I love words.  Do you love words?  In all their flawed utility and their failure of expression, I love them.  Take the word, “Intrepid,” for example.  It is defined as, “Resolutely courageous; fearless.”  For me it conjures up an image of wooden ships battling to the last man with broadsides amidst icebergs in the Arctic Ocean, or an explorer, hacking his way alone through the jungle against all odds in search of an undiscovered ancient civilization.  You see the discrepancy between definition and meaning.  Herein lies poetry. 

In poetry, anything can be intrepid, and “intrepid” can mean almost anything the skill of the poet can make it mean.  Poetry is the proving- and playground of words, the crucible and finishing school, both pallet and canvas.  Poetry is meant to ring in the air and impress itself upon the mind.  Poetry is made up of words.  Do you love words?  I love words. 

by Tom Rubenoff, Senior Poetry Editor, Eye on Life Magazine