Do you know people just like me, who can’t decipher poetry? Who read some verse and want to shout, “Now what the hell was that about?” Take New Yorker or Atlantic. All their verse is so pedantic. Would their art be that less pure, if what they wrote was not obscure? Nix the symbols and illusions. Metaphors that cause confusions. Abstract form is how they play it. Can’t they just come out and say it? If you speak right from your heart, your poems never get a start. The editors, they all say nay. Such clarity is déclassé. It isn’t cool to make things rhyme, or write them in pentamic time. And so the critics, they all frown, as if your work is dumbing down. But I think some are waiting for some poetry that’s not a chore. A heartfelt couplet when you need it, and you simply have to read it. I dedicate these rhymes to you. The humble unpretentious few, that like to read this verse and show ‘em, art can be a simple poem.