When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

(Shakespeare, Sonnet 29)

I love that one. Have you seen Judy Dench pull this out of her pocket on a talk show?Dame Judi Dench stuns everyone with her Shakespeare ...

Yep. Recited from memory, even.

Recitation from memory is impressive

Recitation from someone else's memory is more so.

I take issue with your unwillingness to assume the name of poet because Shakespeare got there first though. If he had never been, if no other had ever been, your words would be no more nor less beautiful than they already are. You're a poet because you conjure them into being and share them into the world.

Hah! At the Tiny Poetry Slam, the poets share poetry you'd find much more accessible. Being a poet doesn't impose to be a good one, it's about the willingness to play with words to tell not a tale, but an emotion. (Or many.)

One of my recent "pawku" (take a haiku, throw away the rules, add extra silly; best served fresh):

With a good book
I dun wanna sleep…
It catches me by surprise.

(Yeah, I use Tiny spelling. )