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A Rant Against Poetry

Poetry is like art only few can decipher,

While the rest of us echo with ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’, not understanding a word

I’ve been told it’s a subtle play of rhythm and lyric and language

But all I see is pretty words written in a fancy manner,

So someone somewhere can declare it a work of absolute beauty

In an effort to seem more put together and stamped with an intelligent banner

I hate poetry, and here’s why.

It’s not the lyric or the words or the form of self-expression poems represent

Indeed, not their cultural importance or the depth of history they hold

It’s the way I feel inadequate in not understanding a piece of writing

The way my logical mind cannot process poetry

How it is to be shared, enjoyed, recited in passionate surmising

Poems are overrated, meaningless, frustrating

More often having pretentious readers and overtly pretty words,

Than meaning, learning, or a sense of enjoyment

I like Doctor Seuss, I enjoy Shakespeare

But most other poetry gives me no employment

Perhaps because of my own shortcomings in understanding their subtlety

Why do they end so soon, anyway?

I’d rather read a novel that could occupy me for a period of time

One moment you’re trying to decipher if a poem is about love or thugs

The next, you’ve reached its last line

I don’t understand people who sigh at beautiful poetry

Like it’s a Rothko or Picasso with more meaning than sentences about the sun and moon

So here’s my bad poem about poems,

A piece that tries to make practical sense of this art called poetry

A thing that people read for more clout

A thing that bores my mind, makes it roam free

Maybe one day I’ll get what the hype is about,

And maybe one day you’ll be reading a piece about good poems from me.


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