Where starts

this obsession?

Surrounded by words, lines,

How can one just explain all these

affairs?

 

Thomas,

Under Milk Wood,

Or Armitage, perhaps.

At school with War poets, Shakespeare,

Marlowe.

 

Finding

prose with the late,

Great Brautigan. Hearing

McMillan's radio programme,

The Verb.

 

Maybe

poetry’s Peel?

Does poetry's appeal

come from being universal,

Shared?

 

We move,

Bustling through

life with all these words: songs,

Poem lines, film quotes, across the

long years.

 

We cry,

Shedding tear fulls

at funerals, weddings:

Silence the heart with juicy words,

Feelings.

 

We say,

I cherish you,

In cards brimful with words,

Borrowed, subverted, made our own.

Perfect,

 

For now,

And imperfect,

Like humans and feelings.

We struggle and strive to express

ourselves

 

in life

when along comes

others' words describing

many eventful paths ahead

in verse.

 

With thanks,

Dear poets, for

demonstrating ways not

solutions in cartographic

poems.