by C.F. Russell
Harmonious melody, rhyme and rhythm
Exist in a poem that's really worth while.
But poetry true radiates from prism
Of crystal, idea expressed in best style.
Technique is important but limitation.
Creative delight in its birth, ecstasy
Is secret alone of the poem's inspiration.
Of beauty the soul is truth, genius' mystery.
Then, writing a poem reduced to this is,
Do what you please! The summit of bliss is
Above stupidity's childish abysses!
Sounds simple and obvious, "But," some fool cries,
"Do you mean 'Do what you like' please be exact."
My answer is Yes. I would not tell you lies.
Your soul when awake has infallible tact,
Discerning at once whether Beauty mistress
Of yours be, or mere artifice doth lead you
In blindness to agonized depths of distress
Where light cannot penetrate, there to bleed you
Of sanity's measure minute you possess.
Inquisitive person, this much is certain-
True pleasure's found always behind a curtain!
But "pleasure" is a word with a definition
Ambiguous? Then let's discard it outright
And choose a keyword immune to suspicion.
The fun now begins and the poet's deft skill
Is taxed to the utmost to hold back flood tide
Of diction and rhetoric aptly fitted
As vehicle neat for his concepts to ride.
The secret's here inverse, close-knitted.
The power to write or do aught beside
Is his who fulfils this law to the letter,
Do it just for fun-and none can do better!