Razzmatazz

A poet’s breast within me beats
Beats heart and something I call soul that leaps
Charges, races, racing, finds its feet
Drags me, joyful, joy-filled, from my seat!

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Elevating common prose
For pleasures sake, each poet knows,
Gains by use of tools as those
He would at length, I’m sure, disclose

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If payment were perhaps an ear
Just for a moment lent to hear
Keenly offered verse— or beer,
Loved by poets too, I fear.

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Most often those who are unwise
Negate the poet’s enterprise
Out of their need to criticize
(Perhaps within their misery lies)

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Quite certain they must find a fault
Regardless of the somersaults
Some poets do to try and halt
Those, who in the name of help, assault.

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Unless you’ve written words as these—
Verses made and meant to please
With just a little work to tease
Xenia* coaxed from a’s and z’s

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Your day lacks all that razzmatazz—as
Zest for verse—and all that jazz.

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*Xenia—gifts given to a guest or stranger. Xenia is the plural form of xenium. This poem is an Abecedarian. First letter of each line follows the alphabet. Fun to do.

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