What Is A Poem?

I'm tired today, and stressed out too,
From watching the world deteriorate on the evening news,
Violence, death and greed far as I can see,
Obama says we are no longer a nation of Christianity,
Political lies, and economic collapse,
Are threatening to remove our beloved country from the map,
As a nation we have turned our back on the Lord,
Now we reap what is deserved but can we afford,
To continue on in pursuit of earthly gain,
And blame our downfall on a republican name,
I pray that we will turn, repent, and be sincere,
So that God will once again draw near.

A poem is a composition written in metrical feet forming rhythmical lines.
I hid my love when young till I
Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly;
I hid my love to my despite
Till I could not bear to look at light:
I dare not gaze upon her face
But left her memory in each place:
Where'er I saw a wild flower lie
I kissed and bade my love good bye.

I met her in the greenest dells
Where dewdrops pearl the wood blue bells;
The lost breeze kissed her bright blue eye,
The bee kissed and went singing by,
A sunbeam found a passage there,
A gold chain round her neck so fair;
As secret as the wild bee's song
She lay there all the summer long.

I hid my love in field and town
Till een the breeze would knock me down;
The bees seemed singing ballads oer,
The fly's bass turned a lion's roar;
And even silence found a tongue,
To haunt me all the summer long;
The riddle Nature could not prove
Was nothing else but secret love.

   by John Clare