A Poem On Poetry


By Janine Bouyssounouse


What pattern?
Which pattern to be used?
Shall it be iambic?
Should it be dactylic?
Does it really matter?

Poems are such frail things
They sway with the wind in the willows
They bow to no one
Yet yield to anyone who will partake
Why then do we struggle to put thought to pen?

Why indeed?
Why? Because it is in us
Because it must come out
Because it is in the wind and the trees
Because it is in our hearts and minds



Home Page last updated 02/06/07