There is the stubborn poem
That resists your efforts
To incarcerate it
Into convention’s confines
The stocks and pillory
Of rhyme and meter

There’s the exuberant poem
That seems to exult
In its own expanse
Of beauteous words
That bloom into
A veritable valley of flowers

There’s the mischievous poem
That creates anticipation
Only to undermine
Your expectations
Of ever knowing
Where and how it will end

There’s the impetuous poem
That is unpredictable
It makes you lean forward
With excitement
And makes you
Just about lose your breath

There’s the stertorous poem
That is itself almost out of breath
Thrillingly, tantalizingly
Like the singer in an opera
Who holds a note
To prolong a phrase

There’s the sui juris poem
That is constrained yet free
Like the tightrope walker
On a high wire
Who holds the wobbly line
Firmly between his toes

There’s the rambling poem
That is just one long sentence
Each part unraveling
Into its own denouement
Each splash coloring
The others in a rainbow

Every kind of poem
Is an indelible gift
That is given to you
Without reservation
With no motive other than
Simply to delight you

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