At Play In A Garden of Words (The Problem With Poetry, or, Harvesting the Pea Patch)

I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry

& thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily,

Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance,

Even a plethora, of p’s:

Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky,

Pertinent and impertinent, too

It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud

Poetry pretends, preaches, points out,

Points to, and down, and under

Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace

Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale

Poetry is practical,  prudent, is pregnant,

Gives pause

Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful

Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful

Poetry’s a  mosaic portrayal, a

Painted portraiture, perfect, profane

Prosaic, it is not,

Preposterous, it is

It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical

Peripatetic and perennial,

Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile

Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible

Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres

Sometimes perplexing, never perishable,

It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries

Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster

It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage

In place of deep purple prose

A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock,

Poetry promulgates poems!

Poetry, dear poet, exists

Poetry, dear poet, persists

Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies

Poetry can never desist

Poetry perpetually propagates poems

And that

is the problem

with poetry…

Phew!!!