In conversation with my wife the other day -
we were discussing poetry, a not uncommon event,
since neither of us has anyone else remotely interested in the subject -
when it occurred to me that all my life I had been writing
not free verse but blank. Since I was under the impression that
free and blank verse meant the same - just as vers libre
was just a French way of saying free verse -
but apparently they do not, blank verse being averse to rhyme
but in love with meter, while free verse is free of both
and disdains, too, all constraint and restriction.
You might think that this means I should abandon
the forces of free versifiers, my treachery at last exposed,
but no, I’ve fought for them too long and, though
I’ll still insist on meter for myself - the flow, it’s all about the flow -
I’ll count myself among the ranks of freedom’s staunchest penmen.
Line count: 15
Free verse
For no one except me
Prompt, there was none.
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