Ars longa, vita brevis

A poem about the long and arduous work of creating good verse and poetry.

“Life is short, and art long, opportunity fleeting, experience perilous, and decision difficult.” --Hippocrates

 

 

 

Poetry’s a difficult art;

it requires skill and meter

and a poet that’s awful smart,

or one will tire and teeter.

 

Poetry’s a difficult art;

one has to be a trained poet

who writes with love and a good heart

to create grace and not blow it.

 

Poetry’s a difficult art;

it’s a gift from the Nine Muses

that’s precious and does not depart

from one whose praise ever effuses.

 

Poetry’s a difficult art;

at times lack of inspiration

leaves one knowing not how to start,

as one’s soul longs for creation.

 

Poetry’s a difficult art;

it’s not for the smooth dilettante

nor for the weak and faint of heart,

the cavalier or nonchalant!

 

Poetry’s a difficult art;

more austere than science or math,

it demands the mind of Descartes

and the will for Parnassus’s path.

 

Poetry’s a difficult art;

it acts like gravity (for rhyme):

it keeps them from flying apart

in this universe of rune-time.

 

Poetry’s a difficult art;

it is at times wordless beauty

that is hard to grasp or impart,

like the Cosmos’s infinity.

 

Poetry’s a difficult art;

with rhythm it can soothe the soul

at the deepest, innermost part

where form, mind, and spirit are whole.

 

Poetry’s a difficult art;

like love, sometimes it makes no sense:

to the One you love be true to heart--

for it makes all the difference!