Is a formal poem akin to art
Or does it take the virtue from my words,
And kill the natural feelings of the heart?
Music has its forms and so is heard
A frame around a painting gives it strength
Yet modern art defies the forms and blurs.
A book is not judged merely by its length
Although it needs a cover and a shape
We don’t have lucky dips into words blenched!
Free verse can be melodious in its sounds
Despite the lack of rhymes at its verse ends
Expressive and harmonious are its bounds.
In marriage once we had defined rules
The man at work to bring a living home
The woman in the kitchen cooking fools.
Each found identity is patterned form
Yet rigid were the choices now thrown out
And men had too much power which often harmed
Every trade has structures which we flout
We need to learn the ancient ways we walk
Too much certainty can lead to doubt
Is a formal poem expressive like an art
Or does it kill the feelings of the heart?
Does the tree of life grow through my words?
Emptiness embraces what is stirred
How my heart sings 