Tell me what a poem is, for I cannot
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