‘poetry is a game of three halves!’
“three halves!” you exclaim.
‘yes!’, I reply.
“so, if that is the case, when do you have the oranges?”
in poetry you don’t ‘have’ the ‘oranges’, because the rhymes are not there…
…in poetry… we have ‘limes’.
“okay! but what are the rules!”
the rules? they are many, and they don’t suffer fools.
gladly will I tell them to you, it will pass a moment or two
before my muse calls and the answer-phone kicks in.
“do your poems have to rhyme?”
all the time! or, not at all…. or when they like!
it’s a matter of style.
for some, the rules of poetic form are a guide,
behind and beyond which they can hide.
others decide to flaunt the rules,
taunt the tools of a decent poem.
in a recent poem, which I had the misfortune to see,
I saw the ‘poet’ (who apparently had feet of clay)
had written, so it seemed, that rhymes were all, (he must have been having an off-day)
but, he had missed the metre, the rhythm, the caesural pause,
avoided the basic laws, just to get a ‘how-now-brown-cow’
‘bish-bash, mish-mash’ sort of an effect, making for a rather ‘air-bourne-pink-sow’ defect.
‘I amb, you see, a man, in all, I say, or do, – or am I?’
reflect upon the Iambic metre of the above,
and did you espy the finale
with all the pterror of a Dactyl flying in to end it?