--Why do we love a poem, or a poet?
The poem imparts a feeling,
captures a moment,
expresses a thought so…
-- Umm, tip of the tongue...
well put and concise,
that you think “Ah”…
You read the poem,
over and over sometimes,
saying it out loud, just
to hear it roll off your tongue.
--“How fucking beautiful!”
Is this how the poet would say it?
You play with the modulation,
the meter, the dynamics.
--You feel like Van Gogh!
Painting a picture with your mouth,
syllables brush stroked
from lips,
capture your heart….
The poet, the same one,
over and over…
--Why?
You love:
how they think,
how they feel,
what they say,
and how they say it.
Once you have found a poet
--to call your own,
it doesn’t matter that every
poem they write, won’t win the Laureate award.
Its another insight into them… their mind --
That wonderful place, that creates those magical words
we hunger for, like young dogs feeding.
Not stopping once full, but consuming, satiating
to excess.
--Yet, you write, I write, we critique?
Tempers flair, egos bruised, pride pummeled into
submission.
Looking for that gem, that “Jewel”,
Everyone calls a poetic masterpiece….
~Jefe
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