June 2. 2017: Just Poetry

My father said “I don’t get it” once, after a reading
He was referring to poetry, naturally. Not mine just poetry.
It is a valid complaint: these fragments can slip through your fingers.
I didn’t get it either, and I don’t think I have it.
It takes more than breadcrumbs to catch poems.
In fact they can’t be caught.
It takes a mind to be caught, it takes another to think like you do.
Poems don’t think, they are like ash trees
That repeat what is said under their shade.
Poems repeat what is said in our shade and under our breath
The conversation that is,
Not was, and was never said but continues.
But we can never hear more than a whisper of what was meant.
It will never be got, it is not ours for the taking.
We will never be that close to a poem.
When they brush by our ears and we turn around to find them gone,
That is the closest we can ever be.

That’s all the samples (read: advertisement) for now. For more recent poems check out my recent book All the Mediocre Tidbits of Life, or my older collection Fleshpot & Honeysuckle In the meantime, I’m preparing other projects to work on and new articles to share. About time!

Cheers,

-PH