with poetry intent is decided post facto.
it’s all said done written
but intent is out of your hands
intent, in poetry, is a reflection of the reader.
and then a generation of Liberal Arts majors weeded up at the same time and said “as it is with poetry, it is with life!” and they happily went away to apply poetry to society, to politics, to econom…
but the magic of poetry is
it’s not like these things.
I’m obsessed with growing the best mesquite.
Now, I know, “best” is a very subjective term.
I guess I should say the best for me.
I want to grow a mesquite so straight
and high and thick
you can gain enlightenment
meditating under its thorns.
Happy yellow the blue sky
Thought as it passed over
Dandelions in bloom
And green too it guessed
But only pressured
For one its own
The yellow fades to white
And in the way of things
The sky does too
Nations in conflict, falling off the net. I don’t have a poem here, but it terrifies me.