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Modern Poetry

I really cannot reason why,
Maybe, because Iím thick.
If poetry is not in rhyme,
My mind wonít let it click.

I start to read a poets work,
Sublime, when itís in rhyme.
But if itís not, alas, I find,
I struggle every time.

It isnít thereís no beauty there,
The subjects are divine.
Such mastery of woven words,
Immersed in every line.

Occasionally, it captures me,
While on itís theme I dine.
And at these times, I realise
Not everything must rhyme.

I struggle on, in my dismay,
And read just what I can.
If only I could break the mould,
Iíd be a better man.

The poets who admire my work,
And comment, that itís fine.
Must wonder why I donít respond,
Unless Ďtheyí write in rhyme.

I know I do occasionally,
When lifted by your words.
But I would like to savour more,
This mental blockís absurd.

So may I thank you, everyone,
Who read, then takes the time.
To comment on a selfish sod,
Who only writes in rhyme.

Ivor G Davies

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