Ezra Pound Manifesto

The passion’s free without pentameter.

The word, more than the sum of all its parts.

Oppose the cosmic poet’s well-worn phrase.

Descriptive hue; green, sunlit energy.

Free, open verse: eternity’s white space.

The spirit: forlorn faces in a crowd.

Imagine death: ghost-blossoms on a bough.

MVC-005Sphoto by Jacqueline Casey

For My Friend, William

Green LilyPhoto by J. Casey

“For My Friend, William!”

Oh, William, others now have ‘attitude’.
Your sonnets broken into Flarf and sent.
The Moderns make more humble pie of you
Some call your ‘summer’s day’ a simple vent!

Oh, William, where must soulful poet step:
avoidance of all passion voids true love!
They know not of pentameter, those shleps!
Or how to rhyme expectant like the dove.

Now, rhyme, they say, a harried gambler’s chance.
Throw words, wired,  juxtaposed into the air.
The heart, then, not conditioned for romance.
Egalitarian, all poet’s share.

“There’s nothing new beneath the sun”, they squawk.
As each write through the other like a hawk.

¬†Yesterday’s mention of “Flarf” poetry led me to write the above.)