Ask not what bears can do for you, but what you can do for bears. (razz)
When one is in agreement with bears one is always correct. (mae)
bears are back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I was only joking. But, much to my disadvantage, the internet doesn't relay sarcasm very well.
You have piked my interest in what you have to say. I will wait 'till the morning. (I understand the heat problem. It isn't so bad today,but still pretty warm. I know this will change soon; it'll be blistering hot tomorrow.)
Chris, that is a wonderful poem. I am not sure what to say.
I love the way you incorporated the talking in between the verses; they add to the poem, not take away from it like I have seen so many times in the past.
"Help me out here
All my words are falling short
And there's so much I want to say"
There's one hole in every revolution, large or small. And it's one word long.. people. No matter how big the idea they all stand under, people are small and weak and cheap and frightened. It's people that kill every revolution.
His King is dead by The Nameless is another example of what I tried to express above.
The layout of the poem is perfect (even if the rhyming is sloppy and the meter stumbling - although the latter probably on purpose). It consists of five stanzas, arranged symmetrically: the number of lines is 4 - 5 - 4 - 5 - 4, with the culmination in the central stanza:
The arrows did soar, the swords did clash.
The sky roared, the field alight with lighting flash.
Clandestine archers strike from passing cart.
Their arrows piercing finding beating heart.
After that comes a reprise: the first line is repeated with variations - My king is dead. His armies are defeated is how it goes this time; it's as if dead silence set it after the clamor of battle so perfectly described in the previous quatrain, and we were given the time to count the dead and ponder and mourn. If someone repeated this poem aloud, this place would be breathtaking and heartbreaking, the pause, the reprise and all.
Now, the events of stanza 4 mirror those of stanza 2... just as the conclusion in the last quatrain mirrors the introduction given in the first, and the impersonal tone of the first part - by the increasingly personal of the second (myths and tales vs. I will now wander), anticipated by the alterations made to the key line.
The thing is, I bet my head and my last two teeth he didn't construct it. I'm sure it just came freely... as if he was throwing stones into the air, and they landed forming a perfect pattern.
Ask not what bears can do for you, but what you can do for bears. (razz)
When one is in agreement with bears one is always correct. (mae)
bears are back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And you are right, Jean. I rarely sit down and construct poems, they usually just form themselves as I write down the lines. I am not sure how it works, just that it does work (at least some of the time).
When I do try and construct poems, it does not work, at least the majority of the time.
As for this week's line, I had the most difficult time coming up with anything, which is why it took me so long to post my addition.
This is probably one of my worse poems, but it all I could come up with.
Where do I go from here?
The question lingers in the air,
hanging against the pause.
Silence is the only response.
Although the answer lies at the end of her tear.
Where do we go from here?
The inquiry laced with glass.
His resolve deflating with every word.
The response fileted before reaching the tongue.
Everything her emotions mirror.
Their unity has been breached, another has crossed the defenses.
Mute he stays, silence chokes the comments.
Her voice wavers, the last question left unspoken.
The time has come to part ways, neither knowing how to mend fences.
"Help me out here
All my words are falling short
And there's so much I want to say"
Where do I go from here?
A sky boiled and angry like a god's blind eye
Not to say I had to fear
What lurked behind that pearly sky.
No, for when I saw what was there
My body suddenly began to flood
Great fissures ran through my mind laid bare
And my eyes filled with blood.
For what I saw, it was so clear
A terrible sight never before seen
For never in all my life did I fear
To see Dubya dancing to that tambourine.
"I aim to misbehave."
-- Malcolm Reynolds
"I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar."
-- Hoban Washburne
"What does that make us?"
"Big damn heroes, sir."
"Ain't we just."
-- Malcolm Reynolds and Zoe Washburne
I've never really studied poetry that extensively, but I do know I am horrible at iambic pentameter and all that posh shit. Poetry is about expression, and rigidity in that expression limits the creative output, and the impact it has.
That being said, I hardly ever do free verse, per se. I write poetry the way I read poetry. I like sonnets, so I write sonnets, and different type of shit like that. But i don't sit there and measure syllables, or line length. To me, poetry is to be read aloud, for it truly to have impact. When you read poetry aloud you can hear the play on words and understand what the poet is trying to do better. I like playing with alliteration and rhyme in my poetry because it SOUNDS better. Not because it reads better.
my .02
"So many vows. They make you swear and swear. Defend the King, obey the King, obey your father, protect the innocent, defend the weak. But what if your father despises the King? What if the King massacres the innocent? It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or another."
Two cents well spent in my opinion
Nice one, Steve. The end was not what I was expecting.
"Help me out here
All my words are falling short
And there's so much I want to say"
I find this to be the most difficult type of poetry to write.
Hats off to all of you!!
All that's left of what we were is what we have become.
It is Thursday... JohnBlaze... you're up with a line...
Buddy, you think you look strong? You’re wearing a cape.
JohnBlaze went to Mexico...
but he'll be back! And there'll be another Thursday!
Friends, let's wait till next Thursday, ok? Come to think of it, we don't have to introduce a new line every week, especially since the last one is so really good that more people can be expected to write something great!
Ask not what bears can do for you, but what you can do for bears. (razz)
When one is in agreement with bears one is always correct. (mae)
bears are back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
awe... shucks
Buddy, you think you look strong? You’re wearing a cape.
Wait another week, eh? That's cool.
I am still working on something for poetry circle, so this wait will help out.
"Help me out here
All my words are falling short
And there's so much I want to say"
A poet doesn't have to study poetry. Of course you don't measure syllables, why the hell? What a sorry sight would that be, a poet endeavoring to satisfy some mythical "requirements"... having an poetic dictionary open in front of him and calculating his alliterations. No, a poet works from inspiration... but the point is, he gets all them tropes and things and miracles without thinking about them. It's the critic who can deconstruct it with analytical purposes, but the syntheses was done inspirationally, with the poet listening to his own heart. I always read poetry aloud (and, by the way, it emphasizes the weak points of a poem, too, making something the eye would have overlook really stick out). Another thing is that, besides talent and inspiration, a poet might also have some culture, which enables him to freely choose the most fitting form (ballad or sonnet or whatever) and to do some conscious experimenting, but this is neither necessary nor sufficient for him as a poet.
Ask not what bears can do for you, but what you can do for bears. (razz)
When one is in agreement with bears one is always correct. (mae)
bears are back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Actually, quite a lot of poets of the past measured syllables and plotted rhymes. All of Shakespeare's sonnets didn't end up having 10 syllables in every line with 5 meteric feet of an unstressed then stressed syllable(imabic pentameter), with 14 lines every time, with a pattern of 4/4/4/2 and a rhyme scheme of abab cdcd efef gg without fail by mere inspiration and coincidence. They only time Shakespeares sonnets fall out of iambic pentameter is when he was trying to make something stand out. It all has reason and planning behind it. This is true of many poets.
Shelly very purposefully made "Ode to the West Wind" in the interlocking tercets of Terza Rima, Coleridge very purposefully used Ballad Stanza with alternating tetrameter and trimeter lines in "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," Chaucer used seven-line iamabic pentameter stanzas with a ababbcc rhyme scheme almsot exclusivley, and Byron used eight-line iambic pentameter rhymed abababcc, and all of them did so meticulously and poets of Shakespeare's time often debated on what types of meter were the best to use. I think it is fallacy to thing that poetry forming into perfectly metered stanzas and rhyme schemes comes from pure inspiration and not the science that exists beneath the art form. In many writing courses, we are even taught that true moments of inspiration do not exist, and that authors, both of prose and poetry write good works by constantly continuing to write and learn about style. I think it is quite acceptable for a poet not familiar with certain metric styles to sit there with a poetic style book and counting syallables and reading their own lines outloud to make sure the stresses go where theyy need to to fit the metric style that they want to use. I have been known to count syllables on many ocassions, and even change the wording of a line because what originally came to mind was over or under the syallble limit I had in mine.
There's one hole in every revolution, large or small. And it's one word long.. people. No matter how big the idea they all stand under, people are small and weak and cheap and frightened. It's people that kill every revolution.
Yes. That's what I called culture. There was a time poetry was unthinkable without adherence to strict rules (in addition to the examples you gave, I could also remind classical French Ballad with its strict rhyming, same rhyming syllables repeating in every stanza). I think, however, that nowadays, although it might come as a bonus, it is neither necessary nor sufficient (not that it ever was sufficient, although it sure used to be considered necessary).
It all depends on how far we want to stretch the term "poet". If we admit that any versification comes under the category of poetry, then it's ok.In many writing courses, we are even taught that true moments of inspiration do not exist, and that authors, both of prose and poetry write good works by constantly continuing to write and learn about style.
Anything is acceptable, provided the result sounds good. The ways different poets achieve their results may be very different. As I said, if someone wants to follow specific form, he has to learn something about it. But whether the lines will in the end sound dead or alive, artificial or inspirational, doesn't depend on the quality of calculation, or on any knowledge of poetic techniques.I think it is quite acceptable for a poet not familiar with certain metric styles to sit there with a poetic style book and counting syallables and reading their own lines outloud to make sure the stresses go where theyy need to to fit the metric style that they want to use.
Why, of course, if you were writing following a metre, and a syllable didn't fit there, you had to change it. I believe you would have had to do so even if you didn't know anything about the theory and were only following your heartbeat. (unless, again, you were composing something formally sophisticated)I have been known to count syllables on many ocassions, and even change the wording of a line because what originally came to mind was over or under the syallble limit I had in mine.
Ask not what bears can do for you, but what you can do for bears. (razz)
When one is in agreement with bears one is always correct. (mae)
bears are back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Unknown Order
Where do I go from here??
Onwards to a future
Ordered not by knowledge
But replete with chaos??
Do I stop by the shoulder of the road
Hazard lights thrown on--my white flag??
Where am I???
Why am I sitting here with
This glazed look of disdain and
Disorder while ennui
Eats me???
Where do I go from here--
To the past or a future unknown?
My favorite bands can kick your favorite bands' asses.
The horizon is right and motionless like the EKG of a dying woman.
thank you Fruno, I hope you'll post in all other poetry circle threads, too!
Ask not what bears can do for you, but what you can do for bears. (razz)
When one is in agreement with bears one is always correct. (mae)
bears are back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
OK. I understood all forms are welcome, but I put that because there's no rhyme scheme even implied.
Jean, I'm sorry you don't like free poetry. I wish you did so you could comment on mine and others.
My favorite bands can kick your favorite bands' asses.
The horizon is right and motionless like the EKG of a dying woman.
I will comment, sooner or later, because besides mere form there's a lot of other interesting things in those poems. (Wish I had more time...)
Ask not what bears can do for you, but what you can do for bears. (razz)
When one is in agreement with bears one is always correct. (mae)
bears are back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thanks, guys. I'm not 100% happy as I normally am with this last one, though. Too many integrated song titles...
My favorite bands can kick your favorite bands' asses.
The horizon is right and motionless like the EKG of a dying woman.
Holy shit! I just realized via profile that it's Daniel--I thought Nameless was somebody I didn't know...
My favorite bands can kick your favorite bands' asses.
The horizon is right and motionless like the EKG of a dying woman.