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What I have to show for day 14 is what I can only call nonsensical rambling.
Poetic License Day #14
Which is it, a freedom that’s earned or a liberty taken?
Edgar Allen seems perched o’er my door like his taciturn raven
With no answer to this and my drawer full of puzzling queries
And no clarity stoops to present for my contrasting theories
Alas, at the window Frost indicates I am mistaken
If a license that has to be earned, then who grants the award?
Appearance by Shakespeare, if sudden, would not be untoward
With a satchel of relevant references, wordings, and phrases
Breaking rules and creating: his use of his license amazes
(And he has the well aging advantage of being adored)
But again, if the qualification is not in rule-breaking
With less of an emphasis also on words in the making
Then Tennyson leading his Kraken could certain suffice
Bringing ballads that vividly augment the truth without vice
Yet again, there is Frost peeping in and his head at me shaking
And what, (I ignore him) make up the requirements for owning?
Must it be renewed and thus treated as unstable loaning?
Does the applicant have to display their poetic finesse
And stretch without breaking and from all straight questions digress?
Now Dickinson joins at the window and softly is groaning
If this license is taken by poets, we must know from where
Is there some secret stash or we grab it from out of thin air?
Can anyone take it, from Shel Silverstein to Lord Byron?
And when it is stolen must I fear patrol cars and siren?
And how to make certain that everyone gets their fair share?
It's no use, for I sit at my desk as confused as before
(Though Cummings instructs me to lavishly let license roar)
Perhaps in their poems they show me the right execution
That to use the gift well is the only true poet’s solution
And I notice that Frost and Rossetti look troubled no more