It’s Poetry Month!
Awake, Chanticleer!
It’s a Word Party
for one-twelfth of the year!
Such rarified air —
how best celebrate?
Use words like behoof,
whence, vulpinate?
Will I write my to-do list
in tripping dactylic,
wear diaphanous robes
though I look imbecilic?
What shall I read?
Some Dickinson, Frost?
Maybe an epic
like Paradise Lost?
Yes, I’m name-dropping;
it’s only a ruse
for what I tuck in them:
my friend, Mother Goose.
Does rhyme make a poem?
I think not, but then
I don’t know what does —
it’s out of my ken.
I’ve read and I’ve wondered
if anyone knows
why some works are called poems
and not just fine prose.
What makes a poem?
Can I know beyond doubt?
Will Poetry Month
help me figure it out?
Oddments 
April 1, 2021 at 4:32 pm
If you can’t figure it out, the rest of us are doomed. 🙂 I’ve always liked poetry, but was never interested or able to write it. I live the poet’s life vicariously through you, my friend. 🙂 Of course, I was a big Mother Goose Fan and even remember Dick, Jane, and Spot. 🙂
April 1, 2021 at 4:54 pm
Oh, yes, the days of great literature: See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Run, run, run. Don’t you wonder that first-grade teachers kept any sanity at all? And maybe they didn’t! I’ll take Mother Goose any day. I find the concept of poetry very confusing, yet I’ve heard some people talk about it as though they understand exactly what it is. I set aside Poetry Month to scratching my head more than usual.
April 1, 2021 at 7:41 pm
Thank you for the invite to your word party. I’ll echo Judy – if you can’t figure it out, the rest of us haven’t much chance. But it seems we become less sure of some things the more we wonder about them.
April 1, 2021 at 11:06 pm
You make a good point about wondering. I’ve been wondering about poetry for a long time and it hasn’t helped much. Maybe some things in life are just to be wondered about.