Noble Frost once stated diamond clear <br /> That playing netless tennis he’d prefer <br />To spinning poems whose forms adhere <br /> To <I>vers libre's</I> cry for rhymeless structure. <br /> <br />Other sculptors of the word <br />observe the arching coin <br />flip end on end <br />and strike the earth - <br />its other surface facing up, <br />and raising bullhorns shout <br />that etching rhyme - bound poems <br />equates to racket swinging <br />trapped within a fisher's web. <br /> <br />But as the final stanza closes tightly <br /> And our image - nourished souls <br />Dab lips with psychic napkins lightly, <br /> <br />who really gives a damn <br />what net or lack thereof <br />we have chosen for our games? <br /> <br /><I> March, 2007</I><br /><br />Robert Charles Howard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/netless-tennis/
