0039 Well, chop my prose!
…for that’s the way that poetry goes…
and goes…mere pose, tapped out as prose…
Yes, most of us, these days, undisciplined,
approach the temple of pure poetry,
when some thought stirs in deepest heart and mind, ,
with all the earthy tread of careful prose…
yet with a certain hope, a faith, a love,
a purity of heart – that if we tread -
unmetered and unrhymed petitioners -
as pilgrims, sackclothed, ashen from the urn
of some poetic crematorium;
that, as we stumble on the heart’s true path,
the Muse, with long and patient, weary sigh,
- the music of the ages in her ears -
will catch up with our steps along the road
and guide us to that sacred, lovely place
where, with a gasp – our verses dropt from hand –
we’ll be where goodness, truth and beauty dance
and sing and laugh and love – now three; now one.
(thanks, WD)
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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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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Poetic Embracement
Poetry - the mother of all emotion
Some call it mere ‘words in motion’
When I write, I love thee- Oh Poetry!
Thy branches deeper than the banyan tree
That’s why you are stronger than prose
Oh! Poetry! !
And as a poet I have all the freedom
And all the world’s verses in my kingdom
I can be fair or may be a little foul
I can see through the night like an owl
You can make night as day, your way
Oh! Poetry! Have your sway…
You have words stringed like beads
And a finger that pointedly needs
An applaud, a bow, a salutation
Sometimes a silent infatuation
You are the need of a man-to be free
That’s why you are –Poetry! !
If some one loves Thee, is it also me?
That sounds selfish but true you see!
For when I embraced you, Oh! Poetry -
An ‘embracement’ was ‘love’ I thought
But ‘embarrassment’ was what I got!
For she admired me, just for Thee! !
Oh! Poetry! !
So Wright is not wrong to send hugs to me
Or Petal isn’t having a fling with the sepals like me
A Rose no longer pokes on a prose so long
For today, just for you - ‘Poetry’ is on a song..
Let me be chainless today, let me be free
You are, what You are! My Poetry! !
poem by Jyo Jottypoet Love
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The Everlasting Throes of Those
The Everlasting Throes
Of Those
Who Argue about Poetry versus Prose
And about the Propriety or Crime
Of Meter and Rhyme
In Poetry:
as I see it, it’s back to the ancient Greek idea
of three near-absolutes – Truth, Beauty and Goodness
and although they’re all absolute in their aim,
and therefore theoretically equal,
most of us, I suspect, have our personal order for this list
those who put Truth first at all costs are more likely
to write prose; but if they love beauty in words
and have the urge to write something beautiful in words
they may try poetry; but to them,
rhyme is untruthful, dishonest, because
looking for a rhyme
becomes a crime:
and leads your mind away from the strict Truth.
while those who put Beauty first don’t have
a fixed attitude – they may, as children do,
love the formal music of hearing about
A certain Mrs Dhutti
Who was very slightly nutty
She wouldn’t wear a saree
As her arms and legs were hairy
And thought it was much better
To wear trousers and a sweater
etc.
or they may feel that their response to the world
is so full of love, of awe, of wonder
(of which Aristotle said the second and third
are shared by philosophers, that is, lovers - note the word - of wisdom,
and poets – though a poet
may not know it…)
where was I oh yes, their response to the world
is most truly - note the word - expressed
in free verse
which may be better poetry
or worse
and what about Goodness – oh let’s not
get into that: the poetry Forums are full of the emptiness
(though it’s a necessary evil, looked at in a way)
of poets and readers and critics saying
what’s good poetry and what’s bad
according to them and feeling
they’ve made a contribution to
Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, in that order
by pronouncing this.
some few, some worthy few, and I’ll mention no names
for reasons not unconnected as Milton might put it
with the previous stanza,
whose brilliance of that servant mind which we all share,
manages to juggle Beauty, Goodness and Truth,
in that order in this instance, and not only juggle but
remain faithful to them all; we could call them
The Absolutely Great – they speak straight from heart to heart
and they don’t worry about prosaic considerations like the above
because they’ve got it all, all this, within their art; within
their constant heart.
(Readers, please note,
that last line’s a quote.)
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tread Careful
Tread careful
Because youre treading on my dreams.
Tread careful
Because Ive just one heart
Tread careful
Let me down slowly
Or Ill forget how to dream.
Chorus:
I wont forget anything
(I love you)
I wont forgive anyone
(do you love me? )
Tread careful
You hear the sound of my breathing
Tread careful
Because I feel this sound
Tread careful
Im falling in a glasshouse
Im trying hard to begin
Because I want it to get harder
Tread careful
Before I change my mind
Tread careful
I could surprise you
I know something you want to do.
(repeat chorus)
Tread careful
Im sure you dont care but
Tread careful
I could change your mind
Tread careful
Ive been waiting for you
There is no comfort in here.
(repeat chorus)
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Poetry
This poetry is not poetry
This poetry is not poetry as poetry goes
But is as silent as a man in a rollo neck jumper
Almost reading yesterdays news
This poetry is not poetry
As far as poetry goes
It is neither verse
Or poesy prose
This is a debunking of 'The poetry'
Everyone knows
And so they are not amused
This poetry is not poetry
So why poetry?
If not
Prose?
It is as idle as a man picking his nose
Pondering a wonderful muse
Yet some, are not amused
Infact if this poetry is Not poetry
What right have I to use, the word poetry?
It is a lovely panacea for expressing and de stressing
The individual's points of view
And yet if not poetry
Who says Not poetry
And who is qualified to choose?
Give me a pocket full of roses
Or a misty morning cloud
Are you amused?
clammy wynette aka Yvette m smith
march 09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Dancing the invisible line
Some like to sit on fences, admire the view in safety;
some are born hurdlers; .
draw a line, and some minds shrink back;
others can’t wait to compete, first over wins…
poets, said the sage, should always
walk on the edge of madness…
ah, remember when you were a child,
walking down the path one foot within,
one foot beyond?
‘a line of poetry’…every line, a line,
one foot beyond, one foot within –
prose, verse; rhymed, unrhymed;
metered, unmetered; actual, fantasy;
elevated, jokey; personal, impersonal;
tragic, comic; a road taken, or not taken..
oh, so many lines
that others painted on the road –
dance down that road,
one foot beyond, one foot within..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Music of Poetry!
Grief stricken violin music,
Boasting trumpet music,
Dance inducing guitar music,
Thrilling beats of drum music,
All these and more as words
Making rhythm of poetry
Make all dance to sing songs
Depicting message of poetry
To be amused and enlightened!
Let us all sing and dance as to
The music of heart inspired
By the poetic words forever!
Music, song, dance and poetry
Amuse all with information fine!
poem by Ramesh T A
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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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry On The Chin
You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.
You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.
You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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0175 Love's Butterfly
As butterflies with beauty grace the air,
so love cannot be lazy in its love;
true love brings lovely energies to bear;
love's actions grace the true contemplative.
devoted action is the path we tread
when stirred at first by love of love's first cause;
to purge our souls of that we wish us rid;
such tasks may grace our caterpillar days.
humility - which is to know pure self,
seen clearly as the light of bad and good -
brings contemplation's share in godly wealth;
those shining works which are love's neighbourhood;
then we God's goodness, truth and beauty share;
as butterflies with beauty grace the air.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
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Love in its Purity
Love is a language of the heart-
It is prose and poetry
It is in film or comedy
And yet nothing can fathom
its own depth, height or breadth.
Love is a dream in every heart,
an object of conquest and war
It mirrors greed, pride and honor
And yet love's own purity remains
above intrigues and heroic motives.
Love is a gift from above -
an agape love from the heart of God
We humans can abuse it,
ignore it, trample on it, burn it
but love surfaces out so purely
in its inmost beauty to protect,
affirm, preserve and uphold life.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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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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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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Love and Poetry; Poetry and Love
and right now, I’m spending most of my time
on the two matters of which I seem to know the least –
love; and poetry.
maybe it’s good I feel like this; after all,
they’re two pretty big things in their way;
and if it’s frustrating that
I don’t seem to get anywhere,
or understand any more,
maybe that’s good too since
it keeps me at it
and out of harm’s way
as they say
let’s take poetry first – that’s
relatively straightforward:
one day I love the freedom
of the current situation – there’s no rules
except, the lines are short –
but even that, you can break
with ‘prose poems’ (and leave it
to others to say when 'prose poems'
become ‘poetic prose’ etc…) :
tell the unvarnished truth,
tell it like it is; offer all your heart
ungiftwrapped;
then next day I miss the music
of a poem that – with some difficulty –
rhymes and dances in its rhythms,
catches you in its woven spell,
reads as if it wrote itself,
sings its own fair song,
even though of course
the rhyme then makes you deviate
from the theme – but that can take you to
more interesting places in the mind —
so - point of this - I’m none the wiser
about what poetry is; though of course
maybe there’s some benefit I just don’t spot
by kinda mixing thisnthat..
so, when I’m not writing this stuff
that I call poetry, if I call it anything,
I’m addressing the question
of love; in the hope
that thinking about it might just be
of some use; influence action; and
make me more loving; or help me
write poetry about it, ha..
well don’t ask me, not just yet..
though, we all know what love is...
when it’s on our side?
one day, I feel good that I’ve spent the day
reading inspiring words, like,
the whole Creation is one single act
of love; that it brought the whole universe
into manifestation; sustains it; merges all things into love;
that love is knowledge; holds all forms
through law, by law; that law and love
are always together; that love’s
the natural state of ourself; that
every creature has pure love within its nature;
that thus, it’s our very nature
to love one another; love
our neighbour as ourself…
even, love ourselves...
then the next day, I can’t bear
to read any more of what’s written
about love; just spend the day in love
with everything and everyone;
being still a little, listening to music a little,
reading inspiring poetry a little,
going out or not going out,
being just myself a lot; seeing things around
inside the house and out
so vividly, it’s like being high
without the before and after, and
I wonder why it isn’t
always just like this..
then the next day again, I’m just too busy
to give thought to thinking about love,
or being loving to those bloody neighbours
then the doorbell rings – and
I greet whoever it is before
I even look at them, as if
they’re the one person out of all the world
I most wanted to see again right now – and
it’s someone to read the meter –'hallo!
what, again so soon? I’ve only just paid
the last bill, and anyway, it always comes
as ‘estimated’, and too high…'
too late – I’ve loved them totally
in that first moment; I'm like
someone else; I find myself
treating them like an honoured guest;
see them out with a friendly comment; feel good;
a sorta indifferent, unthought, unshaped happiness..
maybe there’s something to be discovered
in all this love thing,
whatever it is.. maybe
I’ll go try to write a poem about it,
see where it goes
[This poem is dedicated to the memory of Bukowski, the poet
who taught us to write it like it is - even if his later work...]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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