Humour

I’d like to become a poet
without being a tortured soul.
The turning of misery into words
seems to make the poet whole.
Without pen in hand they smile thinly
and trudge along life’s rocky path,
but give them that device and some paper
and they use their tears for a bath.
But what’s wrong with celebrating
that in life there’s beauty in all?
So I’ll not fear to kick up my heels
and in my poetry dance, not crawl.

NOTE: Poetry is a medium that seems to unleash our darker sides, which is OK, but a couple of recent positive poems on this site remind me that it’s good to cry for joy as well as in mourning.

A New Poet’s Quandary