“Poetry” does not exist,
and “poems” are a lie
Even though people insist,
And many always deny,
Some of them always persist
That it can actually be defined.
Maybe if it always rhymed,
I could see their point.
Or perhaps if it was timed,
They would not disappoint.
But poetry is a mystical subject,
And no one can describe
This mysterious thing they elect
Our students to rewrite.
It doesn’t always have a flow,
Nor does it have a pattern.
Yet teachers claim to know
That it is not uncertain.
So to those who believe in poetry—
If you know, please do share;
Please tell us totally
What it does forbear?
Can I just string some words together,
and claim to be a poet?
Can it simply be whatever,
Or must it be refocused?
Not yet have I seen
A true definition,
Nor am I very keen
On a new proposition.
The way I must see it,
Poetry will likely remain
Not everyone will submit
That it is, in fact, insane.
The states will say it’s necessary
To a child’s education
And added to their vocabulary,
They’ll become a successful nation
Yet I give to you this one disclaimer:
It is impossible to define.
And though considered an entertainer,
It is quite far from being divine.
One last time, I will tell you:
There’s no such thing as poetry.
It really is quite untrue,
And honestly an absurdity.