Video and editing by Matthew Hefferon
A Poet's Poem
This is a poet’s poem
because too often
both of those things
poetry can only be explained
because it is the union of mind
a literary liturgy, a written ritual,
a sacrament of verbal sentiment
bordering on word worship.
Poetry is when you tether letters to emotion
to give them lives of their own,
for thoughts without letters
are like birds
you must give them words so they can fly
fear not the fall
push them out of the nest and watch them glide
nourish them over time to see them soar.
In the world of words poets reign king
raining down puns with beating wings
collecting in groups to analyze and verbalize
what they see with collective eyes,
these squads of odd gods
reluctant master crafters
neither preacher nor teacher
but putting words to wisdom
observing and discerning
forming ideas with precise wording.
They’ll help you relate to your heart
which guides your flow,
view it from different angle
and you’ll see it’s all you know:
experiencing art as humans,
with a steady hand and a fickle heart
slowly poets craft their art.
Forever wielding their paint brush and chisel
a body of works held up by a fleshy easel
an entire gallery hiding behind their eyes
waiting to show you that their appearance
is their disguise.
These demonstrative literary sherpas
grammatical golems rolling down stanzas
picking up parts of speech,
taking shape before you.
Amorphous mobs of euphemism
forming a friend, who writes poetry, as an apposition
grabbing you with clause you can’t quite fathom,
delivering millions of hyperboles in a lithesome anthem.
Spanning across every epoch
poets are word warlocks
magicians of diction
who have an addiction to depiction.
Having the resilience to deliver coherence
pulling love for lexicon out of their hats
not fearing to indulge in that they lack.
Who else can take something as expansive as
and condense it to phrase,
data contained on the limited spectrum
of audible sound waves,
then lodge it like a bomb into your ears
and watch it explode in your mind
through your eyes as tears,
are the most unstable element in this universe.
Uranium has nothing on the havoc
some choice diction
can wreak on your cranium.
But fear not the humble poet,
that lingual alchemist
converting thought to phrase
that phase of brain matter we call expression,
symantec samurais slicing with precision
cutting to the core of things without discretion,
for they are here to help show you and me
that earth’s greatest work of art is