Tuesday, February 28, 2012


        Most poetry today (or what’s called that)
        By ancient standards fails to measure up
        And, lacking rhyme and meter, it sounds flat,
        Straggling when it ought to march: hup! hup!

        Then, without rhymes, it’s lost a source of wit
        And the anticipated happiness
        Of watching the deft poet leap and hit
        The mark he set with evident success.

        But even more, adhering to a form,
        Though tedious and mechanical to some
        Who have not felt imagination warm
        Till in a fervent flash the right words come,

             Turns out to be divine invention’s key,
             The timeless source of lasting poetry.