Truly gifted poets Straddle their crafts early on Some even in adolescence They have been cursed or blessed To be kings and queens of utterance. I never dreamed of becoming a poet It was furthest from my mind Then in a sudden twist of eardrum It happened in my mid thirties.
Out of the recesses of Time Came the lure and a hook Shining in enchanted brook And before i knew it My heart was snatched And my movements flustered When i bit on ambrosiac bait Drenched in Muse's wine Drugged and drunk On sounds and images I struggled in a pool of words To assemble what held me infused To make sense of orphaned views Swaying between shade and light Like dancers deprived of audience.
My poetic rapture began In frenetic rain of ink preposterous in direction A poetaster rapt on vapid rhymes With sounds of poetic crimes But my craft developed In piecemeal fashion And rendered my pen composed.
A minnow of long ago Has grown into a mackerel And longs to become a whale In the ocean Ars Poetica Though it seems a pipe dream.