A pome wot I wrote

Yesterday was International Day of Happiness. Today is World Poetry Day. So here's a poem I wrote long ago. I'm not a poet, I don't understand poetry. That bit of my brain is missing, so I avoid writing it on the whole. This was probably written for one of the many courses I've attended over the years.

Purpose
I stand on the sea front
morning light echoing from the tips of foetal waves,
as they warble over worn-smooth pebbles.
The sun whispers, 
its breath warm on my winter-cold skin,
and I try to take in 
the mystery 
of the ordinary become extraordinary;
of the mundane become spectacular.

And it begins.
It starts in my foot,
toe-curling, sole-tingling,
moving through my legs, stomach, heart
to my head
where my senses come alive and dance in delight.
And it’s too much.

Like a shaken-up can of coke, 
bubbles fizz, pop, explode, 
a fountain of exuberance awaiting release.

Aah, but this is me,
encased in my own can,
unable to pull the ring.

So
I smile
at surly waiters
irate drivers
queue-jumpers
And
I think:
if I marketed this I could make a killing.

But it’s not for sale.
It’s above and beyond and below and way past 
market value.
 
It’s the ecstasy of living, here, now,
and the knowledge, sometimes lost 
but always buried deep inside,
that, in spite or maybe because of,
all that seems wrong,
there is purpose,
there is meaning.