oh dear, there are so many sweeping generalisations about poetry going on here. yeah, there's toss poetry in the same way as there's toss everything, and of course, what poetry you like depends on your tastes, values, etc etc. i just think it's a shame. mind you, i like a lot of the poetry that some people call wanky. one of my favourite poems in the world ever is 'the love song of j alfred prufrock'...
"The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. "
this is a beautifully accessible image, the wisps of fog as a cat... and it really works.
"And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare 45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. "
poor prufrock... but this stanza captures perfectly the indecision, the self-justification and low SE of the sad and pompous man, afraid of criticism.
oh, there are so many wonderful moments in that poem, i'm getting all sweaty and joyful just wishing i could pass on the glee and joy i get from the clever images, the sad story, the repressed gentleman's secret wishes...