Poetry: What Is And Not

Not when thoughts into poetic lines freeze, Nor when prose decorated is like frieze; Not when words painted are, and feelings pose, When winter has warm wish to be spring's rose; Nor when some beautiful images Get captured in decorated cages; When heaving hearts hanker to rule, Heads hammer out young lessons learnt at school; Nor as you see in this little poem, When heroic couplets as if from deserts stem; When lines are tinkered with ready tools, And heavily loaded, look like mules; Nor when old heart a mistress may desire, Spent passion when burn in conjugal fire; A poet that puns aimless runs, In nunnery as if are nuns; And alliteration's fine in limit, It is like too much light needlessly lit; Poems, not all but make-believe, Poetry is no far from how we live; Avoid schools where fresh wings are hated, And minds are drained like fields harvested; If you close eyes from what may surround, And still can see for miles around, Or with plugged ears still can hear all clear, You are the bird that sings; you are the seer. Thin line divides what is and not, No art is it in school is taught. ___________________________________________________ Musings | 10.07.11 |