Revised Edition...

O, To Ever Understand Thou Poetry Terms

~A twist from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, 1594~

O poetry, poetry, wherefore art thou complex?

‘Tis but thy terms that are my enemy:

Thou art thyself, though not prosody.

What's prosody? It is nor verse nor foot,

Nor line nor length, nor any other part

Belonging to a word. O, be some other term!

What's in a poem? That which we call prosody

By any other name would smell as sweet;

Ugh...the enjambment of brain cells

Thy meter of rhythm, no sense of closure

So poetry would, were it not poetry callèd,

Retain that dear insight which it oweth.

Soul Food

Such are the tasty morsels

for the wonderland of the mind;

the most beautiful of words,

on the canvas of a page sprawled.

Alone, the letters detached

are mere dust in desert wind,

but when blended together

become a contrivance sweetened

Forever immortalized,

in glory and grandeur cloaked

Nourishment for the soul

in all seasons of its searching

Seared into fibers of being,

leaving their heartstring mark –

To draw upon the journey of time

and sustain our craving wont.