Style - Poem by Linda Coker
I wish sometimes that I could be
A poet who weaves gracefully
A texture rich in thought like those
Who pleasingly petal a page with prose.
How sweet to paint with words like ‘splendor’,
‘Profound’, ‘undaunted’, ‘prophetic’, to render
A work that’s wholly worthy of
Honor, praise, admiration, love.
Long ago that man did lecture
Against my love of poetic structure.
‘Release your mind, yes, set it free
To pen your thoughts more naturally.’
I strained, I groaned, I tried to force
My soul to find its natural course.
I had no clue, was not inspired,
I could not do what he required.
Tender my pride, I let it fester
But only for one vile semester.
Blind he was to what’s true for me-
The rhyme is what comes naturally.
So weaving splendor’s not in my cards,
I’d rather join the merry bards
Who joyfully knit their words each time
With structure, meter, rhythm and rhyme.
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