Carrying The Torch Of Poetry In Our Hearts

For centuries, poetry has regaled us, has the fever died down?

Photo by Skitterphoto

Sometimes it bleeds over in conversation
You rhymed when you didn’t mean to —
You write it down.

You meet up, link up
cuff up, get knocked up
You write it down.

You find that the winding trail
with squirrel-ran trees
is ripe for exploring — you write it down.

I am trying to understand the source for poetry. Its origins and where it is headed. I know some of its meaning and how it has been used: for eulogies, for marriages, for analysis, and inaugurations.

But what is this thing called poetry?

At once it was thriving, like a spark from two dry twigs and burst into a flame that warmed hearts and regaled even the stiffest of necks in authority. It gave Basho some notoriety watching a frog leap, and we chewed on Whitman’s leaves of grass.

Then… poetry fell ill.

It was revived behind universities for those majoring in English. Served mostly as a glitzy form of song for rap, ballads, and an interesting mix between the two in the new millennium.

The most astute and creative of poets could see their names next to “Poet Laureate” or they can make…