Poetry is Dangerous

Poetry is Dangerous

(“For they are sham apostles; deceptive workers, wearing the masks of Christ’s apostles.” 2 Corinthians 11:13)

In poetry I am free to make my quotes mean
anything.

In essays and doctrine I
must remove the mask of self-conceit
and think which next word matches and means
the earliest intention of reasonable assumptions.

Poetry emerges untouched except by pencil and hand
without pausing to regret or examine intentions
like a bear sniffing for berries.

Poetry is dangerous then, as mushroom hunting by
novices,
and only hopes the mask it fashions
matches the heart-learned face of a love long known.

I can ask you questions within my refrains
unafraid of right or wrong,
and hope I raised you right, though carrots
resemble artichokes in the garden dug
where I see more compassion in your eyes
despite tears I shed when I wonder why
your doctrine leans so far from mine.

But you must know, having loved you more than
you can know…in poet, song or dissertation…
that tasting the fruit planted on my tongue
(carrots are not artichokes in the fresh fruit aisle)
poetry lets my circumvent the question so I can remember

Lunches across the table from my son, my best friend,
without competition or need to defend a new assumption
about how the world works and how God tends my questions
that I used to fully understand.

Poetry is dangerous, then, but casts a longer shadow
than mere paragraphs of prose proving right or wrong.

What it comes down to, artichoke or carrot, is that both are tasty,
and, handpicked, need no explanations having landed in
my salad.

(And so, I feel constrained to add, that truth is always truth, but
for the day or two I write it, poetry takes me to air less heavy
where can breathe without eternal outcome.)