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Oh Poet, Who Art Thou

Thanks to google images for the use of this photo
There's a vast array of poets
who cock their heads to the left
and softly stroke their poems
with haughty eyes.

Their golden words, on common paper,
hide thin skin people who bark and snarl
when different opinions cross their precious
verbs, nouns and adjectives.

Then, with mouths pursed
as if sucking sour lemon-drops,
they - in retribution - wield criticism
dripping acid.

How are we, the paupers of poetry,
to learn the fine art of writing?

Don't we all have meager beginnings,
starting with a blank piece of paper

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