Nobody Writes Like This
Nobody else writes poems like I do.
The fixed-form poet’s art is old and dry.
It limits creativity? Not true.
But yes, perhaps its day is long gone by.
Oh wait–there are yet writers springing free
On heels of metered verse and rhyming ends.
Alright: nobody writes in verse like we.
We write like madmen, leaving be those trends
In poetry contemporary. This:
The art of the archaic is our love.
And yet we write in newer forms and kiss
The modern in our own way. Read thereof
As I do, and bear witness to myself
That no one writes like anybody else.
A million ways to scatter light
And change the future overnight,
And yet you rest content with one.
Don’t leave your work of art undone.
‘Tis your own breath: ’tis full and real
Of life and beauty. Into dark
Your innovation launches sparks;
Oh art and artist–both revealed.
Form: nove otto
“The counterfeit innovator is wildly self-confident. The real one is scared to death.” –Steven Pressfield
Don’t be afraid of all the million ways art comes out of you.