Some say it is trickery that poets secretly do,
to pretend to understand the incomprehensible
words of each other. Some poets say poetry
should not be easily comprehended, that even
other poets should not see, or the art is not
of the true deep, hidden source of secrecy.
I read poems that lift my spirits, and some
darkens my soul, even with true life and death,
but I feel my eyes squint and my brow push
down to a wrinkled quandary as I try to see,
to find meaning and purpose and message, to
apply the plated words to my taste and be
aware of comprehending and understanding.
Do those of us who love poems love all?
Is every poem ever penned done with message
and purpose that all others, or just some,
might perceive and claim joy found
in the artfulness and clever voice
of the poet who sat and wrote words to read?
© Bill Reynolds 2/14/2019
Look both ways and Happy Valentine’s Day.
Mind the gap, but don’t gape.
O Captain! My Captain!