Chances Are, Poetry Is A Song

Turn a moonbeam into a
Celestial pathway through the stars
And poetry has become art.

Pulse with the percussive rhythm
Of a castanet's clatter,
And words become the sounds that matter.

Ebb and flow with the rolling surf,
Stresses and weak beats tugging sand,
And meter with foot becomes a dance.

Paint a gnarly tree into a
Work of wonder with a brush of words,
And see a blessing in a blight reversed.

As if the realist or dreamer
Stands before the world, right or wrong,
And chances are, a dreamer wrote that song.

Love, Jody

Printed in
Iowa Poetry Association