Passion and the Poet
Without fiery passion,
there is no poetry – Oh,
there are jingles of sorts!
jingles of naughts –
Limericks so on, and on
and on – Rhymes two
three and four, or as many
more; but, for a lyric to
soar, or heavily sink to
depths fond hearts dip
and taste-tally together
explore...there must be
great passion, smothering
smoking, burning passion
or nothing at all:
passion above, passion below
as well as within – to the core
of earth-center while breaching
sky tall...or the poet's words,
the vehicles of his being
the reasons for his feeling
the scopes of his seeing
without such divine-juice
his soul-output sputters
and stalls – spent projectiles
from
conforming
passionless
balls –
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