A poem about types of poems.
I was inspired to write this based in part on Rodney Smith’s recent blog post.
Let me state for the record that I do not categorically dislike free verse. I can think of half a dozen pieces of free verse I have enjoyed; but I’ve met more than a thousand praiseworthy lyrical poems. The odds are not in free verse’s favor.
Free verse is not as powerful as rhyme
because it does not echo in the time
it take you to pronounce its formless cant—
and yet it strives true lyrics to supplant.
The pulse of life a metered rhyme can use
where spaced-out prose will only it abuse.
We call it free; ’tis better titled “dead”,
its only life is formed inside your head;
while poetry will beat as does your heart
and speak with power from the very start.
Each mighty tree uniquely upward grows
and yet each one the same grand structure shows.
So rhymes evoke the patterns that abound,
each line unique, but part of one grand sound.
A rhyme is no mnemonic, hoop, or quirk
but echoes how we see the world work.
So feel in verse the world’s gentle breath
and shun unstructured “poetry”’s cold death.