Poetry, a dying art?
Can spoken verse persist as part
Of lover’s tongue or tyrant’s rant,
Of sacred plea or childish chant?
Archaic skill so stigmatised,
A generation digitised
Can see no point, no sense, no gain
In blissful ignorance remains -
But then, as sunbeams through the mist
Like siren’s song, who can resist?
A poet calls to youthful ears
As now enlightenment appears
The spell is cast, the spark is lit
Captivated listeners sit
Hours now like seconds pass
(At least it gets us out of class)
Perhaps we may have learned a fraction
From this Poetry in Action!