I twist the words to suit me
And arrange them in a line,
Describing hidden beauty
With a rhythm and a rhyme,
Sometimes my terms are dated
And sometimes they’re fresh and new,
A word of thought created
As I ponder stanza two.

The next lines seem to digress
As they seldom hit the mark,
They only seem to address
The topic in tiny parts,
They batter ‘round the edges
Hoping all will be explained,
In the coming vestiges
Of stanzas that remain.

Stanza three should pull the reins
And ride the subject back,
Ride the ink, the quills’ own mane
Through words of lilt and fact,
Into the halls of poetry
Where endings are required,
And not a hollow effigy
Vacantly transpired...

Poetry can’t just be penned
And left at that alone,
It must be drawn, heaven-sent,
Into a poet’s bones,
To drive the words onto sheet
And into history’s grace,
Where wisdom lives so replete
For everyone to taste!
17/10/09 ADO

© Copyright 2009
Adam Parker
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