Ha! Poetry is what?
Comparing a flower to the complexity of a woman’s face?
Taking the magnificence of a sunset and lowering it down to the level of a canvas’s paints?
Or taking something catastrophic like a combusting star and comparing it to a high schooler’s day?
Or is it the ability to rhyme?
To be able to chime,
with other words,
so that it flows like a song sung by birds.
Or is it finding something small?
Something not really there at all,
and bringing it to life
with such expression that one begins to cry.
Or is it made to make one shout?
To speak against the trends,
the ongoing bends
in the road,
never righting itself?
Well then, I must be a poet.
(Originally published in Toyon magazine 2005)