That's why I came here. I wanted to write some music/songs. I have the equipment, but my lyrical ideas suck. I used to listen to Sonic Youth and think that their lyrics are more like a poem.
45. I’m bleeding You said it won’t hurt, why am I bleeding there would be no pain, why am I grieving is this the punishment for believing? If you're not angry, why are you screaming there's no reason to fear, and yet I am retreating wait! blame me for half, then we're even You said there would be no solitude loneliness is now my only companion Is this the price for not seeing?
I had no idea there were so many different types! I'm super keen to try some out, especially a pantoum. Thank you 😁 And the idea of a poetic ecosystem is fascinating!
For years I have been writing poems and recently started to share them more openly. I learned from your video that I’ve been writing free verse poetry with ballad form of abab. Now I feel more passionate about learning forms of poetry. Thank you for this video!
Hello Shay: Here’s another poet-Charles Simic-who gave a reading in the 1970s in California which I was fortunate enough to be in attendance and the following are two poems he read for the first time and decades later became classics. Note how Simic can take everyday utilitarian objects like a fork and fingers and transform them into great memorable poems worthy of study. ~~ Fork This strange thing must have crept Right out of hell. It resembles a bird’s foot Worn around the cannibal’s neck. As you hold it in your hand, As you stab with it into a piece of meat, It is possible to imagine the rest of the bird: Its head like your fist Is large, bald, beakless and blind. ~~ Bestiary for the fingers of My Right Hand 1 Thumb, loose tooth of a horse. Rooster to his hens. Horn of a devil. Fat worm They have attached to my flesh At the time of my birth. It takes four to hold him down. Bend him in half, until the bone Begins to whimper. Cut him off. He can take care Of himself. Take root in the earth, Or go hunting with wolves. 2 The second points the way. True way. The path crosses the earth, The moon and some stars. Watch, he points further. He points to himself. 3 The middle one has backache. Stiff, still unaccustomed to this life; An old man at birth. It’s about something That he had and lost, That he looks for within my hand, The way a dog looks For fleas With a sharp tooth. 4 The fourth is mystery. Sometimes as my hand Rests on the table He jumps by himself As though someone called his name. After each bone, finger, I come to him, troubled. 5 Something stirs at the fifth Something perpetually at the point Of birth. Weak and submissive, His touch is gentle. It weighs a tear. It takes the mote out of the eye. ~~ Copyright c 1971 by Charles Simic. Published by George Braziller, Inc. ~~ -All love in isolation from Miami Beach, Florida, Al
Great video. I love form poetry, especially the sonnet. I write mainly free verse, but have definitely had phases of writing more form poetry. Reading collections by Sophie Hannah and Wendy Cope really helped me to appreciate what can be achieved in form poems.
I was required to write a haiku in Middle School, but not in High School. In High School poems were not typically required, though I often wrote them if it were one of options I could choose to do for a given project as they came out of me more naturally than essays.
I was the same way! If we were free to choose I was often choosing poems to write. Or writing poems for greeting cards for various family celebrations.
Come, wanderer of words, let's take a flight, Through poetic forms, both day and night, Twelve realms to explore, each a unique embrace, In the tapestry of verse, let your creativity chase. Sonnet's Embrace: Shakespeare's legacy, a classic delight, Fourteen lines penned, love's symphony's height, Rhyme schemes woven, in iambic's dance, A sonnet's allure, a timeless romance. Haiku's Whisper: Nature's essence, in three lines bloom, Syllables confined, like a quiet room, Seventeen in all, a glimpse so brief, A haiku's art, in simplicity's relief. Villanelle's Rhyme: Nineteen lines entwine, in structured grace, Repeated lines echo, in a delicate chase, A pattern that's strict, a challenge to weave, In a villanelle's magic, let your verses believe. Sestina's Spiral: Six stanzas twirl, like a poetic quest, End-words interlock, a pattern in zest, Lines come full circle, with a closing stance, A sestina's puzzle, where words enhance. Limerick's Glee: Humorous and brisk, a limerick's cheer, Five lines to amuse, with a grin ear to ear, A rhyme scheme to follow, in playful sway, Let limericks light up your poetic display. Pantoum's Flow: Four-line verses, in a rhythmic glide, Lines intertwine, as thoughts collide, Repetition's key, like a river's serene, A pantoum's melody, where words convene. Acrostic's Clue: Vertical verses, secrets to unfold, Initial letters spell, a tale untold, An acrostic's veil, in letters' embrace, In hidden meanings, its beauty you'll trace. Cinquain's Essence: Five lines concise, a cinquain's realm, Structured syllables, like a soothing helm, Emotion's core, in a snapshot's grace, Capture life's essence, in this poetic space. Tanka's Depth: From Japan's embrace, a Tanka's allure, Five and seven counts, like a stream pure, Expressing emotions, in lines just right, A Tanka's subtlety, in moon's soft light. Ghazal's Echo: Couplets resonate, like echoes of soul, Themes and refrains, in a mystic stroll, A Ghazal's beauty, in each couplet's gaze, A tapestry of emotions, in poetic ways. Concrete's Shape: Visual art merged with words' embrace, In shapes and forms, let your thoughts trace, Concrete poetry's canvas, a visual treat, Where words and art converge, so neat. Ode's Tribute: An ode to honor, with praise and awe, In verse that soars, like nature's draw, A tribute grand, to subjects profound, An ode's homage, in verses unbound. So, poet of heart, with forms diverse, Let your creativity shine, let your verses converse, In twelve realms of structure, each with its grace, Discover your voice, let your words find their place.
Sonnets are actually pretty easy. Iambic pentameter is pretty simple to master. I'm currently working on a poem similar to the groupings of sonnets, but with 13 line groupings written in iambic nonameter
Shah I loved your poetry instruction and the discussion it has generated. My daughter Alice Alsup went to Reed Class of 2012. She wrote soulful poetry her whole short life. I would like to send you her book, "The Poet Walks Away" if Reed no longer has a copy. I cannot get over how much you look and talk just like her. It was a nice mother's day present for me to see how she may have turned out.
this is beautiful especially seeing this with Mothers day tomorrow... Happy Mothers day and it's amazing to see you value her work of art. If you could send me a copy or a link id love to read it, once again Happy Mothers day and have a blessed day.
Hello Shaylyn You know by now how I love Davin Antin’s “ found” poems but most poets specializing in “ found” poems have no idea that his wife Eleanor was also a “ found” poet quite obscure because it appears she only published a few in the “ Open Poetry Anthology” alongside her husbands and ( to my knowledge) never any other and no book. I hope you don’t mind me sharing 2 of them with you and your readership. ~~ “The Proportions Which a Perfectly Formed Man’s Body Should Possess I will now give you the exact proportions of a man those of a woman I will disregard for she does not have any set proportions first the face is divided into three parts the forehead one the nose another and from the nose to the chin another from the side of the nose through the whole length of the eye one of these measures from the end of the eye up to the ear one of these measures from one ear to the other a face lengthwise one face from the chin under the jaw to the base of the throat one of the three measures the throat one measure long from the pit of the throat to the top of the shoulder one face and so for the other shoulder from the shoulder to the elbow one face from the elbow to the joint of the hand one face and one of the three measures the whole hand lengthwise one face from the pit of the throat to that of the chest or stomach one face from the stomach to the naval one face from the naval to the thigh joint one face from the thigh to the knee two faces from the knee to the heel of the leg two faces from the heel to the sole of the foot one of the three measures the foot one face long a man is as long as his arms crosswise the arms including the hands reach to the middle of the thigh a man has one breast rib less than a woman on the left side the handsome man must be swarthy he is eight faces and two of the three measures in length this is the whole man ~~ The Way to Copy a Mountain from Nature ( for diane wakoski ) if you want a good style for mountains if you want them to look natural rugged and not cleaned up copy them from nature apply the lights and the dark as your system requires if you want to embellish these mountains with groves of trees or with plants first put in the trunk of the tree and scatter the leaves upon it and then the fruits and scatter occasional flowers and little birds then scrape it up and put it into a little dish cover it and keep it the older and more seasoned it is the better it will be just keep it well covered and protected from dust -Al
Here a poem of mine I would like to share Thanks THREE APPLE TREES AMONG THE PINES THREE APPLE TREES AMONG THE PINES, AND NO OTHER BROTHER OR SISTER TO FIND. WHAT BROUGHT YOU SO FAR AWAY FROM YOUR KIND, THAT I SHOULD FIND YOU ON THIS WALK OF MINE ? TREES DON'T GET UP AND WALK AT NIGHT WHEN NO ONE'S AROUND TO WITNESS THE SIGHT, OR CARRY THEMSELVES UP THE HILL TO A GREATER HEIGHT, JUST TO ENJOY THE VIEW FROM THAT LOFTY SITE. FOR THE NEAREST ORCHARD'S AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HILL, NEAR THE OLD FOUNDATION OF THE CIDER MILL. BUT THE ORCHARD'S GONE TO SEED...NO BASKETS TO FILL, ITS BEEN FIFTY YEARS...SINCE THE PRESSES WERE STILLED. BUT THE ANSWER TO MY QUESTION OF HOW YOU GOT HERE WHEN NONE OF YOUR SPECIES ARE TO BE FOUND NEAR, CAN BE FOUND IN THE RECENT DROPPINGS OF THE DEER, FOR YOUR BRANCHES STILL BEAR FRUIT...IN THE FALL OF THE YEAR. NATURE HAS A WAY OF MEETING ITS NEEDS, LIKE THE CARRYING OF POLLEN BY THE GENTLE BREEZE, PASSING THE FRUIT ON BY THE SOWING OF SEEDS, AND THE NECTAR-FILLED FLOWERS ARE PASSED ON BY BEES. TO THE QUESTION OF THE APPLE TREES ON THE HILL. HOW THEY GOT THERE....WAS NATURE'S WILL, I have a number of Poems At some point I would like to put them in a small book form but for now Here is a sample Enjoy.. Dennis Marvin
I came here because from last year, from November I guess I started to watch Naruto and the songs from the beginning and end kept my attention and put me to write poetry 😅😂... That's why I'm here now 😅😂... I started to write from 3-4 weeks ago (I guess...), free verse 😂, obviously 😂. I'm dead with rimes! In school and sometimes now, I used to write texts, not poetry😅😂. Thanks 😅😂!
this is so perfect that i stumbled on this video, i’ve been listening to the vs podcast and have been wanting to play around with different forms! thank you so much for all that you do!! the talent and drive oozes from your aura
Hey, I really loved you narration. but could you try explain each style with a poems.. then it will be easier. I don't understand well. could you do that..? It will be helpful and definitely takes your time. but could you do this..? I'm waiting for reply.
Haiku is 17 or less syllables-NOT 5/7/5 in strict syllabic sequence. And most of the time, less. My major gripe is that 90% of teachers online are doing a huge disfavor by teaching students the wrong way to write a haiku and if the students decide to submit their haiku , it will never get published in any noteworthy haiku journal like Frogpond, Heron’s Nest, Shamrock, etc Same with Haibun which has a max of 31syllables but most of the time far less and not in 5/7/5/7/7 strict syllabic sequence. I’ve been writing haiku senryu tanka haibun for decades and over the years have been published in the major journals. I was taught 2 decades ago by a Chinese haiku Master and it takes years of practice and workshopping before I was accepted. If you were to see the first few drafts of all your major haiku writers; in fact all your notable fiction writers like Hemingway, F. Scott, Faulkner, etc you would be in shock and utter “they will never be any good as major writers. But what makes them good is their ability to edit, and edit and edit...in other words, the true art is in the editing. There are exceptions like Jack Kerouac whose spontaneous writing of his classic novel “On The Road” was mostly spontaneous. ( but originally published with revisions). But the overwhelming majority of notable writers revise revise revise... All love in isolation from Miami Beach, Florida, --Al
Not as a criticism but because of the haiku poetry form I love I have to say that haiku is not a 5-7-5 form. It certainly can be, unintentionally, in English although I would suggest that this can stifle creativity rather than encourage it. I have seen way too many 5-7-5 haiku that appear to be keyword stuffed, just in order to follow the myth. Someone, somewhere at some time looked at Japanese language and mistook Mora (A sound in Japanese language) to be the same as English syllable: it's not, and misinformed teachers have been teaching this for years. This creates an English haiku that is much longer than a Japanese haiku, and as I said, appears to have words in it that are superfluous and almost artificial. If you want to try the ultimate "show rather than tell" challenge, try writing haiku. You have three lines and roughly, less than 12 syllables to work with.
Grace Paley... In my top 10 of all- time favorite short stories titled “ wants” And there is a 3 word sentence in this poem “ Hello my life” that I consider not only the best 3 line sentence in the story but the best 3 line sentence in the history of all the stories I’ve read since the age of 7. Grace Paley “ Wants” I saw my ex-husband in the street. I was sitting on the steps of the new library. Hello, my life, I said. We had once been married for twenty-seven years, so I felt justified. He said, What? What life? No life of mine. I said, O.K. I don't argue when there's real disagreement. I got up and went into the library to see how much I owed them. The librarian said $32 even and you've owed it for eighteen years. I didn't deny anything. Because I don't understand how time passes. I have had those books. I have often thought of them. The library is only two blocks away. My ex-husband followed me to the Books Returned desk. He interrupted the librarian, who had more to tell. In many ways, he said, as I look back, I attribute the dissolution of our marriage to the fact that you never invited the Bertrams to dinner. That's possible, I said. But really, if you remember: first, my father was sick that Friday, then the children were born, then I had those Tuesday-night meetings, then the war began. Then we didn't seem to know them any more. But you're right. I should have had them to dinner. I gave the librarian a check for $32. Immediately she trusted me, put my past behind her, wiped the record clean, which is just what most other municipal and/or state bureaucracies will not do. I checked out the two Edith Wharton books I had just returned because I'd read them so long ago and they are more apropos now than ever. They were The House of Mirth and The Children, which is about how life in the United States in New York changed in twenty-seven years fifty years ago. A nice thing I do remember is breakfast, my ex-husband said. I was surprised. All we ever had was coffee. Then I remembered there was a hole in the back of the kitchen closet which opened into the apartment next door. There, they always ate sugar-cured smoked bacon. It gave us a very grand feeling about breakfast, but we never got stuffed and sluggish. That was when we were poor, I said. When were we ever rich? he asked. Oh, as time went on, as our responsibilities increased, we didn't go in need. You took adequate financial care, I reminded him. The children went to camp four weeks a year and in decent ponchos with sleeping bags and boots, just like everyone else. They looked very nice. Our place was warm in winter, and we had nice red pillows and things. I wanted a sailboat, he said. But you didn't want anything. Don't be bitter, I said. It's never too late. No, he said with a great deal of bitterness. I may get a sailboat. As a matter of fact I have money down on an eighteen-foot two-rigger. I'm doing well this year and can look forward to better. But as for you, it's too late. You'll always want nothing. He had had a habit throughout the twenty-seven years of making a narrow remark which, like a plumber's snake, could work its way through the ear down the throat, half-way to my heart. He would then disappear, leaving me choking with equipment. What I mean is, I sat down on the library steps and he went away. I looked through The House of Mirth, but lost interest. I felt extremely accused. Now, it's true, I'm short of requests and absolute requirements. But I do want something. I want, for instance, to be a different person. I want to be the woman who brings these two books back in two weeks. I want to be the effective citizen who changes the school system and addresses the Board of Estimate on the troubles of this dear urban center. I had promised my children to end the war before they grew up. I wanted to have been married forever to one person, my ex-husband or my present one. Either has enough character for a whole life, which as it turns out is really not such a long time. You couldn't exhaust either man's qualities or get under the rock of his reasons in one short life. Just this morning I looked out the window to watch the street for a while and saw that the little sycamores the city had dreamily planted a couple of years before the kids were born had come that day to the prime of their lives. Well! I decided to bring those two books back to the library. Which proves that when a person or an event comes along to jolt or appraise me I can take some appropriate action, although I am better known for my hospitable remarks -Grace Paley ( from her 1974 short story collection “ Enormous Changes At The Last Minute” Nominated for the National Book Award For Fiction ). Happy New Year -Al
The overriding problem with the strict 5/7/5 syllabic count is there are “ fillers” that can easily be eliminated. For example note the following tanka: On my early morning walk A leaf falls on my shoulder every warm autumn It’s golden tone still vibrates in our wedding book Now to eliminate the “fillers” Instead of “ early morning walk” Eliminate “ early” thus “ morning walk” Then : a leaf falls on my shoulder” eliminate “ on my shoulder” thus “ a leaf falls” then : “every warm autumn” to: “ every autumn” eliminating “ warm” ( autumn the temperature is still “ warm”) “ it’s golden tone still vibrates” ( this line is ok) “ in my wedding book” ( this line is acceptable but for the sake of rhythm , I prefer the following 6 syllables: “ inside my wedding book” One more example of one of my favorite haiku that haiku poets tell me they enjoyed reading. on my car dashboard my bobblehead Jesus nods to my plastic flowers Here’s what I eliminated: instead of “ on my car dashboard” I would eliminate “ on my” and use: “ car dashboard” instead of : “my bobblehead Jesus nods to” ( you should never end a haiku line with “to” so here’s what I would do: “ my bobblehead Jesus nods to my plastic flowers” Again, under17 syllables ( 15 total and no fillers. ) This is just a couple examples of how i eliminate what I consider “ filler” words. I hope your students find it efficacious. All love in isolation from Miami Beach , Florida, -Al
the jacket description for a scifi book I'm writing is a series of haiku, even the footnote. The following 100k words of text, not so much. How many did I manage to fit into a paragraph? This is a story about destroying the world and then saving it; a story about solving global warming and its’ consequences; a story about space ships and relationships, and how to build them; about programmer level humor, holograms, death rays and hobbits; about sword fights and the Pumping Iron Project, spiders and mirrors; about lies no one sees, and dedication when no one is watching; about castles built in the sky, and living in them, and how and why; making alcohol, toasting, drinking, and cleaning stinking septic sludge; of engineering, prophecy, poetry and about gardening; about math, footnotes, the devil in the details, slime and salvation; and about lighting up a lady’s eyes when she gets a big surprise. If this story had a cute fluffy pet, why, it would have everything!(*) Alas, the version with everything was fifty thousand pages long. This version has been severely abridged, the “good parts” version; Enjoy! (*) “I’m not a stupid fluffy pet!” says Betti the station computer. She has an IQ over four digits, you’ll not win the argument.
This video changed my preconceptions of poetry because I've always thought that poetry had to have rhythm or rhyme to be poetry. I've got a lot to learn.
I am working on a memoir and trying to include my journals of poems. I have over 2000 pages of journal entries. I am trying to organize it and I was wondering if memoirs can be a series?
Also can poems be songs? I just realized when i try writing a song i rhyme by mistake. But ya i hate rhymes expect dr. Seuss. Ya poem writing sounds really fun. I always have ideas so. Its like they won't stop. Ya i wanna write a sad one to.
*joyfully bursts out* "HU HOOO! agreed bruvva! 🎩 *Laughs like choking British pirate* "ayyyyeee ayyee eyak yakk yakk yak" just as the last eyak fades my hands slide down my overall straps to my waste band, I pull my nicely creased pants up way high over the fat belly filling my button up shirt, then I slide my hands back up then slap the straps against my shoulders. *Holding straps I lean in, brow raised and mustache perched "agreed, indeed!" 😌 Good show chap.. good show 😌
Very informative and encouraging! May I suggest that your content would shine brighter with a slower tempo? After all, the tempo of our speech is one of the things that we may learn to shape from the study of poetry. I could be wrong, but it would be nice to savour the great points you are making. There's no rush. Keep up the great work. Looking forward to more. All the best, Ray.
Here’s a typical Haibun with only one haiku at the end titled First Love Atlantic City , summer of 1960 I was 16. I remember we stopped for saltwater taffy--as evening journeyed slowly into night. Nearing curfew, we sat on a sandy enclave--holding hands, looking out at the ocean, not saying much. In the distance the lights from an ocean liner kept flickering as the night kept coming on in... french kiss under the boardwalk over the moon All love, -Al
I just started a poetry course and was feeling a bit nervous trying to remember different styles of poetry - I’m a 31 year old non trad student finishing up college. This was so helpful! Eased my mind!
I hope you don’t mind but here are examples of a haiku, a tanka, and a haibun that I wrote and offer your students for study. The Haiku with commentary by AHA founder and poet Jane Reichhold who considered the haiku among her 10 best haiku poems of all time. What an honor. Here’s the haiku : Bashō’s frog four hundred years of ripples at first the idea of picking only 10 of my favorite haiku seemed a rather daunting task. How could I review all the haiku I have read in my life and decide that there were only 10 that were outstanding? Then realized I was already getting a steady stream of excellent haiku day by day through the AHA forum. The puns and write-offs based on Basho's most famous haiku are so numerous I would have said that nothing new could be said with this method, but here Al Fogel proved me wrong. Perhaps part of my delight in this haiku lies in the fact that I agree with him. Here he is saying one thing about realism-ripples are on a pond after a frog jumps in, but because it refers back to Basho and his famous haiku, he is also saying something about the haiku and authors who have followed him. We, and our work, are just ripples while Basho holds the honor of inventing the idea of the sound of a frog leaping is the sound of water As haiku spreads around the world, making ripples in more and larger ponds, its ripples are wider-including us all. But his last word reminds us all that we are ripples and our lives ephemeral. It will be the frogs that will remain. ~~ And my tanka: returning home from a Jackson Pollock exhibition I smear my face with paint and morph into art ~~ And haibun to “ mom”: Mama There were days when I pretended to be too sick to go to school - - just for mamas loving embrace - - her arms the heat of home Even with the onset of dementia, her cheerfulness was so contagious it was a joy being around her despite the illness. She made everyone laugh with her spontaneous unpredictable behavior. nursing home bumper wheelchair her favorite pastime Once a week I would whisk her away from the assisted-living facility and we would spend several hours together - - grabbing a meal or frequenting some of her favorite second-hand stores where she loved to shop and donate clothes. When we drove to her favorite thrift in November, her dementia worsened. thrift store the dress mama donated she wants to buy On a cold December morn mama passed. The funeral was simple. There was a light drizzle as the family gathered at the gravesite. One by one, with eyes full of rain, we said our last goodbyes. autumn twilight oh mama tuck me under hug me one more time ~ ps: haiku can also be serious and deal with overwhelmingly horrific subjects like the Holocaust. Here are 2 examples that I wrote: cattle cars between the slats human eyes ~~ stutthof. . . the stench of burnt smoke from the chimneys -Al
Here’s another awesome “ found” poem by David Antin but this time it is visually enhanced because it is visually in the shape of a Flag. Code Of Flag Behavior The flag should never be displayed with the union down except as a sign of distress the flag should never touch anything underneath it such as the ground the floor or water it should never be carried laid out flat or horizontally but always aloft and free it should not be festooned drawn back or up in folds but allowed to fall free the flag should never be used to cover a ceiling it should never have placed on it or attached to any part of it any mark insignia letter word figure design picture drawing of any nature whatsoever the flag should never be used as a receptacle for receiving holding carrying or delivering it should not be used for advertising purposes and when the flag is in such condition that it is no longer fit for use as an emblem of display it should be destroyed in a dignified way preferably by burning ~~ -copyright c by David Antin. Published in 1971 by Black Sparrow Press. All love in isolation from Miami Beach, Florida, Al
I've been writing poems since Oct 2020, and pretty much all of them are free verse. I do use some half-rhymes sometimes, but I prefer reading and writing free verse. That was still a very interesting video.
You hit on some of the best, I like Greek quantitative verse and the Chinese have a sort of sonnet form also. I've written several ballads which if you enjoy a song likeness are very exciting
A very good evening ma'am just could you help me out with atleast three poems which compliment each other and during the elocution few props can be taken up to make them look fancy .The poems I selected are The Walrus and the carpenter ,The blind man and the elephant and Middlesome Matty. Ma'am really need ur help kindly suggest more according to you which compliment each other. Regards Jade
Same. Here's mine: 12-26-2023 A saint we are born, On Earth morals torn. Once, were born a saint, Here the Holy is taint. The ashes-a sign, Rebirth from sacred wine. On Earth morals torn, Sins sound angels' horn. Rebirth from sacred wine, Once, were born a saint. In black-His glory shine, Over our sins we paint.
Hello Shaylyn; Here are the 2 Russell Edson poems I promised along with some of his selected books. I’m quite certain that once your college students and professors read them, they will hunger for more. ~~ OLD FOLKS There was once an old man and his wife who lived deep in the wood to guard themselves against the hurt of young persons who are of the brutal joy; for they are with nature and come as does nature. They from the outside, nature from within, to hurt old folks who must build deep in the wood that place which is defended by its secret. The old folks also have guns, and have laid traps, and put bags of acid in the trees. And are we safe? cries the old wife. It is the flesh that I so fear, guard as one will, still it is dying in itself says the old husband . We are to be gotten to no matter what we do, screams the old wife. Your screaming doesn’t help, screams the old man. What helps? screams the old wife. Nothing, save the hope that there is a life beyond this one, roars the old man. But all I have is an old brain wrapped in old gray hair; how can I know what I need to know? yells the old woman, yelling doesn’t help, yells the old man. What helps? roars the old woman. Nothing, save that which was before us and continue after us, that cosmic presence which us so made - but not even it lifts one star or changes the order of one day on our behalf- no, we are alone, and there is no help; so in despair we set traps, and have guns, and make ourselves secret to the on-rush of life, roars the old man. But what helps? screams the old woman. Not you who luxuriates in an old man’s logic instead of using your own brain- You hang on to my wits which I am losing for your incessant questions, roared the old man. ~~ THE CHILDHOOD OF AN EQUESTRIAN A nursemaid moving through the wood espied the equestrian in his corrupted position, and cried, what child has fallen from his rocking horse? Merely a new technique for dismounting, said the prone equestrian. The child is wounded more by fear than hurt, said the nursemaid. The child which has dismantled and is at rest, but being interfered with grows irritable, cried the equestrian. The child that falls from his rockinghorse, refusing to dismount fathers the man with no woman to take in his arms, said the nursemaid, for woman are as horses, so that it is the rockinghorse that teaches the man the way of love. I am a man fallen from a horse in the privacy of a wood; save for a strange nursemaid who espied my corruption, taking me for a child who falls from a rockinghorse lies down in fear refusing to father the man who mounts the woman with the rhythm given in the day of his childhood on the imitation horse when he was in the imitation of a man who incubates in his childhood, said the man. Let me help you to your manhood, said the nursemaid. I am already , by the metaphor, the son of the child , if the child father the man, and take your hands off me, cried the equestrian. I lift up the child which is wounded more by fear than hurt. You lift up a child that has rotted into his manhood, cried the equestrian. I lift up as I lift all that fall and our made children by their falling, said the nursemaid. Go away from me because you are annoying me, screamed the equestrian, as he beat the fleeing white shape that seemed like a soft moon entrapped in the branches of the forrest. ~~
This was quite detailed and helpful, and really insightful. When I was in school we learned very few forms, namely-- Sonnets, Ballad, Free verse, prose poems, and Elegy. We even read a few Odes. I'm not sure if Odes are a form of Free verse poems or a separate form of poetry. Elegy is somewhat my favorite, as there is something really fascinating about death. Could you please suggest books/make a video on Elegy, Allegory, Eulogy, etc? Thanks :)
Lately I've been playing around with this older style of poetry. It's not very common in western poetry or European poetry. I forgot what they call it. You reword things a lot as you repeat them, but at the same time adding new information. It's quite fun once you get the hang of it. I wish I could explain how it works better.
@@janetwasonga6420 Nope not a sestina. I just looked up that style. It doesn't match. The style I'm trying doesn't have any rules about length or the number of lines. A sestina is also a French style, while the style I'm playing with isn't a European style. The style I'm trying seems to be quite common in the Bible, so maybe it's a Hebrew style. Thanks for trying though.
Hello: Is there a name for this form: eg four people each say a word that they are feeling/ or a word that appeals to them at the moment; then they collaborate to make those words into a sentence with a poetic flavour or an imaginative twist. Please help as our group does not know what to call it.
Cool ya i think i will like the haiku and haibun. Im starting out tiny but just by hearing its from japan and more spiritual. The haibun sounds best then because i think i will start with prose. I didn't understand all the lingo but i somehow still understand what you mean. Im gonna look up lots of stuff. Ya and its so cool you can like work with orhers and ya. When you said site it reminded me of when i knew how to on a computer but... ya i use my smart phone. I read a guy's poem and was so curious as to why and how a person dose that. And i woke up one morning with really happy feelings and started hearing stuff and then i understood why and how people write poems. So now im gonna try to.
Also up to part 3 in how to write one ya that's what i did so im going from there. I guess maybe i have the mind now and all i had to do was ask and it literally found me somehow the answer. I think it was god because usually when i ask something i get a answer. I got it like few weeks after i thought people were weird and didn't know how they write them but more importantly why. Ya so anything spiritual is good. Ya i think it's about emotions and feelings and how they are to be expressed.
Hello Shaylyn: Below are a couple more poems that I would like to share from the “ Open Poetry Anthology” The poets are “ Anselm Hollo” ( for “ Song of the tusk” c 1965, 1969, 1970 from a book titled “ Maya” by Grossman Publishers, New York, 1970) and “The White Wolf” from a book titled “ Landed Natures” from Black Sparrow Press, Los Angeles, 1969). ~~ Anselm Hollo Song of the Tusk the elephant bogged down thousands of years ago the fragmentary tusk now in a glass case no no those are untrue statements it is I am in the glass case counting the stubs of museum tickets it is the elephant walks the downs laughs at the sea growling there is no such thing as thousands of years I drop a stone on your head from the elephant’s back show me show me the thousands of years I walk through the water throwing stones at the women on the beach the honeymoon women there eyes far apart frightened they close the glass case over themselves & their lovers for thousands of years George Economou ~~ The White Wolf Send a man in send in a man with 24 eyes the white wolf hides in the snow black tongue with pink eyes set in the snow take your planes home send in a man sun sets every green gives in to black the whiteness of the snow is quiet don’t just stand there tottering between the mountains and the plains the plains at night are death for the white fawn send a man in send in a hunter with with ears on the soles of his feet the white wolf waits send a man into the mountains sun rises the white fawn roams below the timberline give it a corner of your eye it’s still dark in the woods as the white fawn descends is the white wolf gone? the white fawn hairpins closer don’t look to the plains death comes there like a drink of cold water send a man in the white fawn comes you dig holes in the water dig holes in the dried up river sprinkle chunks of gumbo on your head the hunter is petrified send a child to cry wolf the white fawn is upon us -Al
