I glanced at the obituaries and saw a mention of a man who died and next to his name it said poetry lover normally where an occupation would be. It made me think for a second about poems and art and those that write them and those that read or look at them and then those who don't do either. I also thought about writing a few new poems of my own, in fact I threw out a few unfinished poems this day. I have much on my mind and heart these days and have been inspired but I don't want to force it. as we speak, a crumbled up drunken poem sits on my desk in my room perhaps never to be read by anyone ever. by the way, the man who loved poetry was 100 years old. I am 60 years younger but hope to one day love poetry, maybe even my own.