the poet-bard lost their language amid the drama of night of which, still flashes the words to fizzle from sight until the pink agent is stalled, stilted dumb this poet-bard who once sang of everything when now, perplexed by the singing sung again, may find the urge to kindle the fire of his tongue the cloven flame vibrating above his dome to yet sing the celestial hymn, its radiance intone of the intricate creation of all to query, to unmask everything to what is now too minimal, she ridiculed his Dodge Colt life with her BMW Z series sports car strife to the poet, plainness is a wealth and ponderousness, often their ill-health he kept subtracting --letting go of more and even dumped offering the critiquing score Is the poet bereft of words a poet or bard? this writing rad thinker once sight-marred the neo spotted blind the dying coal then fanning orange, a tiny spark relit the core a new breathtaking wonder inflamed the neo-poet prophetic bard unchained *all in iambic pentameter, blank verse, alternate rhyme 2.1 8/5 © Brian Peter Hodgkinson
The Neo
19
May