Hand him the mike
Give him a voice
Let him take the stand and state his case
Spit it out
Hush the jabbering crowd
While she speaks
Raise your right hand
And tell us you will tell the truth
As you see it
The poem
Has something to say
She has the floor now
We are all ears, waiting
For her to speak her peace
About the doors closing, and opportunities waning
How she is too complex
And if not that then far too
Boring
She is not gotten
They don’t get it
She muses
what is the point
If no one is listening why even speak
To what has been said about her kind
They are not always
Kind
Yet
And when
The child in you
And the child in me
Slows the pace and finds the time
To walk into the poet’s corner
Peace prevails and no one comes out fighting
The economy of words may be sparse
Compressed and punctuation odd
Line breaks take you by the hand and lead you down a crooked path of
Words
no rhyme more than half
the time
But if you take a second
Hyperbole again
And perhaps go back for a second
Read
You may come to like
Or even love
Not the poems
The metaphors or simile
the poets forms and oddities
But the heart of the one who simply
writes
the
Poetry
Seems the jury is still out
The Defense rests her case
elizabeth w. marshall 