Poetry and Prose
What is the true difference ’twixt Prose and Rhyme,
Since both may be beautiful, both be sublime?
Nor in subject, nor treatment, nor passion it ’bides—
But breathes through a certain rich something besides.
poem by Charles Harpur
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Bides His Time
Who bides his time, and day by day
Faces defeat full patiently,
And lifts a mirthful roundelay,
However poor his fortunes be,--
He will not fail in any qualm
Of poverty -- the paltry dime
It will grow golden in his palm,
Who bides his time.
Who bides his time -- he tastes the sweet
Of honey in the saltest tear;
And though he fares with slowest feet,
Joy runs to meet him, drawing near;
The birds are hearalds of his cause;
And, like a never-ending rhyme,
The roadsides bloom in his applause,
Who bides his time.
Who bides his time, and fevers not
In the hot race that none achieves,
Shall wear cool-wreathen laurel, wrought
With crimson berries in the leaves;
And he shall reign a goodly king,
And sway his hand o'er every clime
With peace writ on his signet-ring,
Who bides his time.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Emphasis - Does Prose Satisfy?
Do rhyme and structure strangle sense,
Or emphasize emotions which
Eclectic rhythms render rich?
Stress reinforces verse, intense
Pleasure may be felt, with scents
Recalled from seasons past. Why stitch
On prose per prose that joy, its switch
So seldom magic supplements.
Excessive style is sterile, whence
Some seem to say that those who ditch
A long tradition feel the itch
To sense in rhyme mime or pretence.
It could be this misrepresents
So much which should be shared, keyed pitch.
Facts dry may well define a rose,
Yet can its scent pour through poor prose?
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rhyme Rant on Prose Rants
RHYME RANT ON PROSE RANTS
Prose which with capitals would rant
against pet hate, for favoured cause
is often filled with fatal flaws,
or pays attention far too scant
to harmony, stays ignorant
of rhythm which enhances, draws
skein polychrome. Its pointed jaws
restrict free scope increasing cant,
seldom perceived as elegant.
True poet purity implores
to etch, to sketch, to open doors
upon perspective which prose [r]ant
encounters rarely where it roams
on well trod trails of barren tomes.
3 December 2007
robi03_1688_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
Rhyme Rant on Prose Rant poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Who stands with me?
True poets write in meter.
Not because they think it’s neater
but because the flow is sweeter
When their words are read aloud
as they perform before the crowd.
Their poems pass the acid test.
Prose writers do not choose to rhyme.
They see it as a waste of time.
Although their word choice is sublime.
Without meter it is prose,
not poetry as they suppose.
Their definition I contest.
Poetic prose it’s plain to see.
Can not be classed as poetry.
I can accept you disagree.
I know I have a biased view
I think I am entitled to
Decide which one I like the best.
I choose meter every time
Preferably with lines that rhyme.
I find such poetry sublime.
Though I enjoy well written prose.
Each to his own I must suppose
So write the way that suits you best.
I am old fashioned I admit
and not one whit ashamed of it.
I do not find rules inhibit.
Free expression of my views
They merely mean I have to choose
the words that will express them best
Free form, free verse, poetic prose.
Are methods other writers chose
as being fit for their purpose.
To rebel against fixed form.
Which was regarded as the norm.
Just to be different from the rest.
But fashions change and now free form
Must be regarded as the norm.
I see no reason to conform.
I choose to write my poetry
In the old way that pleases me.
A lonely voice raised in protest.
The wheel of fate will slowly turn
Metered poetry will return
and well deserved plaudits earn.
I hope I live to see the day.
when classic poets can display.
That fixed forms can outshine the rest.
Monday,06 December 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Men Who Come Behind
There's a class of men (and women) who are always on their guard—
Cunning, treacherous, suspicious—feeling softly—grasping hard—
Brainy, yet without the courage to forsake the beaten track—
Cautiously they feel their way behind a bolder spirit’s back.
If you save a bit of money, and you start a little store—
Say, an oyster-shop, for instance, where there wasn’t one before—
When the shop begins to pay you, and the rent is off your mind,
You will see another started by a chap that comes behind.
So it is, and so it might have been, my friend, with me and you—
When a friend of both and neither interferes between the two;
They will fight like fiends, forgetting in their passion mad and blind,
That the row is mostly started by the folk who come behind.
They will stick to you like sin will, while your money comes and goes,
But they’ll leave you when you haven’t got a shilling in your clothes.
You may get some help above you, but you’ll nearly always find
That you cannot get assistance from the men who come behind.
There are many, far too many, in the world of prose and rhyme,
Always looking for another’s ‘footsteps on the sands of time.’
Journalistic imitators are the meanest of mankind;
And the grandest themes are hackneyed by the pens that come behind.
If you strike a novel subject, write it up, and do not fail,
They will rhyme and prose about it till your very own is stale,
As they raved about the region that the wattle-boughs perfume
Till the reader cursed the bushman and the stink of wattle-bloom.
They will follow in your footsteps while you’re groping for the light ;
But they’ll run to get before you when they see you’re going right;
And they’ll trip you up and baulk you in their blind and greedy heat,
Like a stupid pup that hasn’t learned to trail behind your feet.
Take your loads of sin and sorrow on more energetic backs!
Go and strike across the country where there are not any tracks!
And—we fancy that the subject could be further treated here,
But we’ll leave it to be hackneyed by the fellows in the rear.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Two schools of thought.
.
The lady chose to take offence
Although I said she wrote fine prose
She may not know the difference
between poetry and prose
She thought that she wrote poetry
But what she wrote was free form prose.
I offered no apology
It was not my fault that she chose.
Not to learn the basic rules
defining prose and poetry
Two very different writing schools
in which to show your artistry.
The so called experts can’t agree
and coined the term poetic prose.
Though writing cannot possible
be classed as poetry and prose.
If it’s not metered it is prose
no matter how poetical.
But you’re entitled to compose.
Fine prose and call it poetry.
Though I suggest respectfully
you should be proud of writing prose.
As some do most successfully.
But it was poetry I chose
Thursday,11 March 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Pool Of Poetry
From the Pool of Poetry let the thirsty spirit sup -
From truth and fantasy... Come, drink, and drain the cup!
According to your taste, from folly to sublime,
Each verse can be embraced or spurned twixt prose and rhyme!
Just bring your present views and all that you hold dear -
It’s up to you to choose from what you see and hear...
Perhaps you'll find a friend! A phrase you'd like to quote,
A tale you'd hate to end... Or some short anecdote!
Whatever you may find, twixt ecstasy and strife,
It could help change your mind and even change your life!
Each generation shares Man’s greatest legacy -
Wise children learn their prayers from the Pool of Poetry!
Discerning souls confess the debt they'll always owe
To bards that chose to bless each one that strives to grow!
From the Pool of Poetry comes wisdom that refines!
Yet insight is the key! Read thoughts between the lines!
For doctrines come and go and ‘facts’ of science, too...
Love’s Truth resists the flow and this God shares with you!
From the Pool of Poetry let the thirsty spirit sup!
From truth and fantasy... Drink up! Drink up! Drink up!
poem by Denis Martindale
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Rhyme
Poets rhyme from time to time
They don’t find rhyme a crime
It’s no sin, their using rhyme
Inspired rhyme is so sublime
Can often form a perfect line
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Emerald Island
There's so much prose in this world
Yet poetry finds its way out of your heart
Deep inside you is an island of emerald
Where the other you refuses to depart.
There's so much prose in this world
Yet you look for light from the pit
You let your dreams be unfurled
Poetry turns the bitter to sweet.
There's so much prose in this world
Yet in you lives an undying child
That breathes in the island of emerald
Keeps you untamed and wild!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Beautiful Music
Before I knew that I was blessed
When I was just like the rest of the people
Who never let dreams in their minds
Music would play and say
Maybe you're wastin' your time
Before I knew what good could be
When I couldn't see the need or the reason
For trusting in me or my star
Music would play and say
Hey, what a dummy you are!
And when I heard all the words about passion
Singin' to me about love of a fashion
That I never heard anywhere else
That's when I said,
"Gotta get some of that for myself"
And when I heard about hurtin' and healin'
Beautiful words about beautiful feelings
What lots of believin' could do
Beautiful music, I knew it just had to be true
You're beautiful
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Before I saw my life in lights
When I couldn't taste the nights I was missin'
I'd listen alone in my bed
And music would sing to me
Things no one else even said
And when I heard all the words about passion
Singin' to me about love of a fashion
That I never heard anywhere else
That's when I said,
"Gotta get some of that for myself"
And when I heard about hurtin' and healin'
Beautiful words about beautiful feelings
What lots of believin' could do
Beautiful music, I knew it just had to be true
You're beautiful
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful Music
Beautiful, Beautiful Music
-acapo
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ready To Pounce
When every single second counts,
The cougar bides his time...
Above the rock, ready to pounce,
His skills are quite sublime...
He has no choice, it's Nature's way...
He starves or eats again...
This solemn truth he must obey
And has since God knows when...
His father did as he does now,
His son will do the same...
The hunt goes on and must, somehow,
In search of life to claim...
He can't escape what must be done,
For him, there's no way out...
The hunter waits, hid by the sun,
With hungry eyes that scout.
Is that his next meal over there?
Or must he starve some more?
The pain inside is hard to bear,
Yet soon he'll know the score...
Above the rock, ready to pounce,
His skills are quite sublime...
When every single second counts,
The cougar bides his time...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Ready To Pounce'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have a dream
I want to write real poetry
But I’m not sure how I should start
I need someone who can teach me
the basics of poetic art.
I do not know if it should rhyme
and meter is a mystery.
I have the will I have the time.
I somebody will please help me.
I have the urge I have to write
I really want to get it right
What makes it poetry or prose?
there is a difference I suppose.
I know there’s different schools of thought
an ongoing controversy.
I’m simply looking for support
to help me with my poetry.
I have the basic writing tools
a pad a pencil and P.C.
I need to learn the basic rules
which turn prose into poetry.
I am willing to study hard
and heed advice that’s offered me.
By any older wiser bard
who’s skilled at writing poetry.
26-Apr-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Starlight Night
We lay hand in hand, head to head, eye to eye
The stars staring down, as if they were in envy
The moon radiating light upon us, as if it we were a showcase
The passion which was united, a passion of true love
Passion which wrote upon paper, can never portray my passion for you
True passion is like a song, A never ending list of cords and notes
An innovation of a creative mind, written from the soul and heart
A never ending canvas of joys and memories
True passion can never die, it can never fade away, for it lies deep down
You are my true passion, my true calling, my true love
poem by Michael James Kennedy Findlay
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Totally Biased
I do not often write free form
to me it is not poetry.
Freely admit my prejudice
I think it’s just a passing phase
Although I can appreciate
poetic and well written prose
This does not make it poetry
When I consult my dictionary
it makes it very clear to me.
All writing must be one of those
It can’t be both at he same time.
Prose poetry cannot exist
an obvious oxymoron
Though modern writer still insist
that what they write is poetry
.It may be really beautiful
and well presented on the page
but definitely not poetry.
Why can they not be satisfied
with their well written thoughts in prose.
Why do they call it poetry
a dandelions not a rose.
Its meter defines poetry
it doesn’t even need to rhyme.
Even free verse had its rules
but writers seem to think today
There are no rules anything goes.
I nail my colours to the mast
Not afraid to let my bias show.
31-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ignorance Is Beautiful
She taught me two things,
‘Ignorance and Beautiful.'
One day, she told me,
'Let me tell you,
The meaning of Beautiful.
God is beautiful,
Nature is beautiful,
Life is beautiful,
Love is beautiful,
Care is beautiful,
Share is beautiful,
Understanding is beautiful,
Trust is beautiful,
Faith is beautiful,
Passion is beautiful,
Compassion is beautiful,
Air is beautiful,
Water is beautiful,
Earth is beautiful,
Fire is beautiful,
Energy is beautiful,
Here is beautiful,
There is beautiful,
Everywhere is beautiful,
Everyone is beautiful,
Everything is beautiful.'
I had to intervene,
'Looks the universe is beautiful,
But what is most beautiful? '
The reply comes full and straight,
'Ignorance is awesomely beautiful.'
Copyright © 2012 Sanjeev Kumar
poem by Sanjeev Kumar
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King of The Pen and Prose
King of the pen and prose.
He's an ink blotter stopper...
Rimming to the brim with rhyme.
And unconfined to find a line,
To entwine the mind!
King of the pen and prose.
Profound with nouns...
And vowel sounds.
Tossing in an adjective,
To vibe with a verb he throws.
He 'is' the king of the pen and prose!
He teases when he wishes...
And uses depth to expose a certain flair!
Just to keep a reader guessing...
What is being solicited,
If he becomes explicit...
With a tongue in cheek penned affair!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Thus far
I took treatment;
The body-ache was gone; with it the winter too.
I took treatment;
The allergy was gone; with it the spring too.
I took treatment;
The acnes were gone; with it the summer too.
I took treatment;
The gastric was gone; with it the autumn too.
Sometimes I got fortunes.
Sometimes I was spared.
Sometimes I was rescued.
Sometimes I got miseries reduced.
I ascribed all to my God I believe.
With time I have grown thus far.
With faith I have stood thus far.
15.04.2007I
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Poet's Thirst
Why do I thirst to pen a verse?
Would prose not do as well?
The rhyme is music to my ears
and the lyrical swell
can never be found in prose
and so I say to those.
'Write your story in novel form
or fictionalize your book.
I will pen my verse instead
and capture you with my hook.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Im Not Beautiful
She’s beautiful, she’s beautiful, she’s beautiful too
But no one my love, is more beautiful than you
These words I hear, all the time
But when I compare my face to theirs
It feels like a lie
Their faces carved by angles, and then just mine
More difference than similarities
We look nothing alike
Difference is good, but not always
Compared to them
I feel like a disgrace
I try to look like them
He tells me no
Is he afraid to lose me if I reach my full potential?
poem by Sherice Malcolm
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What's the subject of life - to get rich? All of those fellows out there getting rich could be dancing around the real subject of life.
quote by Paul A. Volcker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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