I read a poem in a journal
was hard to grasp it's kernel
A theme seemed to be there
Surely, written with care
Metaphors, simile's lay scattered
Thoughts confused and battered
It seemed to tell a story
Which I did not get, I'm sorry
In my opinion reader dear
Attempt sincere- but not clear
Is being obscure, the role
Or (modern) poetry's real goal?
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
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I'm waiting to see if modern poetry people will grasp it as some great breakthrough in poetry. But I'm not holding my breath.
Ron