OK, I'll admit it. I don't 'get' modern poetry. It's like Dali's art (you know...the woman with 3 breasts and 2 noses with melting clocks in the background. That says to me that the lady had a botched breast augmentation, has a severe head cold and bought cheap watches). I'm never sure what they're saying to me. Admitedly when the poem was announced to celebrate President Obama's Inauguration, I used it as an opportunity to feed the dog. In fact, Isis and I got up at the same time. He doesn't get it either.

So I checked the internet for a definition of 'poetry' and came up with:

"Definitions of 'poetry' (pṓĭ-trē)
Dictionary.com · The American Heritage® Dictionary - (6 definitions) ](noun)
The art or work of a poet.

1. Poems regarded as forming a division of literature.
2. The poetic works of a given author, group, nation, or kind.
3. A piece of literature written in meter; verse.
4. Prose that resembles a poem in some respect, as in form or sound.
5. The essence or characteristic quality of a poem.
6. A quality that suggests poetry, as in grace, beauty, or harmony: the poetry of the dancer's movements.

"A poem is a communication from one soul to another that makes one or both hearts sing." Walter Mayes (What if it's a funeral?)

"A good poem is a blind date with enchantment." N. Grimes (Huh?)

"What makes a good poem? Brevity, terseness, spareness, viewing something new for the very first time, creating an image like no one has ever been blown away by before in their entire life." Lee Bennett Hopkins) (This guy doesn't let his heart sing)

"A good poem may also ask philosophical questions. In its condensed form, poetry gives these questions an immediacy, a great power to startle and grab the imagination. Poetry is great for asking—and sometimes answering—those questions that come to you just as you're falling asleep." Marilyn Singer (This leaves me out - I have chronic insomnia).

I guess I'm stuck with "There was an old man in Nantuckett....."

I cannot claim to be a poetry buff but I know what I like and what I don't.

This to me is a poem, and although sombre I like it.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Sue,
That is very poignant and a lot said in few words. I have to say, I like that also. It is sombre, but isn't losing your partner or someone you have loved deeply? Thank you for putting that down here.

Vendome,
I'm with you. I love poetry, but I was raised with classical and romantic poetry and the modern abstract and post-modern stuff leaves me bored or confused. My own opinion is it all started going wrong when T.S. Eliot wrote "The Wasteland" and degenerated there. Don't get me wrong, I love Eliot and that poem, but he created the opening. As with painting and sculpture, poetry started moving to the abstract and surreal in the early twentieth century and never recovered.

Perhaps the only contemporary poet I like is Maya Angelou. Just spare me e.e. cummings, please.

Sue, I love Auden and that particularly is a favorite poem. I read it at my mother's memorial service.

Charly

I am a poet, and what you would call a "modern poet." Sometimes I rhyme, usually I don't. Poetry to me is truly soulful. So sometimes it can come off as being callous or course, other times beautiful in imagery and word. Here is an example of my poetry:

FALLING OFF

a log. the wagon. an autumn limb.
someone's ant farm love list.
the edge of the world. an egg shell wall.
my tricycle on hot Saturdays.
the honor roll. a steep, rocky cliff.
your lover's lips. your rocker.
arms, fingers, hair, seconds, pages.
until distant birds and mumbles drown you.

Sue, I LOVE that poem of WH Auden... my best friend read it at my husband's funeral. Thanks for sharing it

redraven, sometimes I don't get it, but this is good! This I get. Thank you.