Unsure on which particular day
I first became a member
Of the American Academy
Of those who dabble in verse
I found myself sitting down
From time to time
In front of the typewriter
With an energy that was
Incredibly succinct
Though nearly capable
Of bursting through my capillaries
That’s how sharply it pulsed at times
And how much I found myself
In need of release whether
By means of measured rhyme
Or just the reverse
It came to me
Line by line
Like an extension of my very self
Yet also as if begotten by ghost hand
Powered or perhaps informed
By someone other than I
All the while
It resonated so deeply
From soles to crown
Measuring the totality
Of who and what I am
So now I say
Let poetry itself
Be the foundation’s rock
I don’t need Harriet Monroe
Or anyone else to help decide
In point of fact
And difficult though it may be
To get the news from poems
Let no man die for lack thereof
For want of trying