I woke up this morning and I write two poems, as good as it felt to be productive, that thought did not last for very long as I drifted off to ponder the plight of ‘poets’. Poets are seldom taken seriously as they are considered to be eccentric and bringing a view that is unpopular or even difficult to understand. I felt sad as I reflected on these things because to me the poet is just like other writers who wish to be understood and appreciated for what he/she sees. Possibly the journey to see what she or he sees is a little more challenging but to be seen all the same.
So why would someone opt to be a poet, is it their love of literary tools or their penchant to solve puzzles. Maybe both, but I also know that sometimes ideas just come to you in a strange form and putting it down in as close to the rough form feels right. Structure in language can take away so much from the picture intended or worst it may add dimensions to the picture intended. I am mindful here that we think in pictures not words and to convert the idea to words is sometimes a poor conversion with compression. For this reason I can see poets choosing to write differently. I don’t know why this topic has stuck with me this morning, but we have our poets and we love them, I only hope there is sufficient balance in the world for them to know that they are appreciated when it matters.