How Does One Become A Better Poet?

One waits for that first rhyming penned, Or that first thought at least, One waits for wisdom God would send, So beauty gets released... One praises God for every gift That He would then bestow, Then through such wondrous words to sift, The others to let go... That first draft may not fit the bill, Yet there seems gold within, Some precious message to instill, Some prize as yet to win... Fools' gold shines pretty for a while, But real gold shines much more, The kind that makes the poet smile And readers to adore... So why give up on what comes first? Like stars, this, too, brings light, Yet every play should be rehearsed Before its opening night... Thus witty words rise to the top, Fast phrases flow like wine, Here is the stage most poets stop, Behold the warning sign... For gold stays in the furnace heat, Impurities to burn, Till, finally, it stands complete, For experts to discern... Till then, an error, here or there, Reduces quality And so I use gold to compare With perfect poetry... The poet and the editor Sometimes work side-by-side And raise the bar as they confer, Till both can smile with pride... For teamwork hones the rhymes and themes, The phrases from each heart That fill their lives, their hopes and dreams, Some treasures to impart... If God would stay the uppermost, The Editor in Chief, The poet has no cause to boast, Nor reason to store grief... How many poets would confess That God helped now and then? Yet such as these know happiness, Not known to other men... And so, I bid each poet well, As I leave centre stage, May God inspire tales to tell, From age to age to age... I sense that I am almost done And soon laid to my rest, To meet the Father and the Son Who helped me to be blessed... Denis Martindale, March 2016.