Poets

Poets by nature observe,
assess, convert
what is thought into image and verse.

It’s a kind of curse
the mind seeks to manage alone
and, of course, cannot,

except for motley mood music
that interferes
should a poet insist on control

of structure and meter and rime;,
if not destruction,
then kept, but only in name.

Old poets continue to listen
until assured
that each image is lovingly constructed
with rime and diction.