what is poetry?

"Poetry is just thought; perhaps distilled, perhaps drawn out, it is nothing. It is really nothing, and — a prerequisite if you will — most if not all good poets understand this. Good poets, if they have anything to say, struggle or dance with nothingness directly all the time. It is understood by people who write it, read it, and even by people who never have that poetry can be garbage, with all of the stick in the mud stink in tow, but, and here's the cusp, many know that it can also express genuine compassion, co-emergent wisdom, and pith instructions straight from the horses mouth." — J. Elliot 2/8/3

meanwhile... a poem I read today by e. e. cummings...

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

— e. e. cummings

i don't know much about cummings's life except that he must have really been in love — he writes some the sharpest, least sappy, completely encompassing love poems out there. perfect for valentines day. all you lovers out there — drink up!