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The following verses on the subject of writing poetry
may be seen in the book Taming The Word.
My Children and My
Friends
are the syllables in my songs;
the sharps the flats
the major and minor keys.
Diversity beggars description.
They accent in uneven feet
end in awkward enjambments
refuse to fit formal pattern flow.
Periods of smooth iambic life are lit
by lightening strikes of limerick
and precise metric beat.
These awkward lyrics may not rhyme
but they are songs and
they are mine!
Sometimes
I have no time for poems
Or pretty lines that rhyme.
I feel a feeling
That is much too deep
And it will show itself in spurts
As I express the hurt
Or joy or tenderness
Or anger or fear or kindness
That for the moment swells forth
From a heart that is overflowing.
No lukewarmness here!
A poet, perhaps, should feel less
To give room to search
For subtleness in phrasing
Metering proper distances
Between laughter
And each scalding tear.
Poetry is like gardening
a Calling — not for everyone.
It requires study of the seed catalogs
and constancy
a willingness to rise early to weed out
straggling thoughts and prune the thorns.
When one crop is gathered
preserved on the shelf, a true gardener
is not looking at his store
but at the cleared expectant land
waiting for his practiced hand
to show it what more to grow.
The poet
Bares his soul to me
And I am grateful,
For if I can see
The deep dimensions
Of a feeling person
Perhaps
The iron bands
Of restraint and control
That hold me prisoner
Will loosen a bit,
And I can feel
Again
The sweetness
Of real emotion.
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