In Search of Some Je Ne Sais Quoi

His lines he always wanted to shine With éclat and style mingled fine To bedazzle and strike with awe Those who bothered to read a line For hours on end, would he ponder On how he could rive you asunder With some poetic turn of phrase Perfectly pointed sans all blunder Listen to what he learned at last Content when he was with his writing cast Easy on the ear, loud and clear Words were raining down somewhat thick and fast A maestro, he remembered one day Had told him of some versed in display Who sadly think have a lot to say Yet, their dead words at the moon but bay Flowing, flaying, flaming, fighting Blowing, playing, blaming, biting Loving, loathing, baring, clothing All this juxtaposed in your writing Fails to offer what it does take To pregnant poetry make Poetry boils from within Insight absent, it will not take Soulless words will never congeal The pest of pomp, you can’t conceal “Good wine needs no bush”, said the poet The wise take not the fruit for the peel The epiphany shook him to his sense His lines now seemed a pile of nonsense From here to Timbuktu, he thought Ran the serpentine to eloquence Poetasters push the pen too hard They throw a wheel if you would regard Literary knowledge is not enough It takes more wisdom to be a bard