A bit of humor, a bit of fun. Hey, it's still summer, lying too long under the sun.

A TRUE POEM

by John Herlihy

Why is there always this presumption
That a poem has to be real?
Why shouldn’t it be sufficient assumption
That a poem has to ring true ?

I wrote about the distant horizon
And my desire to sit on its edge.
One reader chastised my judgment
Suggesting I should make a pledge,
Never to confuse truth and reality,
As though wishing to create a wedge.

I wrote about a profusion of tears
As an example of emotion sustained over the years.
One reader immediately sympathized with my sadness,
Attempting to replace it with some gladness,
When in fact I was merely expressing a universal feeling
That had no particular, personal meaning.

I wrote about two turtle doves
That morphed out of two girls’ simple love.
They later had unhappy lives,
Like worker bees in a busy hive,
Who actually lived in a simple hovel
And had much of their life to grovel.
One reader questioned whether I had an ex-lover
That I destined to work a life undercover.

Why does a poem have to be real,
As a reflection of one’s actual experience?
Isn’t it enough for the poem to be true
That makes its point, then bids adieu?

These are the questions a poet keeps asking
All the hours of a long day.
These are the issues worth raising
Instead of just making hay.