What does it mean,

to define poetry?

Where would we begin?

 

We could start with

technicality;

dissect each line, rhythm

verse…

“Why a coma,

or semicolon;

and not a period.”

Can it be,

more than we

anticipated?

 

Stand for a while and

look at basics;

metaphors warped 

into simile:

a vocal sky;

absurd like breath with

no air.

Debate similarities:

“Is it complex communication

or

simplified symphony?”

 

Influence or

influential?

“Life inspired words

or

words to inspire life?”

 

Does an attempt to

define poetry

negate its

possibilities?

 

A test of

time,

from seconds to decades

or

the inverse…

Or,

is meaning found

when immersed

in verse;

the cure for a hunger

or

curse of unquenchable

thirst?

 

What does it mean,

to define poetry?

 

What can it mean…

 

To define poetry,

is to try and find

it’s limitation.

As if to say,

“Poetry is…

because…”

 

But a reason,

a single

reason,

does not exist.

 

To Define poetry

is to

deny the

curiosity

in which it

was created.

 

No, not,

“What does it mean

to define

poetry?”

But…

 

Maybe it’s you…

Maybe, it’s me…

Where is it written

it has to be

one or the other…

Why not “We?”

 

How,

do WE

define poetry?

 

Perhaps,

boldly,

how does poetry…

define us?

 

Who are we

with it?

What,

would we be

without it?

 

Maybe, 

we look to define poetry

out of

desperation,

some hastened 

elation out of

fear of separation…

Maybe,

if we find something 

defined,

we’d be less inclined

to see

what we left behind

in our search.

 

We feed,

on this

need

to know 

where we’re meant

to go…

or fit in.

Maybe,

that’s the problem,

thinking life, living 

and being

all have only one

definition. 

 

What if,

poetry IS 

life

placed in front of us,

to shed light

on truth?

What if,

LIFE 

is poetry,

continuously being

written

as we live it? 

 

Maybe,

we’re not meant

to define poetry

“properly”

because 

WE

are poetry;

there’s little 

at all that’s 

proper about

who

and 

how

we choose to be.

 

Sometimes poetry

is subtle,

gentle and sweet;

sometimes chaotic,

crude and unforgiving.

Poetry can’t be

one

feeling,

any more than

life can be

only one

moment.

 

Poetry 

isn’t stanzas,

it’s not rhyme

it’s not an 

invention;

poetry is innovation.

 

Poetry is…

anyone, feeling

life’s moments.

Poetry,

is defined

through us.

 

In what we feel,

what we see,

how we

live. 

We,

are poetry.

 

To define poetry

is to

define

every second

of every 

moment.

To define poetry

we must

define,

wonder;

imagination.

 

To define poetry,

we must ask,

“Who are

we?”

 

If not poetry

who are we?

If not

works of art

molded into masterpieces

made to be imperfect

by design,

what are we?

If not

life

formed

through experiences 

encapsulated in bodies;

defined by no single thing

and

comprised of

everything.

 

Poetic,

experience.

 

Beautifully 

chaotic,

disorganized simplicity.

 

Poetry,

divine

not defined,

flowing through

eternity.

 

Not

“We define poetry;”

through life,

as life

REDEFINE poetry.

Live it,

breathe it,

be it.

 

 

-Gustavo Lomas

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