Bent poetry…
Broken,
Convoluted,
Like the beautiful,
Tortured,
Broken,
Feet,
Of,
China’s
Bound,
Broken,
Beautiful,
Women…
Perfect for times,
When people were trapped,
And broken,
By warped,
Convoluted,
Social conventions,
And delusions…
Meters and rhymes,
Unless they emerge naturally,
From time to time,
Are the torturous corsets,
Of your thoughts…
Constraining,
Warping,
Suffocating…
Think how many ideas,
Or feelings,
Were altered,
Maimed,
Neutered,
Completely reversed,
Just to fit a verse,
Of specific,
Predetermined,
Shape,
And form…
The poet not saying,
What he really wanted,
Or felt,
Or exactly as he wanted to say it,
Just in order to be able to,
Say something…
You can see this in various discarded drafts,
Including my beloved Blake,
Where contradictory notions,
Are toyed with,
Swapping places when necessary,
Just to fit an accepted flow,
Rhyme,
Or pattern…
But we are free now…
Still traumatized,
And sullied,
By millennia,
Of traumatic,
Heritage…
But free to fly,
And start the healing process,
The searching process,
The free expression,
And celebration,
Process…
And for that,
The broken,
Constricted,
Beauty,
Of meters,
Is simply insufficient…
Is contrary…
Clashes…
Like pink and orange,
Or Russian on a beach,
Or salt in Champagne,
To quote myself…
Fresh air need not be proven,
But is known,
By the lungs,
That breathe it…
And free,
Open,
Lines,
By the free,
Open,
Reader…
(Pound spoke of this,
With his,
‘Never broke a thought,
to fit a rhyme…’)
Sure there are times,
When the corseted,
Metered,
Beauty,
Is dazzling…
The beauty of the jailed bird,
With its sheer brute strength,
Taking flight,
With its entire cage,
In tow…
When even the jails of convention,
Cannot keep a sensation,
Fully imprisoned…
But then you must think,
Of its impending doom,
And crash,
And tired wings,
And troubled,
Traumatized,
Soul,
Which causes pain,
In any empathetic observer,
Especially when compared,
To free-soaring peers,
Who,
Though less-dazzling,
As far as brute strength is concerned,
Inspire,
And induce smiles,
With their light,
Free flight…