Tuesday, February 24, 2015


               There’s magic in the web of formal verse,
               Though many now say measures are a curse
               And rather write in ways they think are free
               Of standard patterns—yet still poetry.

               What they fail to appreciate is how
               Exigencies of form often endow
               The poet with new matter otherwise
               Unthought, that simply chance may realize.

               And then there is the charm of lyric song
               When thought and rhyme and meter go along
               Providing in their balance a sweet tension
               That underlies the musical dimension.

                    Let those who will, freely experiment;
                    I’ll seek instead for verse that’s heaven sent.