Writing poetry ain’t easy. As a matter of fact, I find it harder than anything else I spend my time doing. It won’t feed or clothe me either. OK, there’s a slight chance it might get me laid but not nearly as surely or as often as playing the electric guitar, no matter how badly.
So why bother? It allows me to join in on the conversation. To sit, however briefly, at the great round table where cosmic jokes and philosophical gossip flow in highly polished harangue. It gives me the chance to tell my contemporaries, friends and possibly a few future readers my point of view. Sort of a message left on a bulletin board in one of the scenic overlooks and photo site opportunities on the two lane black-top of life. So I’ll keep doing it as long as my fingers continue to move. And now is an exciting time to be living and reading and writing poetry in Seattle. There actually seems to be an audience out there for the written and spoken word.
Perhaps illiteracy is losing its zest.