What will you do?
asked she.
Write, I replied.
You've left it late!
she rallied.
(Growl)
Never too late –
remember Grandma Moses.
I've always written,
it's part of me:
love of poetry
read and write it
at any age
accept the rules
Now there's a change:
no boundaries,
rule free
the soul informs the brain.
One lion will roar
to other lions
who can understand
but animals around
respond with difficulty.

Poets are lions
some quietly roar
embrace no longer rules
sometimes, but optional
occasionally employ
old prosody –
wise to speculate
write, read, roar
can then be understood.
always soul-memory.

A so-called poet
critic also to poets
was heard to say
that he tears up
and throws away
all treasures
mentioning memory.
This is
non-understandable
for does this mean
this critic has
no memory?

Here I say
RUBBISH

we poets know
the soul shines memory
not only one
but different
and innumerable
age-old or fertile-new

I've had my say –

come poets
ROAR.