This piece is just satire on my part and I don’t mean to disparage anyone’s work. I subscribe to “A Poem-a-Day” via poets.org.

Today I read “How to prepare the Mind for Lightning” by Brynn Saito and thus this rant on my part. I read these poems everyday with mixed emotions. I peruse these pieces with an open mind and appreciate the author’s endeavors but I get extremely perplexed by the disruptivity of the poems.

I have made an effort at composing literary pieces and have a small anthology of my work. I have read the classics and can recite from memory poems and quotes that have made an impression on me thus stirring my emotions.

It seems that modern poets don’t feel compelled to make their poems rhyme or use the basic principles or rules of composition such as a simple a, b, a, b, c, d, etc. nor iambic pentameter, or measure.

Perhaps I am just old and from the old school. I have discussed this with my daughter who has published her first novel. My daughter states that there are no more rules to composition. Modern writers write with a freedom,expressing themselves with their local jargon and metaphors. Today’s poets are no longer constrained by rules and are generally accepted by the people who read their works.

Some recent pieces I have read are just diatribes by black poets about slavery which they have not endured and black lives matter stuff and appear to me to be just anger expressing itself, nothing reflective or sublime.

I must admit that I am perplexed by it all. I continue to read these poems and a lot of them are just a disjointed collections of thoughts put together in some sort of snobby, more cerebral than you, rendition of something they concocted while on drugs. DAD


I read a poem today

As I do everyday to enlighten the mind

"How to prepare my mind for lightning

Am I so dense? Am I so terse?

I can’t make sense of it

Is it rhyme, prose or verse?

Am I so old? I recall poetic treasure

Frost, Longfellow and Poe

Am I so bold as to recite?

Yeats, Browning and Thoreau

What does lightning have to do with wisteria?

Why is a woman bleeding wisteria from her

Mouth, eyes, and wrist veins, in hysteria

Why is she called by the river?

Where does a warehouse fit in?

The wisteria wonders as if it could recall

Though I am impressed by the

“Boundless, empty, unimaginable dark”

I see wisteria in a fonder sense as

That which embraces the mighty oak

Entwining itself around its girth

Giving purchase to the child

That it might climb to a higher perch

Ever upwards into the fragrant blossoms

That rain down in gossamer flurries of

Purple and lilac snow

This is the wisteria of my memory

It has absolutely nothing to do with lightning