Dear Friends

Friends, you've got to love poetry to be a part of it
What else but a love of the art
(and make no mistake about it poetry is art)
could explain endless hours spent on
one poem or even one line
squeezing it, rolling it, shaping it
into something that makes the connection
between heart and paper via pen?
Or driving an hour to stand with shaking knees
behind the podium or worse yet just standing
up in front of a group with no 'prop'
to read one two-minute-or less long poem?
Or sending out submission after submission
in hopes of publication;
not in payment but in publication
You've got to love something that
gives such small repayment for devotion
the ink on a sheet of printed paper that
spells out your heart with your name attached
And yet friends,
I've got to tell you this of writing poetry
just seeing a poem of mine in print with
my byline is worth everything
nothing more required
Funny, isn't it?

by John Faucett

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