Best Ars Poetica Poems

A poem should be smooth and flat
As a jagged rock
A poem should wander
As well as be expected
Wandering through a mind
Still minding it's own business
A poem should laugh and cry
As we wade through tiered rivers
A poem should drown us
As we take in breath
Liquid life forming gills
Filtering...

Continue reading...

Ars Poetica
 
Horace circa 19 BC gave some sound advice to
poets on the art of writing poetry and drama.

The following thoughts may echo in our minds,
most likely, the intent of what he may have meant . . .

A poem may excite and delight readers with...

Continue reading...

A BRUSH OF ARS POETICA


Rhythmic verses wherein death paints a picturesque of life
or life itself is written in lethargic-dying state:
a dusty stocked vocabulary still cuts like a knife
when done and re-phrased witty, nonparallel and ornate.

Like the azure fluffy clouds parading affront the sun,
its  smiling...

Continue reading...

A poem of a poem

A poem may be wonderfully challenging to write.
Why should it be too easy, if it is to be a delight?
Nothing that has value comes without some struggle or a fight.

A poem may flow with grace, flawlessly for our delight.
Why should it...

Continue reading...

Ars Poetica


Poetry should woo you with the subtlety of a snake charmers flute
sway you side to side, captive, held in its sensuous grasp.
The words should lead you blindfolded through a myriad of meaning
allowing you to feel each step, each syllable, each inflection.
Rhymes glide frictionless against...

Continue reading...

A poem is like the ripples in a pond,
As the muted sound.

Like the reflection of the sun on an aluminum foil,
As the muddy soil.

Like a rain drop,
Dry as the desert crop.

Like the myriad colors in a shaft of light,
As the imagination takes flight.

Motionless like the...

Continue reading...

Freedom is an alter ego like a mask
Behind which censor has no eyes, and balm its blood applies.
Poetry is my freedom when wings cannot fly
The pain of the arrow in my solitary eye ...
You wrote me as a poem, I write you back so I
Can...

Continue reading...

it'd be indefinable and unknown,
especially unknown! and these unknowns,
they'd complete us...

it'd start with a cosmic sentiment,
a serendipity that's bent
toward this infinite-in,
where love in a radiant bouquet
bursting to blossom would begin --

there, where there's a music in you
eager to play in a mellifluous-voice
which only the heart...

Continue reading...

Ars Poetica In Wire And In Cage 

Some say that poetry, like God, gave birth to itself
Peculiar notions not meant for human consumption
Words settle well in vast tracks of time
Digested universes know them by their sound
Poetry lives inside live wire
Flows on electric currency
Structures cages, woven...

Continue reading...

A poet shouldn’t write what others want to hear,
One must not feel intimidation, nor fear.
A poet must write about his own experience
He should capture his own life’s true essence.

At nearly nineteen years of life I’ve learned,
A true artist’s voice is not pleasant to be heard.
A...

Continue reading...

someday, he will sit stiff
on our piano bench 
to which he has grown accustomed, and i,
home, will sit nearby 
in our cozy armchair, 
an old accomplice to my posture.

     i can’t remember the last time i saw him relax
  ...

Continue reading...

State of the Art (III)

These are my "ars poetica" poems: the ones about the art and craft of writing poetry in a modern world that doesn't always recognize the artists or their work. 



Come Down
by Michael R. Burch

for Harold Bloom

Come down, O, come down
from your...

Continue reading...

State of the Art (IV)

These are my "ars poetica" poems about the art and craft of writing poetry. 



Hearthside
by Michael R. Burch

“When you are old and grey and full of sleep...”  — W.  B.  Yeats

For all that we professed of love, we...

Continue reading...

State of the Art (II)

These are my "ars poetica" poems about the art and craft of writing poetry. 



What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch

What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer 
~~~~underwater~~~~
watching the shoreline blur
sees through his breath’s weightless bubbles ...
Both worlds grow obscure.



In...

Continue reading...

The Making of a Poet
by Michael R. Burch

While I don’t consider “Poetry” to be my best poem—I wrote the first version in my teens—it’s a poem that holds special meaning for me; I call it my ars poetica. I also consider the poems that follow...

Continue reading...