Rhythm of poetry
Poetry can be river, and of stone,
It is both of these things and still more.
Inside of the body, perhaps the soul-
Feel that beat? It’s poetry you fool!
Poor little musician, writing tool
You’re giving birth to puppets you know?
Songs of saints, and soldiers the same
You hear what we have gained?
A smile, a tear, a child’s bashed ear:
Shakespeare did it for life, you for profit.
A man in a suit to tell you what’s ‘fab’
He who disowned the little yellow cab-
Limos are of course the way to go.
Our words ride with him, on we go.
Haiku’s for the beat, sonnets for souls
Villanelles for women, and ballads for all,
Each one with their own tune, you know?
I leave you with this, Poetry is all!