What is a poem, a few lines of prose,
Words to an audience as you sit there composed,
A great book I could write, but a story could not tell,
What a few lines of prose can say so very well.
For the poem gives just enough for imagination in you fire,
Your feelings and emotions, your hopes and loved desires,
The words they are enough for your mind to take hold,
As you listen and you hear, your life grows oh so bold.
The poem is the fuel for an untouched wooden pyre,
Your mind creates the spark that then creates the fire,
The words feed your memories, they jump up and shout,
“Yes I can see now, that’s what I am about.”
And as you join the poem, and add so much unsaid,
The poem becomes life and it grows within your head,
A life there of its own, a sweet song sung in tune,
Just a poem no longer, for the poem it becomes you.
Jack Wolfe Frost is the Eternal Rebel; he rebels against everything which may have the word “rules” or “behave” within it, whether explicit or implicit. Born in Sheffield, UK, in 1956; he first started writing in 1982, as a hobby--dreaming that perhaps one day he might try and publish something. In his working life, he has enjoyed success in many diverse areas, including running his own company twice. Now older and wiser, he has once again taken pen to paper--looking for conformity to smash and rules to break…