Poetic Promises by richard lynn livesay

Can there be the inner rebel placed inside a poet’s soul

That stirs; reminding all is not well without contention

And rearranged to fit some cold image upon a burning coal?

Confronting the status quo with rebel rhyme intention

Makes a picture with words, the apertures opened wide

Absorbing scenes, arranging thoughts, making an invention.

Suffering, the poet knows emotional highs and lows, inside

Where the flowers grow, the clouds rain and wind screeches

Into the corners of the heart where destiny becomes described

Or a vision; a big brown bear playing checkers with Jenny Peaches

Poetry is a delicate ship pieced together like a patch quilt sewn

Metrical prosody, rules of scansion; yet up in the far, far reaches

Tragic or glorious, it is music, a play of words, read in a crystal tone

Bubals and bangles with sizzles and sparkles make a poem dance

Internal rhyme, so sublime with an “Ah! or Oh! or ringing telephone

Sounds flow, breath breathes, patterns of feet stressed to enhance

Poe, Pound, Moore, Millay and Yeats were only a few of the greats

Shelly’s Terza rima, Thomas’s villanelle, Shakespeare’s Sonnets, all prance

A palpable poem

Wordless, motionless in time

Not to mean, but be