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Ars Poetica of the Double-Edged Ladle
In every poet's chest, two hearts beat wild,
the dueling drumbeats of pure truth and ruse.
A ladle stirs the pot, a moon spoon child,
scooping portions of lies, then ladling hues.
One mind deduces: craft with honesty,
lest every line betray deceit's sour stench.
The other says, "Cheat the bough to free
the fruit." Sweet juice earned with a sinner's wrench.
To bend the branch or not? Unfaithful thought,
stirs verses like broth, thick with everything.
The ladle's scoop is deep, its silver caught
between what's served and what is simmering.
For in the poet's kitchen, art is planned;
a pinch of fib to feed the truth at hand.
© Tiger64X2
the dueling drumbeats of pure truth and ruse.
A ladle stirs the pot, a moon spoon child,
scooping portions of lies, then ladling hues.
One mind deduces: craft with honesty,
lest every line betray deceit's sour stench.
The other says, "Cheat the bough to free
the fruit." Sweet juice earned with a sinner's wrench.
To bend the branch or not? Unfaithful thought,
stirs verses like broth, thick with everything.
The ladle's scoop is deep, its silver caught
between what's served and what is simmering.
For in the poet's kitchen, art is planned;
a pinch of fib to feed the truth at hand.
© Tiger64X2
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