I often thought poets were over-rated. However, there is one poet whose profundity is never, ever too obscure.
And I would love to have a book of those poems... *hint-hint*
Well, so here’s my problem.
I start out with a poem that reads, “How do I love thee, let me count the ways.”
And I think, “OK, I earn a living which I share fully with you. You do laundry and clean the apartment. You shop for food and you cook when we have company. You have lots of projects ongoing which I support fully whether they’re free or cost money. And I listen to you tell me about those projects on a day when I really didn’t want to go to work.”
I count that as 1, I made you a partner in my life. But this poem went into things that make no sense to me, so how exactly am I supposed to count the ways?
It makes no sense.
Most are. Many of our modern so-called poets are mere pretentious posers. If you don't understand the poem, and don't care if you ever see it again, it isn't much of a poem.
Poetry is structured to be memorable, if not quite memorizeable.
I want my poems to have a message, and to capture a moment of charm, wonder, or just plain fun, and to help us look at the world the way it needs to be seen, from every angle and aspect possible.
The Middle Distance
Off in the middle distance,
I often find my gaze,
While those who think I stare at them,
Don’t understand my ways.
I give to them my neutral face,
And draw my mental shades.
My inner image overwrites,
And reality slowly fades.
My view is filled with diagrams,
Of circuits, graphs, and charts.
I don’t intend the rudeness shown,
Such staring thus imparts.
I’m closed off in a world my own,
Your world has lost my focus.
If folks like me disturb your space,
Just reach across and poke us.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . August 29, 2007