I am not the man of yore
Of things I've said and done before
I have changed in countless ways
All throughout the passing days.
As the world wobbles to and fro
As winter comes with ceaseless snow
As spring arrives and green leaves grow
The constant change is all I know
As I reach the mountains peaks
I see the rivers, streams and creeks
Each filled with a possible morrow
Of hopes, dreams, and certain sorrow
One thing I enjoy when writing poetry is playing around with the form. Now a poem does not have to follow a specific form, but ones that do have a distinct smoothness. The challenge then, lies in finding the best word for both the form and the meaning behind the words. This can become frustrating if the words do not fit the flow, or if you have a good word that fits the flow, but it changes or softens the meaning.
For this poem, the frustrating part for me is in the second to last line. It doesn't quite fit the form and the flow is disrupted when reading it out loud. The first stanza also has some kinks that I couldn't work out. But that's alright, a poem doesn't have to be perfect.
What's your opinion of prose poetry?
ReplyDeleteI wrote my first prose two weeks ago. I'm just discovering the freedom in prose and am digging the style. I think I prefer rhyming though. Check out the book "Red Butterfly", it's entirely written in prose
ReplyDeleteRed Buttefly by A.L. Sonnichsen? Okay. I placed a hold for it at my local library. I'll check it out. Literally.
ReplyDelete