Before We Were Poets

the heart of a matter rather than its meter . . .

Image by Carmem Cândido Rodrigues Carlotinha from Pixabay

Before we went struttin’
some iambic pentameter
a pulse merely went impulsive
raw gritty realism ruled
back before wordplay
stirred our syncopation.

Sans metronome.

Back when every kiss
simply went spontaneous.

When red-tailed hawks
wing-dipped sky haiku
in chaparral chocolate.

We never thought to meter
a single I love you.

Back when we broadcast
scads of joyful willy-nilly
upon a summer sunset.

Sans self-consciousness.

Before all the parsing:
form versus free verse
poetry versus prose-poetry
are rhymers even legit?

The heart of a matter
rather than its meter
feeling how a kiss can slip
between virtual lips
and all that reckless
awkward fluttering
giddy aftershocks.

Sans thesaurus
and spellcheck.

Before we were poets and
our enlightened second-guessing
became overly white knuckle.

Image by Hans from Pixabay . . . caption by Margie Willis