Melodrama has ne're been my cups worth o' tea
'Less th' center stage spotlight be fixed on me
Cross pens are mightier than th' sterling sword
Yet I'd much rather drive a Bentley than a Ford
When my eye's tap a sunset red, I'm so inclined
To fleck my twilight bright with thick bloodline
I'm just an Imagist spinning picturebook stories
Surrealistic, Dali-esque, 'pon th' free-verse trees
'Tis what I do to keep my minds-eye free o' rust
Ne'er wrote a Sestina, six of six, too much a fuss
Yet, poetry's, bout fuss 'bout perfection, n' more
Requiring th' True Poet..... to adhere an' explore
Then there's those who say it's all about diction
Though to me this claim falls short in definition
The beauty is th' substance....th' sweet is th' flow
They're th' elements that crown poetry an' prose
One need not rhyme, to make poetry melodious
Lyrical in flux, flounce, and so damn harmonious
Too many think themselves a ''Poet''... so absurd
As few hav' mastered th' art of th' 'Written Word'
Perhaps, that's why today freestyle rules ''Verse'
No challenge of adherence to requirements thirst
Yet, as for me, a Poet, NOT......Nor shall I ever be
I'm just an Imagist.....spinning tell-tale stories
© 2015-All rights reserved
Frank James Ryan Jr. / FjR
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem