Free verse may need psychiatrist,
Its aspirations you can’t trust,
And transvestite will always be
The truth is found in history
Where poetry was always rhyme
A test that stands through most of time.
So just what is this ‘free verse curse’
That keeps it from becoming verse?
It certainly can tell a tale
As well as poetry’s detail
But somehow rhyme seems to excel
The best mere story tellers tell.
Its imagery though can compare
To poetry found anywhere.
What dooms free verse’s claim to fame
Is that ‘free verse’ is just a name.
It lacks the power of rhyming phrase
Whose music stays with you for days
And rhythms too that match the beat
Of pounding hearts and dancing feet,
Forgets that before written word
Man’s history in song was heard.
Its pedigree still lacking worth
Like Custer, floundering from birth.
What really irritates the most,
Is that free verse will often coast,
And power that’s somehow not lost
Is purchased at too cheap a cost,
The author sleeping on his cot
Forgets his dream of Camelot.
I’m sure that some will be upset
That I diss prose this way and yet
What really most makes free verse wrong?
It's not remembered like a song
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem