I met a poet yesterday. From our adjacent chairs at Starbucks we struck up an easy conversation and discovered we shared a passion for writing. I have the greatest admiration for poets. In order to tell you why, I must share a secret. Many years ago – many many years ago – I dabbled in poetry. We’re talking high school, here. I wrote a series of poems in a ratty old spiral-bound notebook, stashed it away in some corner, and forgot all about it. A year or so ago, when I was preparing to move from North Carolina to Florida, I came across this tattered old notebook. I stopped what I was doing and sat cross-legged on the floor, reading every one of those poems. None of them are very good; most of them are downright dark and morose. In fact one of them is titled “Suicide” and goes on for pages about war and politics and a plethora of other dark subjects.

In actuality, the poem has nothing to do with the act of committing suicide; it is a commentary about the time in which I was living, the Vietnam War era. And this is the major reason that I am so fascinated by poetry. A poem can be interpreted on so many levels. We may think have discerned its meaning, but the only person who truly knows the poem’s meaning is the author. It’s a special treat to meet an author and learn the true meaning of a poem. In this case Continue reading →

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