It appears to me that — heretofore,
subconsciously — I have always
harbored the expectation that my poets
arrive eventually in their lives
at wisdom of some sort, to be
ever always on the quest for illumination
and ultimately: enlightenment

So many of them flounder
and never seem aware of that goal
as if they have never stopped
to wonder about it all, or why
they even make poems

But, then, again,
it may be something that got into
my foolish head when I was a teenager
and now during this colder than usual
58th winter is
wiggling it’s way to the surface

Alas, I continue to be naive . . .

Mark Weber | 21jan12