That young man with the long, auburn hair and the impudent face - that young man was not really a poet; but surely he was a poem.

An artist is identical with an anarchist,' he cried. 'You might transpose the words anywhere. An anarchist is an artist. The man who throws a bomb is an artist, because he prefers a great moment to everything. He sees how much more valuable is one burst of blazing light, one peal of perfect thunder, than the mere common bodies of a few shapeless policemen. An artist disregards all governments, abolishes all conventions. The poet delights in disorder only. If it were not so, the most poetical thing in the world would be the Underground Railway.'
'So it is,' said Mr. Syme.
'Nonsense!' said Gregory, who was very rational when any one else attempted paradox.

I'm uncomfortable with the focus on the poet and not on the poem.

If you cannot be a poet, be the poem.

The search began 10 years ago
To find a nasty viscous foe
They searched in caves and underground
But no Bin Laden could be found
The President full of seething
Calls his Generals to a meeting
Have you looked under your noses?
Is the question he proposes
Quick smart a search is under way
A General comes back the same day
Oh president you’re the cats pyjamas
You really do have all the answers
Do you know that sneaky toad
Is in a house down the road
Obama calls him a useless bum
(It’s time to get that terror scum)
The SEALS are sent to get their man
From a house in Pakistan
But from behind his wifely shield
Osama Bin Laden does not yield
You’ll not take me you infidel
The SEAL replies you go to hell
You scum this is for 9-11
Then shoots him dead with his weapon

A poet's cultural baggage and erudition can interfere with a poem.