Short Ars Poetica Poems

Her plane’s a poem 
that dissolves its words behind it 
	as it flies,
an ars poetica
that takes its chances on blue sky....

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Yeah Right

If poetry is so easy to write,
drop a Choka, tercet, or a quatrain slight.
So remember the rules and keep things tight,
let’s see how easy it is to get right.

By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison...

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Archibald MacLeish 'ARS POETICA'

    E                                E
      
         M                    P
     
                     A

          H                  G

     S                                I...

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who are you?
  I am the burning night
look into my crimson eyes
you want to know me,
take my hand,
I won't hurt you yet
show me where you live,
is it in a poem or a sieve
you fill with bourbon from a jar
hiddee hole beneath the bathroom drain?
are you ars poetica
or are you destined to expire at midnight
shoeless in the rain?
I ask again........
who are you?...

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I create. And it's more than just 
words that rhyme, if I could I'd
write all the time.

I can make words fly or crawl
beg her back, amuse you all.

I build ships that sail the ocean
or fly up to the moon. I help you
feel the wind or help you hear
the greeting of the loons.

I create. And it's more than just 
words that rhyme, if I could I'd
write all the time.


an ARS Poetica form ©SamHarty...

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A poem should be smooth and flat
As a jagged rock
A poem should wander
As well as be expected
Wandering through a mind
Still minding it's own business
A poem should laugh and cry
As we wade through tiered rivers
A poem should drown us
As we take in breath
Liquid life forming gills
Filtering our bottled fear
A poem should be intoxicating
As cutting as a broken glass

I'm not sure if I understand the form but I gave it a go....

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you say I am a poet
I tell you I am nothing
you say I craft words
I tell you I build nothing
you look confused
imagine how I feel
that with a mere smile
the raise of an eyebrow
you push the words 
right onto me
that's right 
don't you see now
I am your paper
you are 1000 words
waiting to be written
100 feelings 
waiting to be had
I lay myself bare to you
an empty page
just awaiting the
spill of your ink.

©SamHarty...

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A poem is like the ripples in a pond,
As the muted sound.

Like the reflection of the sun on an aluminum foil,
As the muddy soil.

Like a rain drop,
Dry as the desert crop.

Like the myriad colors in a shaft of light,
As the imagination takes flight.

Motionless like the shifting sand,
As a marauding band.

Like the glimpse of a familiar face in a milling crowd, 
As the flash of lightning in a foreboding cloud.

It should grab you like a snare
As a shooting flare!...

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