CLEVER

CLEVER One likes to think oneself as clever Always ironic, and with a wry grin Yet the great leveller is often poetry As it sorts the wheat from the chaff And rhyme and metre can be a faff All is fair in love, war and creativity Such that we must take it on the chin And abandon our high seat forever When that thought or image strikes As cold logic succumbs to inspiration Did the brain have a sporting chance It doesn’t matter what may be true As one grasps the irrelevance of I.Q And respects taking an emotive stance Free verse has a sort of perturbation Resonant with what someone likes So, cleverness was never an absolute And courage is needed to just let go Some final tweaks and edits may work After all the arrows have been loosed The one in the target is the mot juste Yet off to one side, other words lurk It’s what you think not what you know And claims of genius one must refute