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Free verse,

You are a very tricky thing.

Rhymes will confine, contain, but give you structure;

Meter will direct you;


Is even more specific.

But free verse?

How can you keep this thing

From turning into prose?

It flies, it’s free,

It flows and flows,

You never know where

It wants to be.

So here it goes.

Not in the intended direction.



Bare trees.

The grey trunks

Stick out of grey dirt

Under the grey sky.

And a random splash of colour –

A kite

Stuck in the branches.


That’s how a string

Breaks in the middle of a solo,

And lyrics sink

In the noise of the crowd.


That’s how a crazy mouse

Chews through a wire

And lights go out,

Leaving a couple of dim lamps.


That’s how a battery

Dies in a camera,

And it seems impossible

To take what you see

With you


To a warm and quiet

Sunny afternoon,

In order to calmly

Look at it, think of it,

Sort it out,

Live it through,

Let it heal.



Eat main courses,

But boats

Eat just oats.


Like chocolate bars,

Especially Mars,

While grazing at the stars.

But mooms

And vooms

Prefer booroom-boorooms.


When it comes to culture,

I’m a dangerous vulture.