What You're Not

You're not a poet--do not be ashamed
You're not a poet--very few can sing
Or play an instrument, compose a song
Or symphony, or paint a picture, draw
Realistically or write a novel, play,
Or television show, or act on stage
Or in a film or on the television.
You're not a poet--then again, you're not
A physicist or chemist, biologist
Or--though you think you are--psychologist,
Economist, or sociologist.
You have no expertise in these rare things
If you're a normal human being--yet,
You do not feel ashamed that you have failed
To be these things--but poetry's a form
Of language--and, you say, we do all speak--
And yet--and yet, and yet...we do not speak
In rhythms and in rhymes, select our words
With all their meanings and their sounds displayed
And crafted, framed and focused to be found
In ways that worry weary neurons pushed
Well past the way that language is most used.
So I'm a poet--you are not--enjoy
The work the artist does without resentment--
Enjoy the work the poet does--it's art.

I am the Poet

I am the poet in the tree
Up hear no one comes after me
I'm free, a flea upon my knee
I am the poet in the tree

I am the poet in the bush
And here my lyrics need a push
There is a thorn here in my tush
I am the poet in the bush

I am the poet in the grass
I'm laying here next to my lass
No lyre here, but only brass
I am the poet in the grass

I am the poet in the ground
Where poets always can be found
To Hades, down, then upward bound
I am the poet in the ground

I am the poet in the sea
The fishes swarm and do not flee
The sharks ignore my final plea
I am the poet in the sea

I Promise You

I love you for the things that make you you
I promised it to death
I'd love you as time works to make you new
Love takes away my breath

I love you every atom made of ash
My supernova star
I'd love you through eternity's short flash
That makes you feel so far

I love you even when I cannot say
Or horror dare forget
I'd love you every evening, night, and day
It's grown since we first met

I love you, every single lovely segment
And unity's relation
 I'd love you even if you were a figment
Of my imagination

The Future

The butterfly is leaping from the cusp
The petals make unfolding in the sun --
A flap, a cantor dust of dew sprays out
From hair-wide legs and in the air have spun
In golden spirals undulating down,
Refracting butterfly reflections won
In scattered wavicles of laser light
That cause cascades of soft delight begun
On mossy mornings when the sky is low,
On mellow mornings when the white is dun --
The sun is soft like petal hairs the breeze
Is undulating in a subtle run --
And with the burst of heat each rigid wing
Announces that we all will feel the spring.

Beauty and Ideology

In beauty there is strong connection
In beauty there is love
In beauty there is paradox
In beauty there is awe
In beauty there is growth and life
In beauty there is infinite delight
In beauty there is deep complexity
In beauty there's the promise to be free

In ideology there's only hate
In ideology the other must soon die
In ideology the misanthrope survives and thrives
In ideology there's but conformity
In ideology the demons find delight
In ideology there's only death and slavery