Yep, on my second reading and it still lies flat. Yep, I am reading my poem, and I get it, because I am writing it, but what about the ones after who are reading and say, “what?”
So, I read others’ poems and find I get it the first time it flows so well. It hits me where I am. Then there is the poem I don’t understand. Do I stay lazy, pass it by, move on to the next, missing a true gem?
Poetry takes effort. Riddles of sorts. Abstract or concrete. What is a poem worth? A minute, an hour, days or years? Listen, can you hear the author tapping away, the brain swirling the words around, a whirlwind of struggle, going down…the drain or into our hearts. A fire is lit and our feet lift off the ground.
So how can we get the public to see, what we have to say is important today. It may save a life or change a direction, a platform to digest meaning in life. What we miss when we hurry and scurry and pass the poem to future generations, to see another person’s worth. The madness is not the poet, the poet sees madness in you.