Poets Poem by Raymond Farrell

It is of late
Some poetry has ceased to be great
Its incomprehensibility although admired by a few
Leaves most people concluding they have better things to do
Than to try this tangle to undo.

If poets have anything meaningful to say
And a few indeed may
Why not say it so all can understand
Let it be read across the land
Let your wish be their command.

Surely, on one thing all can agree
The state of the planet we see
Is dire and in need of change
Which is why I find it strange
Poets fail in their exchange.

They fail to reach the people on the street
The men and women they daily meet
Faces clouded with consternation
The very people needing direction and motivation
All across the nation.

All across the nations of the world
The culdroon into which people are hurled
Is often marked by a life full of drear
A churning hopeless stew of fear
Seldom a single cause for cheer.

These are the people in need of hope
A ray of light in the darkness they grope
Poets ought to be a beacon on the hill
Shining forth hope in a world of ill
So darkness doesn't every crevice fill.