Some Get Confused

Some of the same ones who
are so quick to judge an iamb
in pentameter move even quicker
to take up the dance floor beat.
They’re confused about how
a heartbeat wraps itself around
the breath of a poem.

Some of the same ones who
are so quick to judge numbers
of lines in a sonnet or stanzas
to a rondeau move even quicker
to jump to the latest fad diet
of syllables in a fib or shadorma.
They’re confused about how
numbers share secrets with
the word of a poem.

Some of the same ones who
are so quick to judge rhyme
and alliteration move even quicker
to their thesaurus to find a word
that might make it sound better
than they know it to sound aloud.
They’re confused about how
choices get made at every turn
of a moment of a poem.

Some of the same ones who
are so quick to judge repetition
in a villanelle move even quicker
to repeat the same tired old
“I love you” rites for their own.
They’re confused about how
pattern recreates pattern in
the freedom of a poem.

Some of the same ones who
are so quick to judge form
and structure move even quicker
to use the same streets and flush
the same toilets and borrow
the same language to say so.
They’re confused about how
there’s no line between real life
and reality of a poem.

Some of the same ones who
are so quick to judge metaphor
as if any art or music can be
absent revelation move even quicker
to serve up their own thoughts
like tourist trinkets for sale.
They’re confused about how
vision and voice carry
the true love of a poem.

Some of the same ones who
are so quick to judge this
as not sufficiently poetic
to make the cut move even quicker
to pretend they don’t even read
what they know to dull their mind
so long as they never need admit
what they really know to be so.
They’re confused about how
the reader is who makes
the writing of a poem.

 


 
 

by all of us together

 
 

background notes — heptahedral

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