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Frederick Kwesi Great Agboletey
Brottby, Sweden.
When the first poet
When
the first poet
Wrote the first poem
He wrote from the heart
For the less creative to structure into four lines-
When creative soul inspired
Let emotions pent up ruminations
It burst forth in unmediated joy
A birthing
of a thing brilliant in its outpouring-
Structure emerge as though by design
So that lesser men
Can read between
terse lines
And discover the pithy quatrain-
Form was an afterthought
In sudden outpouring
Of clarity
forming in aftermath of occurence
For form to give meaning shape-
Then in idle moment
I traversed to Milton
There, in his introduction to Paradise lost
He condemned structure and rime-
As a torment invented by a barbaric
civility
Where perfect endings and rhyming words
In seeming musical cadence
Have anything but music-
When
inspiration dawns
Suddenly birthing things that were not
It cometh not with structured meaning,
It is an overwhelming
emotional outpouring-
Creative mind's wild outpouring,
Of great intensity
Unstructured
As rusted ancient
gates give way to inspiration-
When such powerful forces undefined
Eject their uncensored outpourings
Of purest
light in defined streams unto man
Thus is inspiration born-
Into man's ordered world
Where reason pounces
upon such purity uncensored
Let loose in a world trapped in strictures of orderly existence
Where greatness is proclaimed-
Inspiration is not ordered in its emergence
It happens and considered as an afterthought
Therefore in silent
depth of night
I seek not perfection but I create-
Ordered relevance is in opposition
To these graceful enablement
of thoughts
Gathering through age's canals
To yield one momentous expression-
Redefinition of reality
Accepted
by quotidian masses
Coming forth
From unmapped rugged terrains of inspiration-
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