forked meanings hide true intent

When friends tell me they don't know how to read poetry, I feel such retorts point to a dearth if not a death of imagination. These days things either are 'cool' or else they 'suck.' And that's the pinnacle of adjectival description. Truth is, perhaps, the intelligent expect too much of themselves. All you have to do when you read a poem is let your thoughts bound alongside the music, and all of a sudden then this decidedly randy lyric makes perfect sense, I love forked meanings, and this is rife with them, one way of which is to use the rhyme of the word I meant to use and so point to two separate meanings simultaneously:


Stupidly grow? Or groupedly stow
A bear of palsied huevos unadorned
In wrinkled baggage cupped and soothed,
A balm bag for the scorned?

And so forlorn it tickles ye
A mauve o' linnet in the din
Of howling? Oh the cad is kicked...
For arching sluice to hide therein.

He longs in longing thick as beams
Aglitter in the piercing darkness
For the tactile reassurance
Of his briny, shellfish dreams.

His nose gone rich with sunrise
To the treasure under shroud
Of sea-scent crinkling in his knowing
More than modest words allowed.

dee p eed