Monday, July 18, 2016


                  Each day I jog along this rhythmic road,
                  For formal poetry is my mind’s mode
                  To access what I didn’t know I knew
                  And happening  on some unexpected view.

                  The pleasure of discovery is what prompts
                  These early morning rhyme and meter romps
                   In hopes that on the way I’ll meet the Muse
                   Who’ll give me sonorous clues that I may use.

                  Those free-verse poets who abandon this
                  Supposed constraint don’t know how much they miss,
                  For their minds are left idly adrift,
                  While formalists can always catch a lift.    

                       Riding the current of iambic lines,
                       I’m freed from all predictable confines.