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“Poetry is a
sort of truancy,
a dream within
the dream of life,
a wild flower planted
among our wheat.”
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~ Michael Oakeshott
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Elfje: (Cinquain)
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flower
growing wild
beside the road
here there and everywhere
weed
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Haiku:
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windy gusts blowing
clouds billowing in the sky
spring showers coming
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Poem:
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in poetry, the words do not clang
rhythm and rhyme, melodic cadence
never expecting a real loud bang
words chosen to give language credence
the poet fights to make every word fit
knowing the poem has a mind of its own
push and shove becomes a battle of wit
words to grace the inevitable tombstone
the poet seeks words with intense feelings
the poem fights back with stubborn concern
things with no meaning and emotions concealing
finally, the resolve is what we have to learn
the poet writes to express himself, an autograph
the poem, however, always has the very last laugh
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ME and the Boss
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https://michaelerb.wordpress.com
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https://meandtheboss.wordpress.com
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ME and the Boss Poetry 