In olden days we would have said <br /> <br />things like an act of grace, <br /> <br />an endeavour noble in intent, <br /> <br />humanity at its most heroic, <br /> <br />the heart speaking, <br /> <br />the soul’s voice <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />and why not indeed <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />I read your poem. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />I have nothing much to say <br /> <br />and yet everything to say; <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />writing a poem is all of those <br /> <br />and every real poem is <br /> <br />one great step for humankind in you, <br /> <br />an archaeology of the soul, <br /> <br />a self-exposure, <br /> <br />a challenge <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />so what I have to offer you <br /> <br />is respect. Pure, real, boundless, known respect; <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />you’ll read your poem back <br /> <br />and your next will take account of that <br /> <br />better than any comment or advice of mine; <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />we’re both poets; we both know <br /> <br />that we’re engaged on a cosmic task, <br /> <br />on the kitchen table, and it’s <br /> <br />no less than those images from the Hubble <br /> <br />of nebulae, stars exploding and colliding <br /> <br />and being formed; being formed.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-read-your-poem/
