Poetry Can Express Things That Prose Cannot

    Maybe it just keeps my or others' attention better. Maybe, maybe. Who understands it all? Not me.

    I was thinking about writing and reflecting on stinky messes; something where smell and muck combine to make a heinous scent, olfactory and all senses.

    Have you found yourself in a stinky mess?

    I have.

    Sometimes it is only mud, perhaps with some natural fecal matter.

    An item many refer to as "poop".

    Not a fan of that word, I must say.

    I prefer manure, and guano, and stool, and feces.

    No need for more vulgar options.

    

    Many people find themselves in the dirty diapers, and all that jazz.

    Understandable, little people have their needs and limitations.

    They biodegrade the sustenance of life that we provide.

    The bottom line of the circle of life, no puns intended.

    And those buns or bums are rounded too, as circular shapes and forms go.

    Back to the stinkies...

    We who have worked in plants and industrial parks or construction yards, or

    other such places of labor and smells, beyond that of our own bodies and companions' 

    noxious odors.

    Ah, the thought of stinky friends and associates!

    Warms the heart and mind, no?

    I kid, I josh. But not really.

    

    Gratefully most of us have not had to deal with or be cowered and humbled by the stench of death.

    Likely the worst smell ever.

    Animals and their rotten corpses are enough.

    We can only terrorize ourselves with the thought of the awful spectra of human death, and its accompanying invasive qualities of the senses.

    Normally we leave it to the morticians and their scientific care.

    May we never face the ugliness of the other kind of death smell of humans.

    But some of us do. In war, in crime, in the hospital rooms, perhaps.

    Old folks homes come close enough to the stink of elderly close to death.

    Okay, not the best or most pleasant of subjects, I know.

    But, all of this perspective and contemplation may give

    Us some peace of mind, or relief,

    That the aromas and odors of life

    Are blessings more than curses.

    In general

    The extreme stinks are weighing out against all the sweet smells.

    And life is richer than poor,

    Happier than sad,

    More joyful than down.

    

    Or, we might say, it does not stink.