I bought a book of Mrs. Oliver's Rules,
a list of things last seen in middle school,
so I may know again the things to do,
to make great poetry from word-play stew.
But rules have always been so hard to take,
pentameter a boring subject makes,
I now remember why in school I slept,
I hold no place where silly rules are kept.
I have no horse, no darkened woods of snow,
Just me, my iPad, nowhere else to go.
I'm certain that his horse did think it queer,
to force pentameter on gentle ears.
I'm sure to some these prove most useful tools,
but I shall be no chef of rhythmic gruel,
I’ll carry on the creed of fools unschooled:
To hell with rules.
written while reading Mary Oliver's "Poetry Handbook" and Charles Bukowski's "The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over The Hills"
Ken Owen Van Niddy Press March 2015