A Poetic Definition.
#64 of poetry
There was a writing prompt going around, about trying to define poetry. So I took a crack at it.
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There are schools of thought where thinking must needs work like thin magnetics,
Aligning every glittering gear with every last ball-bearing,
So that the world is dissected by 'if and only' statements
To categories perfect, and to crystal clear declensions.
But these are not the only orthodoxy we've invented,
And mother nature does not write in dictionary dryness.
So many things cross over, as in limina-like haunting,
From one sphere to another, quite unconscious of the border.
So thus the poor philosopher, confounded by plucked chicken.
So thus the gender binary is broken into spectrum.
So thus the evolutioning, through fire and love and hunger,
From wolf upon the frozen steppes to squeaky bone and walkies.
I would not look for poetry in any definition.
But in the density of truth constraint of form imposes,
Like carbonated soda bottle, contents under pressure,
Like oak limbs grown thrice thicker, from holding up the ivy,
Like depth of feeling shown but by the effort to contain it.
For even in free verse, the plain truth that plain prose speaks plainly
Is crystalized, is sanctified, to a mosaic icon.
And does the halo make the icon? Or the jeweled letters?
The colors of the tesserae? The linden wood unblemished?
The weeks of prayer and fasting before brush may meet with palate?
Or is it in enthronement in the shrine or sanctuary
That painting or mosaic or stained glass becomes an icon?