It’s interesting to me how poetry can come to life while sitting around listening to poets and poetry aficionados speak excitedly about this poet or that poet, this poem or that poem. These conversations are not scholarly presentations, but simply friendly exchanges among people for whom poetry means something special.
I cannot imagine myself being sufficiently entrenched in wanting to understand, or to create, the meaning behind a poem ever to be a good poet. But I enjoy writing poetry from time to time, regardless.
This evening, as I listened to conversations (not necessarily involving poetry), I began contemplating a poem about the Dyson Airblade Hand Drying System (I probably didn’t get the name right). It’s real world stuff, though, and merits the thoughts that only poems can muster.
hahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa;-) ox