It has been said to me
That poetry
Is but Words
And Gobbledygook.
So how can I explain
What poetry is?
It’s something intangible,
An atmosphere,
A spiritual thing.
Poetry is essence,
Touching the soul.
A kind of Magic,
As Queen used to sing.
It makes you tingle
And shudder
And glow.
Much more than a shopping list
Or legal decree
Poetry flows from the heart,
Lyrically lancing
Through space and time
To create a universe
Of bountiful beauty,
Where even the ugliest monstrosity
Is transformed
Into heaven
On Earth.
It saddens me to think
That seemingly soulless people
Miss out
On this.
So all I can do
Is keep on singing,
Carry on writing
In the enduring hope
That one day
They will see the light.
Paul Butters
© PB 2\1\2019.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 8:56 AM UTC
It has been said to me
That poetry
Is but Words
And Gobbledygook.
So how can I explain
What poetry is?
It’s something intangible,
An atmosphere,
A spiritual thing.
Poetry is essence,
Touching the soul.
A kind of Magic,
As Queen used to sing.
It makes you tingle
And shudder
And glow.
Much more than a shopping list
Or legal decree
Poetry flows from the heart,
Lyrically lancing
Through space and time
To create a universe
Of bountiful beauty,
Where even the ugliest monstrosity
Is transformed
Into heaven
On Earth.
It saddens me to think
That seemingly soulless people
Miss out
On this.
So all I can do
Is keep on singing,
Carry on writing
In the enduring hope
That one day
They will see the light.
Paul Butters
© PB 2\1\2019.
Request permission to use this poem