Why poetry?
A poem from the Strawberry Pi series
You ask me, sweet honey bee,
You ask me, ‘why poetry?’
‘Washing the clothes, feeding the kids,
Watch stock market, raising the bids
Those are the things that make sense.
Parking the car, potting the plants…
‘But I ask you, you tell me
Why the f… write poetry?’
This is my take, sweet honey bee
This is my take on poetry
You see a stain, and you wash it
You stir the soup, wipe out the spit
Of your impetuous child
You see a fault, and you correct it
Comes a question, you answer it
Nothing mean and nothing wild
And good thing you do! And so do I!
And still will do until I die.
I see what you see, my honey bee
I see the flower, and I see you
I see the pollen and the dew
I see your toil, and I see hers
I see the eternal splendors
and my heart feels the unity
the pollen of you, the wind of me.
You ask me, sweet honey bee,
You ask me, ‘why poetry?’
I write of the flower
I write of the dew
I write of the power
Of me, and you
I write of my need for community
I write of the patient sanctity
Of the eternal and the new
Do you not love your mind, honey?
Do you not get its intricacy?
When you do dream, is that in lines
With elaborate guidelines?
Is a text imparting your mystery?
Or is it not imagery
Which divulges your reality?
You can read ‘verse’ in Universe.
You win so much when you immerse
In the movements of majesty
Of your inner sanctum, honey.
Turning your back on metaphor
Is, of your mind, slamming the door
Leaving the key on the opposing floor
You ask me, sweet honey bee,
You ask me, ‘why poetry?’
As a poet, I’m a window
As a poet, I am a door
As a poem, I’m the marrow
The sacred juice that feeds your core
You ask me, sweet honey bee,
You ask me, ‘why poetry?’
I guess that my answer to you
Is: how can you afford not to?
