I Met Poetry

I found poetry

in form of a flighty fay

A light and pretty fairy

viewing the land

with eyes open and wary


I saw poetry

in the struggles

of seeking and being sought

heard it scrape echoes

out the bottom of a bottle of pills,

A cold wind trying hard to give me chills

The grimmest of the grimdark

An apocalyptic apothecary

A regular coal mine canary

bleating out beats beneath

feathers colored too crassly

and a bent beak

jaundiced just right


Poetry and I met

At a gallant gala

Where I saw it

Step to strict form


It spoke in fine tune

for the lover and loon

before it danced the

Sestina with idling Italians

and sung a blues sonnet

to rowdy revolutionaries

and pouting prophets


Poetry invited me

to a snappy café.

We talked in stilted

flow and rhythm

trying terribly to rhyme


I cornered poetry

(Just when it got big)

for an autograph.

It just threw me a mirror

and told me to write

a god damn book


Poetry and I

had a falling out,

when I wanted ideology

and it trended to the miscarriages

of so sharp a reality


I kneeled at Poetry’s deathbed

and heard it spout gibberish

Let it mouth references

to Shakespeare’s obscurities

Before its cold bulging veins

pumped bursting pluralities

that would prove too much

for a never healthy heart


Like Poetry,

I resolved to speak

until I would draw a fine line

and let words

From my mind and mouth

Like blood

From my body and health


~Austin R Ryan