A poets prerogative, poetic licence
It has to be said in whispered silence.
To misspell a word to make it rhyme.
You know, some do it to end a line.
Its poetic licence, like a rapids dimple.
Whirlpool, avoid, like a simple pimple.
Ere you could get sucked in so deep.
Poetic licence, that’s all, don’t freak.
Playing with words too, a poetic trait.
Fun and sad, play or work, love or hate.
Chase all your dreams, don’t just follow,
Live ones life, like there is no tomorrow.
Poetic licence, used to express the truth
A poets prerogative their words forsooth
What form their poems, their prerogative
Rest assured their heart they will give
Their true feelings, their souls exposed
Inspirations, life into poems composed
In desperation, an attempt to enlighten
To make life easier, not at all to frighten
For oft poets see the way life is going
They write in hope, their words cajoling
Persuading wrong doers to make good
Ere their culture, from whatever hood
They know the world is suffering badly
They governments don’t care, well hardly
We’ve begged for all wars to disease
Oh how we’ve tried to peace unleash
As a fellow poet I appeal to poets all
To make people aware the world will fall
Use our poetic licence to convince all folk
Pollution, climate warnings real, no joke.
© Mick E Talbot 2017/66