Poets are hunters, searchers, rangers.
Poets dig after answers about the human condition.
Poets seek truth as much as any Physicist does
John Vick was a poet.
John’s time took him to many places
Mississippi, Oklahoma, Texas, New Hampshire,
Massachusetts, New York, Minnesota
He even spent some time in Canada
He even spent some time in the service
Though most who knew him would never guess
It seems like an anachronism
For someone who played by his own rules.
John was quiet, reserved,
A keen observer who saw what was around him
He recorded his observations in verse
Shining a light on the subtleties
John was always tuned in to what went on
Though John often said little
The twinkle in his eye
Not that John was weak
He could raise fire and brimstone
When need be
But mostly he preferred the quiet
And now John’s time here has come to an end
His books continue
His friends remember
John touched many whom he knew
And many more that knew his work
A bright thread
In the tapestry
That is all of us