Can the imagery of poetry be
Hot splashes of neon on a concrete sea,
Crimson flashed in sun glare,
Multi-colored triangles of breeze at a used car fair,
Billboards emblazed with consumer titillation,
Lighted words tracing time, temperature and news
Around buildings to entice the jaded eye,
The brain is already cloyed with confusion
Near blank with clash confusing.
This matter unfit for poetry
For poetry is meant to sing
To lull, to breath serene with human empathy
To swing the soul in lyric time
Studded here and there with nature's rhyme.
Its words are symphony
Strings and winds of syncopated harmony.
Gift to the heart of man
Emollient to cacophony.
Poetry is organic, not synthetic
It buds and swells and blooms
To technology is antipathetic,
It dwells in human cells
Yet, is ethereal and empyrean
A satin caressing glue
Mist blood, love and sinew.
Written by Addie W. Williams