The Poet Who Doesn't Know It

The Poet Who Doesn’t Know It
By
James W. Aubuchon

Poetry’s pretty much boring to me.
I seldom read it when my time is free.
I’d rather read novels, watch movies or plays.
I hate figuring out what a poem has to say.

Take Shakespeare. His sonnets are really a chore.
Blah blah blah love joy fear not too much more.
There’s Byron and Keats and I guess Shelly too.
Let’s all bang on drums while we cast off our shoes.

Milton and Chaucer and Dante are fine,
If you like spending hours to read just one line.
They might have us all barking up the right tree,
But like Burns their language doth aft gang agley.

Longfellow gives us his good Hiawatha
Let’s put it on film. It’s so long it’s a botha.
But Frost who persuades us to find roads less traveled,
Is short, but the bunny trail’s hard to unravel.

Of course you can see that a problem exists.
Poetry’s something I just can’t resist.
I might just be wrong if I say that I loathe it.
Perhaps I’m a poet who just doesn’t know it.