We have this idea in modern poetry
That it shouldn’t rhyme.
That if you’re rhyming
You’re doing it wrong
And quite frankly, you should really stop.

And I quite sincerely agree.
Poetry’s raw~

It’s not like a song
Where you’re humming along
And the rhyming’s the timing that carries it on

We don’t need that
Poetry isn’t some fairy-tale conjecture like music is
It’s real
It’s from the heart
Not some tiddlywink fancy-grammar
Meant to twiddle your dew-gumbits

It’s powerful flowing waves
Crushed from the ocean of humanity
Meant to hush our very souls
With the utter calamity of this endless
Cosmos spinning about us!

I mean how could a poet, in all seriousness
Hope to touch on the majesty of these whirlwinding
Roars of bliss and tragedy that paint
Great swathing splashes of triumph and atrophy
On the bone-marrow canvass of our brittle lives,
When they’re caught up in such juvenile flourishes?

You simply can’t summon or possibly capture
The misery, the fortitude, the cunning, the rapture
Of this divine random babble of beauty and sorrow
In duty of chasing a misty tomorrow
With only what graces the heavens may grant! ~

If you’re caught up in rhyming
I’m sorry, you can’t.