What makes a good poem?
What makes a good poem?
Diction
Spending 10 lines saying something that requires 2, and trying to make it sound deep.
A poem comes from the heart, speak it without any motives straight from the start
Try to copy, be something you're not, or play the role of some part
And everyone will see your expression is not really art
Fidelity to meter (or rhythm)
Something worth writing about
Imagery
What are some down to the fucking point poems without any vague flowery language?
Meter meter, rhythm and sea saws, back and forth, teeter
Cadence and grace, showing your true heart and face
Courting haste dreaming of lace
What is the point of nature if not for flowers?
Delicate skin, scented and nourished by showers
How about some trees?
You won't get stung by bees
You are gay
Now go away
Very good. Down to the point, expresses true feelings and no vague flowery language. 10/10
What about prose poetry?
Bukowski.
Prose can also be pretty as a rose.
Images don't conform.
I like rhythm, constructing sound.
Suns set. Wind storms.
I just like writing.
ABAB rhyming
Free verse is low effort, low quality
Yeah personally rhyming is what makes it all fun
Especially when there's no timing and you naturally talk and see it done
It's the sweet sugary lining to a cinnamon bun
Otherwise perhaps you're just whining thinking you're saying a ton
Wilfred Owen
Knowing how to read it.
Using meter and prose can help the reader depending on their skill
Some want to be poets
Someones knows it
Some won the know of it
Some of one likes to show it
The prose no one wants of it
This thread is fucking hilarious, no wonder nobody here writes poetry yet constantly bring up Rupi to feel superior.
It did happen cause I think I remember
Of one time I was deep in slumber
A place like sunny little september
Had fruit dripping its gracious nectar
But it has since been forgotten
And
Some do say
One such as I
Were but children
In a holy play
Where we were
Out in the garden
A place we fought and sang
For our forgotten eden
And here I is what I have to say
I had a vision of an endless time
Were we danced in our slumber
For those that were blind
And here was no winner
For all took to a graceful mind
And spoke about the one
Who
Who says all is mine
thats not prose retard
Prose: written or spoken language in its ordinary form, without metrical structure
There was a bit of meter just cause I can't help myself but I wouldn't go as far to call me a retard lol
I like this user :'). For editing sake I think you meant "where" instead of "were" on your 9th line
Bro, please try to loosen the need, your ego is bold and it seems to be bald of any thing that I could see to redeem, admit a miss take, make no mistake , and listen to my know.
Wtf you talking about lol? I think I have the freedom to just write the way I wanna write, prose or not, meter or no meter. I'm just expressing myself. What does "listen to my know" mean???
Some of Ezra Pound’s more imagist early stuff, haikus, William Carlos Williams.
In a Station of the Metro
By Ezra Pound
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
William Carlos Williams
So much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
Holy molly, buddy oh hey, I have you say if you say is true, this a play, a fun for sport oh buddy you know why, if you think you can ryhme and dine, your plates to full and your ego is out of its mind
I like it! Check out Shel Silverstein she has some good poems!
What to do
What to do
I dont want to fall
Fall
Down
In love with you
>Here dead lie we because we did not choose
>To live and shame the land from which we sprung.
>Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose,
>But young men think it is, and we were young.
t. A E Housman
>when you understand how you age never really lets you die
This thread died fast lmao
>not AbbACC rhyme
I am a man with a rind
Of ego on its little behind
I show my ass
And wiggle it true
I am an ass
Alone
Without a lass
And I
Have the sass in tune
Oh i am an ass
poetry is a lesser form of thought, it has no merit beyond making people realize something a la Zen poetry or divinely inspired mystic poetry like Blake or Milton's. Outside of poetry in dramas like Oedipus or Antigone, or in tribute to a God or great men, Pindar and Orpheus, its worthless. People who write poetry as an exercise or worse as some way to get attention, express their feelings or make money, are subhumans. Phil>Social Commentary>Aphorism>Poetry (under the conditions I've laid out>Music>Math>Science>Lit>TV and Film
You can argue with me about math and science the rest isn't negotiable. I might put math higher but I think mathematicians are dangerous when elevated above their natural station
>hasn't read a poem since highschool
>doesnt understand poetry is the ultimate freedom of litetature
I say i have you understood as but a boy, with a father of no artistic deed.
:)
A preponderance of pedals upon a desert flower
A twinkling shimmer from sunlight cast on a huddle of dull stones
A clarified soul within the detritus of man
A poem among shitposts
Words that draw your attention which cannot be immediately deciphered.
Bait: the thread
Gape; Your head
Good usage of language
Ah, the lovely mountain bike flower.
DICHTEN = CONDENSARE
Kek I was washing my car when I wrote that
The tiger
[Spoiler]Yes
YES[/spoiler]
Prove it.
How
But that's literally prose.
spoonerisms
stop posting on this board please
Gay as fuck. Do you write on an iPad in the corner of your apush class?
God youre such a faggot. Reads like every miami/NY Latino wannabe rapper-poet. I bet you wear beats by dray as a fashion accessory.
Philip Larkin
High Windows by Philip Larkin
When I see a couple of kids
And guess he’s fucking her and she’s
Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,
I know this is paradise
Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives—
Bonds and gestures pushed to one side
Like an outdated combine harvester,
And everyone young going down the long slide
To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if
Anyone looked at me, forty years back,
And thought, "That’ll be the life;
No God any more, or sweating in the dark
About hell and that, or having to hide
What you think of the priest. He
And his lot will all go down the long slide
Like free bloody birds." And immediately
Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
How some one reads something is not up to the writer, but the intelligence of the reader
You.
he's right tho
Sure no doubt, but the prose isnt bad, just the ryhme scheme is a tad annoying.
Phat rhymes.