The Problem With Poetry , Or, Harvesting the Pea Patch

I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry & thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily, Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance, Even a plethora, of p’s: Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky, Pertinent and impertinent, too It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud Poetry pretends, preaches, points out, Points to, and down, and under Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale Poetry is practical, prudent, is pregnant, Gives pause Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful Poetry’s a mosaic portrayal, a Painted portraiture, perfect, profane Prosaic, it is not, Preposterous, it is It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical Peripatetic and perennial, Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres Sometimes perplexing, never perishable, It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage In place of deep purple prose A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock, Poetry promulgates poems! Poetry, dear poet, exists Poetry, dear poet, persists Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies Poetry can never desist Poetry perpetually propagates poems And that is the problem with poetry… Phew!!!