Is all poetry about death or love?

No. Because poetry about death is about love, too.

What would we care about death if it didn't separate us from love? For that matter, the same for violence, greed, war. Grief, after all, is just love's shadow in the pond.

Some poetry is about the self, identity, trauma, experience. What is the human animal in its authenticity if not the raw power of love? Attempts to rank or qualify ourselves, within nature or under god, can only be understood this way.

This thing unites, distorts, expands, vibrates in our mitochondria--and we give it new names every day. What is beauty, culture, communion, history, but the temporal manifestation of love? What is order? What is rhythm, invention, sex? What is chicken soup, government, music, legacy? Poetry meditates endlessly on love because, very simply: what else is there?

For those who say poetry "just isn't for me."

Not everyone "gets it" at first. Probably because they think there's something to "get." Or that the writer does. Sure, there will always be those who do art for some reason other than to take the roof off the emotional house. Examine the possible incentives to marginalize and exclude: like profit, glory, pride. For better or worse, the motive and attitude of the artist take you only so far.

Poetry faces two major objections.

In the words of Hank Green: "People just don't talk like that!" Of course not. You skip with your legs, but you're not walking! Give me your patience, and I will give you my soul.

In the words of my ex-boyfriend: "Is that supposed to be deep or something?" Oh, please. The poet asks you to sit here a moment, to see what I see. To linger a little longer in the doorway, to leave only one set of footprints in the snow. Depth, whatever that means or doesn't, is your responsibility much more than it is mine.