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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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

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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?

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How Often?

How often may one meet
‘antidisestablishmentarianism’
in a poem, complete?
How many rant, defeat
harmony spewing sackcloth and ash aneurism,
heart-break volcanoes tie_rant cheat!

Is contemporary muse's seat
based more upon unchannelled antagonism's
compensatory self-deceit
than prose which flows slow to beat fleet
Time’s tempo and bigotry’s authoritarianism
monosyllabic feet?

Soul-song symphony seeks beat
juxtaposing sound sense's synchronism
with sounds' sensitivity sweet.

for previous version see below

How Often?

How often may we meet
‘antidisestablishmentarianism’
in a poem, complete? –

Is poetry’s pseudo seat
based more upon ‘communicationarism’s
fictional deceit

than prose which flows slow to beat fleet
Time’s tempo and bigotry’s authoritarianism
monosyllabic feet?

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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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A prose writer gets tired of writing prose, and wants to be a poet. So he begins every line with a capital letter, and keeps on writing prose.

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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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Dead To My Poem

DEAD TO MY POEM

Dead to my poem-
Dead to the poems of others-
Dead to poetry
In any way at all-

Into another way of feeling:
Dry- nervous- anxious- fearful.
Prose is my soul
Empty small literal flat prose.

Flat prose
Lines too flat to even need paraphrase
No poem no poetry
Prose.

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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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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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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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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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four linger for prose
fifth, singer, creatively
now shows how rhyme flows

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Out of Kilter

Ectopia Lentis for the poet seems
less rare than nurse's elbow, malady
affecting insight, nervous links to dreams
felled flat when facing life's fatuity,
synapses gridlocked by most mundane schemes.

Nun's vows of silence often may be seen
as experience's triumph over hope,
when prayers unanswered lie, lies in between
hope's evanescent sparks too little scope
retain before snuffed candle's choked smokescreen.

Though castle proud stands o'er uncrowded bay
it stays Time's hostage, can't stay earthquake strikes,
or climate change, sea levels havoc play
submerging value judgements, likes, dislikes,
for even vestal prim must piper pay.

Where words vocation plead, breed not blead rant,
need heed no trite event to vent despair,
forbear from prose dressed as verse rose, spurn cant,
'neath superficial polished stone compare
true motivations, self-esteem too scant.

Blind minds behind their superfluity
find ingenuity may tables turn
vice into virtue, incongruity
or role-reversal often praise may earn;
suiting both giver, given to a T.

Artistic talent which would self anoint
through sad fad trends that end before dusk falls,
is seldom selfless, often out of joint
with harmony fair, free, spends core, husk shawls,
vacuity still born to disappoint.

Time's hungry waves transform dark rocks, light grains
of untraced triumphs heedless race, vain pains.

(16 September 2009)

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John Shea

Lost poem

It was on this page, then gone
Like feathers blowing in the wind.

Where is the prose I wrote?
Not a letter is in sight.
I am looking with all my might.
Oh where is the prose I wrote?

Today I wrote a new poem,
Was it lost in cyberspace?
I hope not for I might not know it,
Even staring at me in the face.

Give me a break, my memories are at stake.
Oh where is the prose I wrote?

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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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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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Thousands of eyes

Poetry or prose is a writing.
In prose contents get focus
And in poetry, taste of words.
Prose sounding poetry is sweeter.

We see thousands of stars at night
And only one sun in a day - prose.
The night has thousands of eyes
And the day, only one in sky. - poetry
01.08.2012

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A Matter Of Opinion 2012

I think I have the right to state.
The present poet laureate
Has chosen to ignore the rules
that govern poetry. The tools
which every poet ought to know
To ensure their words will smoothly flow
When they are performed publically.
The must be metered carefully.
In my opinion she writes prose
Though I am certain that she knows.
That prose cannot be poetry
But doesn’t care apparently.
Although she writes poetically.
To me its prose not 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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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

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