I never seem to travel through London Heathrow airport without this poem by Christopher Logue coming to mind.
Last night in London Airport
I saw a wooden bin
labelled UNWANTED LITERATURE
IS TO BE PLACED HEREIN.
So I wrote a poem
and popped it in.
Logue contends that 'poetry cannot be defined, only experienced', and this short poem seems to illustrate his view. Did he write a poem of unrequited love, regret, sadness, desperation, good bye - or all or none of these things ?
Such a privately experienced poem, rather dated by the grandiose label on the wooden bin, but powerful nevertheless.
Any thoughts class?....smiling.