poet me not

 poet me not

the pigeon hole ‘poet’

is both too big and too small

some are too low some too tall

some are full of feathers and fluff

some of shit enough is enough

to turn a reader away from the wall

gnarled feet and claws is no way at all

to woo the owl words

the moths to the light

to lay down the dreams of midsummer’s night

or winter’s cold feeling when love is at low

don’t call me a poet for we all know 

what words call up shivers

that walk on our graves

the thought that delivers

was the one that i gave

but it was you that saw through me

you who saw the light

so you my friend are the poet

an with me that perfectly right

so we must not pigeon hole each other

just write read and write

see now the sun rises

after the moon words have set

we were two poets that met on the road

and now this secret garden is our eternal abode