I once had a ladyfriend who was quite talented not only in writing prose, but lyrical poetry as well. She lacked a route to pursue them professionally — a university degree in English, but family, jobs, no Woolfian "room of her own" and all that — she told me. Damn shame. I also, on occasion, correspond with an American expatriate in Canada of impressive poetical power. And I think of them both when I read other gifted poets — among whom I qualify not — who combine the lyrical with the political (my gig), such as this segment from R. Rodriguez's partially titled "Better Angels."
Hate must not break our sacred bond
of affection nor our will to love again
Only love can take us far beyond
And break the curse brought by Cain
The mystic chords of memory
Will swell when again touched as
surely as they will awaken every
Passion for peace our country has
And then there are elegiac quatrains that are essentially nonpolitical — but with merely a smattering of one's imagination, they become transformative in these pivotal times, such as this one from Jay Ungar and Molly Mason.
Under the moon the mountains lie sleeping
Over the lake the stars shine.
They wonder if you and I will be keeping
The magic and music, or leave them behind.
I wish I could write like that. But it doesn't really matter. Because they can, and I can read them.