My Dear Mr. Clemens

Mark Twain, 1909“Don’t go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first.” – Mark Twain


My Dear Mr. Clemens

Am I not part of this world?
Was I not born of the earth?
As my fathers and their fathers
For a hundred thousand generations

I fill my niche eating fruit
From the tree of knowledge
Spitting out the seeds while I laugh
At the beauty of life

I walk through the woods
Plucking burrs from my clothes
Selecting the next generation
Of prey with my tools

Do I owe my fingernails a living?
Blood flows to nourish each
They grow and are clipped
Like the generations of man

About Bartholomew Barker

Bartholomew Barker is one of the organizers of Living Poetry, a collection of poets and poetry lovers in the Triangle region of North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit.
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5 Responses to My Dear Mr. Clemens

  1. Little Monster Girl says:



  2. Emily Cooper says:

    “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.”


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