Summer Syntax (After Billy Collins) Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

If sentences are journeys,
Then poems are expeditions
Into the unknown reaches
Of the jungles, the deserts,
The high alps, the deep seas,
The endless possibilities
Where form meets fancy.

If poetry is a pilgrimage,
Chaucer undertook it with zeal,
Regaling each priest and peasant he met
In a language more Saxon than Latin,
Honing its gurgling, earthy sounds
Into a melody and meter
That trotted along like a donkey.

If poetry is a procession,
John Donne leads the way,
Slowly paced, reverent,
His meter as steady
As the pendulum swing
Of an incense censer
In the hands of a man
Who knows his way to God.

If poetry is a night spent lost
With witches and kings
Under ancient oaks that hide the sky,
Finding branching paths of story lines
And trickling brooks of witty jibes
And metaphors masquerading as tangled vines,
If you emerge feeling wiser and more alive,
Then Shakespeare has been your guide.

If poetry is a dance,
With measured steps and pretty partners,
If a steady meter keeps us all in sync,
Merry as rum, warm as summer,
Smiling politely as we count the time,
Then the Romantics are leading the band.

But, American as I am,
Rustic as I am,
I prefer to stroll with Emily
Along familiar paths made fresh
By the softness of her tread
And the head that tilts now and then
As if deciphering the mysteries
Of the buzz of a bee
Or the veins on a leaf
That only an Initiate can read.

Or to stride with Maya
As proud as a queen
As knowing as a poet
As ageless as Eve
Along dusty, Southern midday roads,
Tamped down by African feet.

As I walk,
As I wander,
As I seek,
I hear voices urging me along divergent paths.
Their cacophonous medley disorients me,
And yet I pause to absorb each
And make it mine
So that in time
I, too, can lead the willing
Into the wilderness of untamed syntax.