Tell me what a poem is, for I cannot tell you.

Is poetry a feeling, strong, of what you always knew?

Is taste and smell and memory -- or even just a touch

To be expressed by someone who may love to write so much?


Do thoughts run freely through the mind, the dreamer to awake

To take a pen and write them down, while sleep he must forsake?

When they come, not on demand, they can be lost, you see;

Just write it down immediately -- for it may be poetry.


Is poetry a tool that's used just like an artist's brush -

And words, the palette, colourful -- the strokes an artful rush?

Tell me what a poem is; I'm sure someone must know -

One open to ideas and receptive to the flow.

--Doreen (Adams) Ellis


My Sister's Poetry Pages