I was asked the other day, “Why bother? Why write poetry?” Good question. Why? We can play with words and worlds, build and shape amazing images in the mind, ask questions that puzzle, perturb, settle and unsettle. The poet can arrange rearrange, change and change again until the thought is precise, pointed, polished. The joy is in playing, with sounds – phonic orchestrations not worrying if it is ‘good’ … or ‘bad’. The wordsmith’s heart exalts with choruses of phrases and words that books and essays could never complete. The thought, the phrase, idea and pearl never stand still. Always morphing with reading and rereading. The poet is priest and prophet. Interceding and declaring! Heralding caution and hope. Why write poetry? I’ve only warmed up!