Selective Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Those that write...
Know there is no easy way to it,
To get it done.
But to do it.

Plagiarist are quick to quote,
And lift whole passages.
With attempts to have their theft flow.
As if one's style can not be recognized.

One who writes,
Knows this upon sight.
It is similar to a game of chess...
Played out like life.
And at one's best.

The more one becomes aware of the game...
It is not who plays,
But how well they do it.
With a signature imprint that is left,
To impress with style.
That separates them from the rest.
And 'that' a plagiarist does not GET!

Even God intended to create,
And make each snowflake...
Unique and different.
A 'purest' would know!
All trees do not bear leaves.
Some bear pine.
Yet few, if any, grow ungrounded.

'Are you talking about trees?
Or plagiarists?
Or or or...chess or both?
What ARE you talking about? '

~Neither.
I want to emphasize the unique,
And different images of each snowflake...
God makes.~

'And I 'listen' to this? '

~That's the point I make exactly.
You have 'chosen' to be selective.
Others are not so particular.
They will pick up and run with anything.~

'And...
I might add.
That is b-a-r-e, 'bare'.'

~Oh?
A selective purest who is also a reading critic?
With time to discern proper word usage?
You should apply that kind of discretion,
To your game.
Perhaps you wouldn't lose as often~

'It's your turn.
Just make a move, okay? '