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Groundwaters Publishing, LLC
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Volume 5 Issue 2
Page 30
Page 30
Poems are made to confuse,
To bemuse,
To refuse to tell everything.
They are the muse of perfect contemplation,
That bemuddles every observation.
They are the breath of recitation,
The spirit of meditation,
The plausible encantation of
Emotion and devotion.
Perhaps if we enhanced our mind
With a twist of rhyme and prose
Then we could find a repose
For all our woes.
Then we would be prone to
Converse in tones,
To talk rhetorically,
And think metaphorically.
Oh! Life would be an endless simile,
A figurative metonymy,
A pastoral soliloquy,
Of words whimiscally, literally
Dancing free.
Each poem's stanza is apt to entail,
Lovers sent asunder,
Emotions in a blunder!
Heroic deeds, on noble steeds,
Philosophers assessing reality,
And poets questioning morality.
Generally, poetry covers it all
In some form or another.
Poetry is the voice of love,
Soaring through hearts
Of deep emotion,
Reaping a harvest of words.
Where secrets nestle, anguish wrestles.
Where thoughts inhale, beauty exhales.
Poetry is subtly evasive,
Enchantingly persuasive,
Singing with joy,
And ringing with hope.
Like little rivets of sporadic
Faith, like little butterflies
Of weightless grace.
Poetry is like cake:
A delicious piece of sweet relief.
When savored with care,
And time to spare...
Its ingredients might make,
The bittersweet treat of life.
To bemuse,
To refuse to tell everything.
They are the muse of perfect contemplation,
That bemuddles every observation.
They are the breath of recitation,
The spirit of meditation,
The plausible encantation of
Emotion and devotion.
Perhaps if we enhanced our mind
With a twist of rhyme and prose
Then we could find a repose
For all our woes.
Then we would be prone to
Converse in tones,
To talk rhetorically,
And think metaphorically.
Oh! Life would be an endless simile,
A figurative metonymy,
A pastoral soliloquy,
Of words whimiscally, literally
Dancing free.
Each poem's stanza is apt to entail,
Lovers sent asunder,
Emotions in a blunder!
Heroic deeds, on noble steeds,
Philosophers assessing reality,
And poets questioning morality.
Generally, poetry covers it all
In some form or another.
Poetry is the voice of love,
Soaring through hearts
Of deep emotion,
Reaping a harvest of words.
Where secrets nestle, anguish wrestles.
Where thoughts inhale, beauty exhales.
Poetry is subtly evasive,
Enchantingly persuasive,
Singing with joy,
And ringing with hope.
Like little rivets of sporadic
Faith, like little butterflies
Of weightless grace.
Poetry is like cake:
A delicious piece of sweet relief.
When savored with care,
And time to spare...
Its ingredients might make,
The bittersweet treat of life.
| Poem About Poetry By Bridgett Johnson-Elliott |