By Jessica Langley
Is it the simple things of life perceived as the most beautiful? A fountain pen, two roads in a wood, or a bowl of fruit To find beauty in these is talent, an extraordinary miracle A terrible shame, for upon looking at these, my mind is mute Poets - praised endlessly for their artistic eyes And though of brilliance, it feels excessive as such What about the rest? They are left to despise Mothers, fathers, partners-poets no longer touch For in my eyes this is beautiful simplicity But the irony is clear, now they are too simple to use Poems must have a meaning, a philosophical mystery Something that must leave the reader to muse My words may not be valued, but I wish to question Must we overthink inanimates to have a respected expression
The Jumble 