Robert Charles Howard - Netless Tennis

Noble Frost once stated diamond clear
    That playing netless tennis he’d prefer
To spinning poems whose forms adhere
    To <I>vers libre's</I> cry for rhymeless structure.

Other sculptors of the word
observe the arching coin
flip end on end
and strike the earth -
its other surface facing up,
and raising bullhorns shout
that etching rhyme - bound poems
equates to racket swinging
trapped within a fisher's web.

But as the final stanza closes tightly
    And our image - nourished souls
Dab lips with psychic napkins lightly,

who really gives a damn
what net or lack thereof
we have chosen for our games?

<I> March, 2007</I>

Robert Charles Howard

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/netless-tennis/