Perhaps,
there are just too many
writers of poetry out there,
I have read their poems with joy and sadness.
Gathering their thoughts and parlaying them
to images seen and postulated
with the eyes closed shut but seeing
life in their embellished dreams.
When I was a child of nine or ten
I longed to be a writer of sorts,
visionary, ingenious provocateur,
storyteller, unraveler for and of the times.
So many others beat me to it,
displaying my words with a better grace
and said what was on my mind,
beating in my heart, living in my soul
spoken well, far better
and more eloquently
than I could.
Never number one,
always second, third or more
still, some inner need
forces me to keep trying.
Therein lies the me,
determined and persistent
as with life, ever moving forward,
looking for just a little more.
Corinthians 9:24 clearly states
"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run,
but only one receives the prize?
Run in such a way as to take the prize."
So I'm running
as fast as I can
hoping and trying always
to become number one.
If you haven't yet met mister All,
he's a renowned world traveler.
He's in every port,
postulates for sport;
a self-proclaimed mysteries unraveler.
Doubtless you know mister All,
any space becomes his dominion.
His view never bends,
as he loudly contends,
everyone must accept his opinion.
Surely you've suffered mister All,
he's every man's familiar relation.
He's anxious to show it,
his first name is Know-it;
he dominates every conversation.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.