To My Fellow Poet, Imaginist

There is a small group of poets I come across sometimes who write in a very lucid and vividly concrete style which totally enchants me because, unlike myself, they seem to do it effortlessly. They also use images that are so unique, I can barely manage to think up such unusual figurative language. For that reason, I made up the word "Imaginist." One such poet who wrote in this style was Sondra Ball (recently deceased) who published the successful ezine, Autumn Leaves. Although this poem of mine could refer to other poets I admire here at Soup as well, I dedicate it to her. It's not an easy thing for me- that which you do with mind and matter ( paper; ink). How the world so differently you see. You startle senses with your imagery. Oh, were it so I too could seize a moment; throw it back to you new (and incredibly concrete). I think that would be indeed sweet. God gifted you this thing– this creativity, and yes, you use it well, in fact, beautifully. Though what you do day in and day out may only come to me infrequently, I will plod along, my words to tout (or to flout) what life is all about. For you . . . who fails to hesitate, Time hasn't long to wait. Pen in hand, do continue to, most fruitful one, proliferate. For Amy Green's Contest: Wow Me With Inspiration And now for PD's the free verse (old/new)Poetry Contest