In Glory Of The Form

Dear friends and some enemies, prithee please,
the topic is not the poem! We’ve raved about
the what it was and how it came to pass that we
agreed or disagreed with authored words, sought
agreement or dispersed our discontent but hear
me out – the theme, alackaday, is just a trite and
weary conversation piece – and nothing less.

So save your pen in chary words or gravid praise.

The poem is a form, the serried words that make
a rhythm race, the tightness of a rhyme, the pace
and gleam of metaphor embraced in new ideas, the
pictures in your mind. Find the line that echoes long
and stays alive within your conscious dreams –
the line that says in fewer words learnings of a life
and times, summed sublime in cogent paraphrase.

Expend your praise in glory of the shape of these.
© 5 October 2007, I. D. Carswell