Have you ever picked up a book of poems from a far-off land and felt an instant spark, like the words were written just for you? I remember sitting in a cozy café in Paris years ago, flipping through a collection of Japanese haiku. One by Basho about an old pond and a frog jumping in stopped me cold – it evoked the same quiet reflection I felt during childhood walks in the woods back home in the Midwest. That moment crystallized what I call “poemac,” a blend of “poem” and “magic” that describes poetry’s uncanny ability to link souls…
