Thoughts on the poetic form (Form: Free Verse) |
Free Verse I read the words. The thought abruptly stops; A puzzle to be solved, perhaps, Upon a line to follow - Or not. The early (heretic) poets, Kahn, Laforgue, Vielรฉ-Griffin, Dujardin, Sought to free themselves From the confines of the past, And yet, they can't ignore Poetry must always be free To inspire, to incite, to speak; To do less is to mumble to one's self In the darkness of ignorance. This idea, this illumination, this freedom, Was only a glowing spark Until the winds of change with names like Hume, Whitman, Eliot, Pound, Fanned the embers into flames. Structured lines became soaring phrases; Stanzas became sentences; And always, images - To raise emotions, to touch, to create new visions, To show that the secrets of the heart are shared, lay in its cadences. What was once free I fear has become bound. Just as a child grows beyond its parent It still must acknowledge And honor its lineage. Without understanding, there are only words. I read the words. I await the flames. An entry for the June round of "Shadows and Light Poetry Contest" Line Count: 34 |