A poem in free verse mocking rhymed, metrical verse
Poetry, like water, should be left
to find and follow its own course
sparkling in sunlight as it dances
over the rubble
of rhyme’s breached dams and
metre’s crumbling conduits
whose curbing confines
fetter a free form that seeks to rush, race,
run, rest or wander where it will;
poetry, released, flows unimpeded:
words leap waterfalls,
slide beneath green willows, slip between
bright water lilies, lifting souls and flooding them with light until…
A rhyming couplet rears its ugly head
And kills what should be flowing free stone dead.
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