Poem: Cheating in Poetry

Cheating is something
I know little about
Beyond a bit of side pirating
And the Trump-punching tirades
In dream-out-loud shouts

Mind you, if I moved to a land
Full of fundamentalists and conservatives
I fear my inner rage would be uncaged
And in jail I’d end up
After multiple charges have been laid

Or, a chill pill could help me avoid this drama
And poetry could be my inner Obama
Imbue me with patience
From Texas and rural Alberta
To the foothills of Alabama

Back to cheating . . .

Poetry isn’t really something you cheat on
But rather:
It’s like . . .
Like a steak at Red Robin
Or a pasta at Red Lobster
Or a pirate pack at White Spot
Or a McDonald’s full of mobsters

It’s the full meal deal
Genuine and pure
Straight from a true beating heart
Like the ear wax you collect
For a warm night’s mosquito lure

You can’t cheat at poetry
Unless it’s plagarising from a search engine
The beauty and charm flow from your bossom
Like a bedtime story legend
Like a Spring-time blossom

It’s therapeutic
Such wondrous creativity and meditation
It’s a community garden full of
Brussel sprouts
An addict’s intervention via vegetation

Without poetry, what would I do?
How would I release the pressures
Of heartfelt impressions?
So, my dear, never accuse me of cheating
Poetry moves the hand that moves the world
So stayed tuned for the next session!

~ Gunnar Våken