It's rather difficult to define this art-form without listing examples of its many dimensions in metered expression. Sonnets, haikus, couplets among many other specifically rhythmic assemblies of words are conjured to the mind when the word is mentioned. However, poetry can include art of any form, even sans words, depending on the eye (or perhaps ear) of the beholder. One might find it in the motions of a ballet, or the quiet sounds of nature when watching the stars. The word can be applied as a synonym for art, and often is. Whether you enjoy the structure of an Italian sonnet, or the freedom of imagery-filled prose, poetry can be found anywhere by those who recognize its descriptive, emotive, grace in the undeniable internal reaction it elicits.

The frolicsome hippopotamus

Danced with the giraffe for us

Through the capsule which held time

Twirling actions into rhyme

The abominable snowman huffed

Melting layers, dried, and fluffed

To the silly melody

'Til a wee yeti grinned at me

When they were through, we had to laugh

At the gangly, young giraffe

Knotting that long neck of hers

As she tumbled down the stairs

The happy hippo was prepared

For his friend to need repair

And frolicked quickly through the capsule

To collect his giraffe-knot-tool

Slapstick ensued - nothing witty

But enough for the small yeti

To giggle herself into a bubble

So far from abominable

That she joined in the silly fun

Henceforth proving frolicsome

I watched his little body twitch with each discharge of the seven rifles, though his hand did not waver from its salute. The bugle, in perfect pitch, sang the memory of that demanding uniform to rest while the cloth was folded with precision. No four-year-old should have to accept that morbid triangle of honor in lieu of a parent, but there he was - so brave - your son. He held that flag so precious, as though it would someday bring you home. Looking at him today, sporting his dress-whites, at the same age you were then, I could almost think it did...

Author of Bland, Unremarkable Obituaries

Travel agent for Styx Oneway Cruise Lines

Silent partner of Flowers for Survivors, LLC

Well-versed in execution of exit strategies

Extensive experience with Discretion

Plot numbers available upon request

A brazen, craven dream enticed Francis: "Goodness! 'Has innocent Juliet known lust,' my nymph? Oh, princess..." quoted Romeo suggestively, teasingly, undertaking very wicked x-ratings. "Your zingers are brilliant, cutey."

Driving, encouraging fingers gyrated her, involving juicy kisses. Lingering, miniscule nibbles over persistently quivering ribs, slowly tantalized undulating, virginal wonders. Xiphoid yearning zenithed and brought carnal, delicious ecstasy. Francis gained her internal jubilant kinaesthesia, learning muscle-tension no other passion's questing, rubbing, sinful torment understood. Visions, wherein xenomanic, young zains awakened breathtaking curiosity, delivering enigmatic feelings, guided her. Insistently, joltingly kinetic lips meandered nearby orgasmic, pulsing, quickening, riveting, sensitive, tingling, unmentionable venues with xylocarpous, ywis zealous, albeit blissful consequences. Delight engulfed fully, grinding his intense, jumping, keen luck. Man never orchestrated pleasure quite right since then.

An image

A look

An experience

A thought

Recorded, but distorted in the lifetime of ever-changing perception

The silence that watches you from between everything you were ever told

That wondering, wandering doubt that nips incessantly at the subconscious slumber of your conscience with mirrored eyes

Speculating what is Truth

I am to you as you are to me:

The story of a life

Which may gain substance in yours

Or not