens with real toads, our fate
So demand the raw material of poetry in its rawness
And the genuine, on the other hand, in its brightness
If you're interested in poetry, it's a start
For it's the genuine that moves the heart.
By Otieno Elvis Gikoi
THE ELO’S POETRY
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