When do I get to call myself a poet? I’ve been writing more and more poems, yet too often I feel like a fraud. I’m certainly no Robbie Burns, William Carlos Williams or Brian Miller, but then again, Robbie Burns was not William Carlos Williams, and William Carlos Williams was no Brian Miller either. This whole poetry thing is relatively new to me. Can I call myself a poet? Or am I just some hack who slings bad rhymes like a part-time bartender slinging drinks in glasses that weren’t washed quite well enough?
Sure, I love a lot of alliteration, and I understand similes like the back of my hand, but is that enough to really say I’m a poet? Is knowing the lingo, and knocking off a few sonnets sufficient? Is it enough to pen a few haiku or ballads?
There’s a question: How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man? Perhaps that should be…how many poems must a (wanna-be) poet write before you can call him a poet?
Sometimes I feel like a fraud when I write a poem, but I’ve come to peace with this: I’m no Robbie Burns, no William Carlos Williams, No Brian Miller, but yet, my poems are mine and they fight inside me until I give them voice and release them on the world. I may be new to the world of poetry, but I am Bryan Ens, and I am a poet.
written for the prose poetry challenge at dVerse.