Definition of Free Verse
Free Verse is a form of Poetry composed of either rhymed or unrhymed lines that have no set fixed metrical pattern. The early 20th-century poets were the first to write what they called "free verse" which allowed them to break from the formula and rigidity of traditional poetry. The poetry of Walt Whitman provides many illustrations of Free Verse including his poem "Song of Myself".
my favorite, of course, because you can do what you feel... and what does this have to do with motherhood, not much except that before we had kids we where all still somebody out there trying to figure it out weren't we?
Bourbon Street
Mahogany knuckles
swollen but nimble
graze the ivory keys.
In his voice is ease
and repetition.
He is happy here.
So he sways his torso
left and right from
the wooden stool,
a gator's smile wrapping
his face. He can't be touched.
The people do not know him
they just dance to the music
sliding dollars into
his grandpa's felt hat.
Behind the sunglasses
his eyes coast the room
and he laughs at his patrons.
"Drunkards and fools," he says
to himself as he easily glides
one hand to his glass.
Drunkards and fools
he laughs as he sings
"Oh when the Saints
come marching in. Oh when the
Saints come marching in..."
A saint wouldn't touch this
whiskey-wet wooden hole,
he knows he is safe.
So he gazes at the crowd
loving them almost
as much as he resents them.
"Drunken fools," he says
crunching on his bourbon ice.
Fools he laughs
as he sings easily, his gravely
voice and the bourbon
mixing to form a sweet addictive slush
the crowd pays dearly for.
my favorite, of course, because you can do what you feel... and what does this have to do with motherhood, not much except that before we had kids we where all still somebody out there trying to figure it out weren't we?
Bourbon Street
Mahogany knuckles
swollen but nimble
graze the ivory keys.
In his voice is ease
and repetition.
He is happy here.
So he sways his torso
left and right from
the wooden stool,
a gator's smile wrapping
his face. He can't be touched.
The people do not know him
they just dance to the music
sliding dollars into
his grandpa's felt hat.
Behind the sunglasses
his eyes coast the room
and he laughs at his patrons.
"Drunkards and fools," he says
to himself as he easily glides
one hand to his glass.
Drunkards and fools
he laughs as he sings
"Oh when the Saints
come marching in. Oh when the
Saints come marching in..."
A saint wouldn't touch this
whiskey-wet wooden hole,
he knows he is safe.
So he gazes at the crowd
loving them almost
as much as he resents them.
"Drunken fools," he says
crunching on his bourbon ice.
Fools he laughs
as he sings easily, his gravely
voice and the bourbon
mixing to form a sweet addictive slush
the crowd pays dearly for.
No comments:
Post a Comment