Untamed Poetry

A poem flutters, elusive
in my mind’s mad periphery
flits about on gossamer wings
a glimmer—untamed—ethereal

word and image dance—as if
to taunt me from a distance
a form grows misty, yet I’m
persistent, so I plod on

there and yonder
poetry flies

an errant flock of words
scatters at my clumsy approach
breaks and dives—in open sky
alight, on wings of wonder

in awe, I ponder the unruly
syllables, pinning them down
one-by-one, constrained
in rows on a lined, white page

here in chains
poetry dies

wild words huddle, fettered
with clipped wings—things
seem different in captivity
staring—stiff in sterile confinement

consigning my words
to their paper cage, I wonder
somehow, they seemed more beautiful
when they were still free