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How wonderful to be a poet, free

To conjure images of beasts and bears,

Juggle words so that they seem to be

Far deeper than the trivial affairs

Of office conversations or txt spk,

Which pass for communion, but snare

Themselves upon our deafness and the bleak

Technologies which ape a show of care.

Some would-be poets can't escape the vice

Of simply writing down what they can see;

No concepts, which sing out like mice,

Untramelled by discrete reality.

            Is there a place for we who draw

            Attention to what others find a bore?

Brian Hick February 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 8.2.25