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 RobinReport problemRelated quotes
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Poem Versus Prose

You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Enough with your predicates
And your subjects
In this poem you will find
No commas and semicolons

This poem
Is armed with rhythms
Stanzas and shifts
This poem has no end
There are no colons
In this poem

Your prose is replete with nuances
This poem echoes
The plight of the oppressed
And dispossessed

In your prose I find parentheses
This poem speaks of life
Your prose can be edited
Cut this poem and it bleeds

You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Prose has pauses and hyphens
Prose comes to a stop
This poem plugs images
Even in your head

Prose deals with fiction
And nonfiction
This poem can be heard
It can be felt
It speaks of hunger
Of hopelessness
Homelessness
It speaks of a bitter reality

You do not like this poem

poem by Buxton ShippyReport problemRelated quotes
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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.'

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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

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0004 The world has lost the ear for rhyme

The world has lost the ear for rhyme.
It still makes children squirm with pleasure;
and from some witty pens and minds, its fireworks fizz;
so, after all these centuries of rhyme
and all the games of meter, dancing words,
should we now mourn its passing?
Have we lost the music of another world?

Instead, the easy unpretentious discourse,
sober, light, familiar, honest -
the world of daily, homely, shared sharp life,
that's now preferred. Not prose;
much more than 'chopped-up prose' as those may say
who think that poetry should be more visibly hard-earned;
- as if a human life set down in honesty
were not a poem in itself, unwrit;
'prose with enhanced consciousness' it's often now defined;
and consciousness - now that's earned, if you like...

and simile, and imagery, and metaphor - all the repertoire
of glorious poetry - they're all still here
to work their magic; if more played down, now,
unostentatious as T-shirt and jeans;
unostentatious as the beating, bloody heart.

And yet, when years bring tears
and time brings death and dying,
it's time for rhyme, to heal the heart
and charm away the crying.

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Prose-Poetry

Once prose and poetry existed side by side
Two styles of literature, each with its bound
Jealously guarded by the literati
Lest prose masquerades as poetry.

The First World War smashed all fetters,
Soldiers wrote heart-rending poetic letters
To sweethearts, friends, fathers and mothers.
Newspapers published their anguish and horrors

The literati classed them as prose
And turned up their nose
At such a new trend of mongrelised poetry;
But the public gave it name and identity
Prose-poetry began to gain respectability.

Prose-poetry is a contradiction in terms,
An oxymoron; a paradox of many forms.
When well written, words flow as though in rhyme
Thought and syntax together dance with rhythm.

Some pen few lines haphazardly,
String words together arbitrarily,
Flit between thoughts randomly,
Structure their poems casually.

They want us to see them as thinkers
In fact, they are just wearing blinkers.
If only they could see their folly
They’d stop abusing prose-poetry.

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Rule of Free Rhyme

Rhyme echoes time as creativity
Unreels threads which sense and rich feelings skein,
Lends to life’s scheme light beam which bends prose plain,
Extracts its pith with sensitivity,
Outreaching limits, spurning gravity, -
Finding behind mind’s veil tone, scale, refrain.
Fools find form forced, restricting fancy’s reign,
Repressed, or lacking sense acuity.
Emotions may be stressed with clarity
Expressive through rhyme time and time again,
Revealing style while from the chaff the grain
Has space to trace with receptivity
Youth’s aspirations, age’s fears, and more, -
MEanings multivalent, truth may store.

14 February 2005

poem by Jonathan RobinReport problemRelated quotes
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Sonnet: Poetry versus Prose

Some write their poetry almost like prose;
The two are not diff’rent in any way?
How can a thorn ever become a rose?
The grain is grain; the hay remains but hay!

But some write prose with emotions afilled;
Or add some verses in-between the lines;
One can’t become the other, howev’r skilled;
How can the noon be dawn although sun shines?

The functions poems do, prose can never,
Where right words placed, give music and rhythm;
But of the two, the poet’s cleverer;
His work is shorter, neater, and more trim.

All praise the bard; his glory’s forever!
For prose can’t stand the test of time ever!

6-25-2002 by Dr John Celes

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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!

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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 HoggReport problemRelated quotes
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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

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Free Verse or Prose

Sadly, to me
This thing they call Prose
Is naught but just talk,
And often verbose;
I think it's too easy
And honestly, I'm
Just wanting to say
I much prefer rhyme.

And almost the same is the
Form called Free Verse,
It isn't for me, I'm not keen,
And what's worse:
Explaining the differences
Should be a breeze,
But even amongst the 'experts'
No one agrees.

Now I'm no academic
But I won't be fooled
By the 'cleverer' people,
By the so-called, 'well-schooled';
I favour good rhyming
O'er Free Verse or Prose,
And I'm calling to mind now
The Emperor's New Clothes.

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I used to write sonnets and various things, and moved from there into writing prose, which, incidentally, is a lot more interesting than poetry, including the rhythms of prose.

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I've already written 300 space poems. But I look upon my ultimate form as being a poetic prose. When you read it, it appears to be prose, but within the prose you have embedded the techniques of poetry.

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Satire I

According to Keats
Thought order best expressed
Is clothed in dramatic form,
Next best in rhyme and song,
And least expressed in prose.

I'm the spokesman for the throng.
Prose is largely what we are.
There's room for a bit of fluff.
Dressed up or down we like our arts
With laughs and frilly stuff.

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I Chose With This Prose To Share

I could,
With this prose...
Ramble on,
Nonsensical.

And in doing so,
Seek content.
In a way I believe,
Would have intention meant.

But for some living foolishly,
Whatever another observes and perceives...
Would be for them a waste of print.
And that would be,
Their message sent.

Yet there come those days,
That separate themselves...
From events experienced,
Like none that have before been felt.

And with aging comes an acknowledgement...
Of an acceptance done,
As one awakens to enjoy each moment.
To appreciate with gratefulness...
An opportunity to address,
A growing enlightenment...
Arriving to inspire within one's consciousness.

I could,
With this prose...
Ramble on,
Nonsensical.

However...
It seems that in the making of sense,
Only those who have the time to do it...
Are the ones caring less,
To make attempts to convince!
And I chose with this prose,
To share a part of me I willfully expose.

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I can EMIT TIME

'I Can! ' EMIT TIME
Kindly Refer to Notes

.


.


This retourne shows how Time bright glows,
Inspiring plan Life offers man,
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’

TIME’s sum’s not dumb, repeating drum
Inspiring plan Life offers man,
May link ‘become’ through rule of thumb
EMIT true scan light once began.


The heart that sows is star that glows
In tune reel ran fed through rhyme’s fan,
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
Ends in well ran, begins “I can! ”


Time’s reel ebbs, flows, all comes and goes,
In caravan reversing scan
Much magic flows, touch insight knows,
Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’

.


Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’
Much magic flows, touch insight knows,
In caravan reversing scan, -
Time’s reel ebbs, flows, all comes and goes.

Ends in well ran, begins “I can! ”
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
In tune reel ran fed through rhyme’s fan, -
The heart that sows is star that glows.

EMIT true scan: light, once began,
May link, ‘become’ through rule of thumb,
Inspiring plan Life offers man.
TIME’s sum’s not dumb, repeating drum.

Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
Inspiring plan Life offers man.
This retourne shows how Time bright glows.

_________________________________


How Time bright glows This retourne shows.
Life offers man Inspiring plan,
sustains verse, prose, Maintains red rose.
Ensure ‘I can! ’ Egg, chicken, span.

Repeating drum, TIME’s sum’s not dumb,
Life offers man Inspiring plan
through rule of thumb, May link ‘become’,
light once began, EMIT true scan.


Is star that glows The heart that sows?
Fed through rhyme’s fan, In tune reel ran
sustains verse, prose, Maintains red rose,
begins “I can! ” Ends in well ran,


all comes and goes, Time’s reel ebbs, flows.
reversing scan In caravan, -
touch insight knows Much magic flows
Ensure ‘I can! ’ Egg, chicken, span.

Ensure ‘I can! ’ Egg, chicken, span,
touch insight knows. Much magic flows
reversing scan In caravan, -
all comes and goes, Time’s reel ebbs, flows.

Begins “I can! ” Ends in well ran,
sustains verse, prose, Maintains red rose
fed through rhyme’s fan, In tune reel ran -
is star that glows The heart that sows?


Light, once began, EMIT true scan
through rule of thumb. May link, ‘become’!
Life offers man Inspiring plan.
Repeating drum, TIME’s sum’s not dumb

Ensure ‘I can! ’ Egg, chicken, span
sustains verse, prose, Maintains red rose,
Life offers man Inspiring plan.
How Time bright glows This retourne shows.


© Jonathan Robin acrostic mirror retourne 3 February 2007
_______________

Author notes
Although this is shown as a double mirrored retourne the poem has been framed so as to alternate each and every line within any given stanza... although only in four cases can the acrostic palindrome EMIT TIME run throughout.

The Mirror effect enables the poem to be read top down TIME or bottom up EMIT - The Retourne is of course only mirrored in the mirror if one reads bottom up.

This offers a possibility of 4 x 4 x 12 x 64 combinations

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Eugenio Montale

There is poetry even in prose, in all the great prose which is not merely utilitarian or didactic: there exist poets who write in prose or at least in more or less apparent prose; millions of poets write verses which have no connection with poetry.

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My Poetry Has Become Prose

MY POETRY HAS BECOME PROSE

My Poetry has become Prose
I have lost my music
Nothing sings in me;
I have lost my richness of meaning
Nothing in me is not linear, flat and clear.
I have lost my poetry
And have become a writer of Prose
In pseudo Poetic Form-
There is in me no Line
That says more than itself-
I am Prose now not Poetry
And yet still secretly hoping
My inner irony will
In contradicting me
Save me.

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Sonnet On The Sonnets On The Sonnet

Some sonnets upon sonnets poets write
Offering examples of their skill,
Need neither censure nor false praise to fill
New chapter, verse, in ego's copyright.
Encapsulation through a structure tight
Turns a neat phrase avoiding overkill,
Or temperature tests, unbiased will
Nature, Man, describes in terms polite.
Sense and/or sensitivity, insight
Ordered, bordered, mission may fulfill,
New bark on old folds sundry thoughts that spill,
Netting beauty, spelling out delight.
Emotions through control find freedom which
Triumph over prose prosaic [p]itch.

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A Poem

A verse am I, in a twist,

Listen! You will hear, and get this gist

A prose, confounded in a diet of words

Holding expressions of virtue, to my world

One so hidden in simple complexities

Speak thus, in a whisper to receive a rhyme

A metaphor for the mysteries mime,

Seeking an imaginary audience to hear.

copyright (c) 2012

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