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.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
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
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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 Shippy
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My Preference
Modern proponents of free form.
Do not accept that poetry
has certain rules and must conform.
Or it becomes mere anarchy.
Anything goes just will not do.
It’s either poetry or prose.
One must give credit where it’s due
They both have merit I suppose.
Prose poetry cannot exist.
An oxymoron obviously
but modern writers will insist
that what they write is poetry.
They aren’t content to call it prose
well written and quite beautiful.
Care taken with the words they chose
describing something wonderful.
Although so many writers try.
There’s very few achieve their aim.
They do not stop to wonder why
But simply write more of the same.
Make no attempt to learn the rules
Meter and rhyme a mystery
they lack the simple basic tools
You need for writing poetry.
A poem is a message to
transmit your ideas and your thoughts.
So other folks can share them too.
If you can write them as you ought.
Simplicity and clarity
are prerequisites for our art.
The finest kinds of poetry
are written from the poets heart.
Mere strings of words in random lines
are neither prose nor poetry.
Each of us knows what he defines
as being his idea of poesy.
I rest my case I make no plea
I merely state my preference.
Applicable only to me
I do not wish to cause offence.
6-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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.
quote by Story Musgrave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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.
quote by Eugenio Montale
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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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.
quote by Samuel McChord Crothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Let's Consider This
Shallow is their insight and with it is that existence.
And some are accused of having less patience with them.
While displaying less tolerance for their ignorance...
But should express more acceptance of it!
As well as their lack of consciousness.
To pass on an accountability...
That becomes part of a stagnated unity,
With increased division to further irresponsibility.
However...
Let's consider this!
When one decides to move forward,
In steps that are direct...
There is an intention meant,
To leave behind a confinement...
One graduates from with no regrets.
And feeling free to express an obtained intellect,
As part of that process to share...
In an exchange being done.
With a stretching of the mind that one desires to get!
With an expanded acknowledgement.
And...
Some just AIN'T there yet!
Whether they are making those attempts,
Or know how to spell motivation.
There is a noticed absence of it!
And 'that' appears in overqualified abundance.
You feel me?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
poem by John Celes
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Perhaps I Can Change
Have I overly rhapsodized lately
On Mother Nature’s displays?
I’ve become rather forgetful
With the passing of so many days
Have I bored you lately
With labored, descriptive words
Droned on incessantly
of iridescent hummingbirds?
Of Spring fields of sunflowers
Of the morn’s nascent glow
Of the dragonfly’s rustle
Of the stream’s tinkling flow?
I do ramble on too much
But I love description so
So perhaps I’ll not describe so much
Tho’ tis the only way I know
So you’ll hear much less of stardust…
Less of butterflies and angel wings
Of icy glaze…of snowy crust
Or the way the Zephyr sings
At least I’ll try, to keep it dry
If I fail… I’ll try again
Though God knows…descriptive prose
Has always been my friend
Perhaps I’ll also try to address
Another problem of mine
And that’s my annoying addiction
To my profuse, use of rhyme
There’s another frequent fault I foolishly fall for
That’s the equivalent of mental masturbation
And that’s my inappropriate, incomprehensible,
Overly insane….unabashed, use of alliteration
poem by David Whalen
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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?
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.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Nothing Serious
this is fun
and fun cannot be serious
if it were otherwise
there is no fun
anymore
this is fun
anything goes
prose, poetry, essay,
a novel,
anything is fun
even thoughts can just be fun
play with a word
like it were a doll or a gun
nothing serious really
just passing the time after
a nice dinner
when the stomach gets big
and wanting rest
because of
too much eating and dining
and drinking wine
this is fun
writing, making others read
something
nonsensical, and letting them follow
something prejudicial
a letter, a metaphor like what?
a sea that does not exist?
a flower that grows where?
on this cementer pavement?
on these four walls?
on the computer screen?
a bee? how can a bee exist
in thought alone?
unless i get stung and i run
and laugh
about this misery of
boredom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ramble
Ramble is a boxer and he is fighting in the ring with Mad dog
who ever win the boxing fight will take home $ 76,000.00 dollars
And it would be nice for Ramble but not Mad dog because Mad dog is already a boxing champion and he already won 20 boxing fights
But his boss is trying hard to push him to win this fight and Mad dog is A Jamaican guy and Ramble is a American guy
But on the first, second and third round of the boxin g fight Ramble knocked down Mad dog and Ramble by now was winnin the fight and Mad dog kept trying hard to knock Ramble down but mad dog got up And knocked Ramble down and than Ramble knocked down Mad dog on the Fourth round, fifth round, and the six round and Mad dog Won his first Boxing fight at the Mapple Leaf Gardens here in Toronto
And he got the $76,000.00 dollars to take home
But he got congratulated by his wife and his kids
Also the good news is that now they can pay their debts of and Eventualy buy a house to live in
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Reality of literature
Poetry and prose contain lies.
The poetry has lies unbelievable.
The prose has lies undoubtable
The one without such lies
Is neither a poem nor a prose.
23.03.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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.
poem by Isam Hussain
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Getting Down and Funky, Staying Low and Earthy
The first time I made attempts,
To be mature and endure those who weren't.
In my neighborhood,
Of aging children.
My attempts did not work.
In fact they provoked those who chose,
To remain irresponsible.
And had not yet been introduced,
To accountability.
Something they accuse others for not doing.
You know.
Those and them,
Who are suppose to care about us.
More than we care for and about ourselves.
Those conversations are still used to convince,
The many loitering around playgrounds.
Seeking to play their familiar games.
Today with age and maturity experienced.
I come into contact with those refusing to make sense.
Those who believe life is a telling of an endless joke.
And laugh at the keeping of their insecurities hidden,
Behind masks that change with fashionable fads.
And I observe their children who are no longer 'kids'.
Many are limited to an ignorance lived.
And they are raising their offspring to disrespect.
As I witness those of us now elders.
Doing our best to break a sweat,
Getting down and funky.
Staying low and Earthy.
As if this is an investment we hand over to a future.
With expectations that a quality of life diminishing,
Will deliver us to a consciousness to grasp overnight.
There's not enough praying on knees that can be done,
To awaken those with nothing but time and lives to waste.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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