poet & the street lamp

i
poets are typically
quiet, introverted souls
except for

performance poets
who lightning
with earthquake
thunder

or poet actors
who resound to heaven
like the fisting waves
of a clamorous sea

the anatomists among us
would find that all poets
& their readers are graced
with over-sized hearts––
the better to feel with,
one might say

ii
the dna of a poet
is anchored deeply
in the center of the earth
& chained directly
to every animal/vegetable/
mineral spirit
that ever howled or rooted
in stony soil or carried the sky
on its bare shoulders

though poet genes
are extremely recessive––
all infants & angels
are blessed with a poetic voice

each child is born a poet
until their worried elders
trim the sensuous antennae
sprouting out of their calveria
which they fear are signs of
devil horns

iii
poets swoon to
the music of the spheres
& sometimes the muse
whispers in their
ears
directly into the dreamy
neurons of their
brains

or she rides
on the shoulder
of a poet-saint
to silence multitudes
with awe

iv
to imagine
is to create

& the poet
creates, invents,
honors, adores,
empowers, inspires,
invokes, blesses
& sanctifies

to recite the human
tale from where it began––
in the fertile soil
of the other-earthly
paradise beneath
your feet

v
a poet
is a vessel for empathy––
the bosom of the universe––
the rounding mother’s arms
that gathers all created things
into the shelter of eternity
to hum to them
a lullaby of life

calling out to life––
be calm, be well,
be at peace

vi
the most definitive diagnostic
of a poet
is the incurable affliction
of being in love
with all there is
or could ever be
all the time
in timeless time––

in love
with raggedy ann or raggedy andy;
with a grandmother’s smile or a grandfather’s laugh;
with dust motes & setting suns;
with the flawless ecstasy of
simply being

vii
a poet is a street lamp &
a street; a continent & a planet;
a sun & a solar system; &
one universe among many
times many big bangs

viii
a poet dreams
& love comes true
like the golden-diamond-flower-
snow-storm-embrace
of an angel

ix
poems are the words
that touch together
before things are––
words that cannot know
how to die

x
poetry is the freedom
to create
the isn’t that needs
to be––
the confident certainty
that all that is beautiful
will shine forever
through the flickering
transparency
of words