A poem
Snapshots of the street in word pictures
memories of longing and heartache
words that can make a person’s heart break
Pictures of a family life on the page
generations recalled with nostalgia
journeys made in iambic pentameter
Writing in rhyme does not a poet make:
it is the observing, the feeling, empathy
caring enough to pen the difficulty
Maybe moody, or not, but thoughtful, yes
mulling thoughts over, writing drafts,
wood piling the words that make mess
Telling it slant, as Dickinson once said
from this angle or that, or both at once
writing tight, not wasting a word that’s laid
Don’t sacrifice a poem for the rhyme
words paint the image, not the slime
of sugar sweet saccharine sounding lines
Alliteration is one big part, the rhythm too
but rhyme can make the picture a shame
doggerel written in all but name
Who writes the poem, is an observer
of nature, trees, birds, the human condition,
writes truth and then it is no longer theirs
Published in Lifeline
Writer and psychologist. My health, a journey with two life shortening diseases 