It’s a freeform T-storm,
popping verbal thunder, and
locking limerick’d lightning bolts,
making the mind’s eye open wide,
sending provocative prose from the sky in multi-lettered jolts –
an ensemble effort, each word has electricity,
a hundred thousand volts in each syllable’s ability
to hit your brain’s mainframe precisely, with agility,
So much motion in poetry, especially considering-
-how words are really spells and can take you somewhere else,
to a time and space where you wouldn’t quite think;
these words are a transport to a leopard-print Jansport,
or skating fast around an empty hockey rink.
Poetry, to me, is ‘thought-dancing.’
Whether its a headspin, or ballerinas prancing.
A romantic word-tango,
a circus of high flying verses that make us nervous;
A ground-shaking, spoken-word haka,
or a line dance, chanted in unison.
It’s a movement class for the mind,
as we use our ideas to decorate space and time.
“May I have this thought-dance?” I ask in rhyme
to imagine with my words, and your thoughts, intertwined. -RSM