Poetry Poem by Mary Champion

So what's it supposed to be about?
Poetry I mean.
Should it seek to communicate?
Or should its meaning be obscure?
even to the poet.
If the man on the Clapham Omnibus gets it,
does that mean it must be crap?
Should it concern itself with the ‘big' questions?
or be content to dwell on the mundane -
the minutiae of every day life?
Is an ode to an earwig
of equal import to the
Ode: Intimations of Immortality?
Should it appeal to the heart?
or the head?
or must it have layers of meaning
that speak to different levels?
Can it be cynical; sardonic; amusing?
Or deadly serious - even dull?
Is that incomprehensible, but impressive sounding, passage
a sure sign of genius
or just another case of the Emperor's new clothes?
Is it permitted to rhyme?
or is the blankness of a verse directly proportional to its quality?
Can it be precisely defined?
Prescripted?
Must it meet certain preconditions
as laid down by the appropriate committee
of suitably qualified experts?
Or can it sometimes be born out of anarchy?

What do I think?
A true poem, whatever its nature,
is an unexpected gift
granted to a wondering mind
as it seeks to explain where it finds its self,
or to divert its attention from the pain of being human.

How do you see it?