Give Us Barabbas by JR Phillips

Last Bookstore by Apryl Skies © 2012

I sometimes think we are all kidding ourselves. To imagine that anyone
really cares about all these inner revelations of experience we
transform into something resembling poetry. Go to any local bookstore
and peruse the Poetry section. You will find it tucked away into the
most innocuous corner of the store. Of course there will always be the
required textbook authors: Eliot, Frost, Poe, Whitman, and sometimes,
if you’re lucky, Ginsberg, Bukowski, or Williams. I guarantee you,  it
will be the slimmest volume of books. I remember one famous critic, I
believe a former director of the NEA, once commented if all the
so-called aspiring poets among us would themselves delve into their
slim purses with the intent of acquiring, over time, their own
personal library of sorts rather than deferring to a workshop mentor
for a source of inspiration…But then why should we help contribute to
those capitalist pigs of the Publishing Establishment? Never mind the
fact that our Beat Generation brethren were all highly literate and
well-read and one actually had a real job and a house in the suburbs.
Will any of this lead us to a higher sense of vision or a more
purposeful existence?  Tune into the 6 O’Clock Evening News to find
the answer.

JRP © 2011