A poet's breast within me beats
Beats heart and something I call soul that leaps
Charges, races, racing, finds its feet
Drags me, joyful, joy-filled, from my seat!
Elevating common prose
For pleasures sake, each poet knows,
Gains by use of tools as those
He would at length, I’m sure, disclose
If payment were perhaps an ear
Just for a moment lent to hear
Keenly offered verse— or beer,
Loved by poets too, I fear.
Most often those who are unwise
Negate the poet’s enterprise
Out of their need to criticize
(Perhaps within their misery lies)
Quite certain they must find a fault
Regardless of the somersaults
Some poets do to try and halt
Those, who in the name of help, assault.
Unless you’ve written words as these—
Verses made and meant to please
With just a little work to tease
Xenia* coaxed from a’s and z’s
Your day lacks all that razzmatazz—as
Zest for verse—and all that jazz.
*Xenia—gifts given to a guest or stranger. Xenia is the plural form of xenium.
This is an Abecedarian. First letter of each line follows the alphabet. Fun to do.