I’ve given myself a writing assignment: Write a poem.
Clear, concise.
I argue with even this teacher’s assignment. An inane argument, a stall, I suppose, but no teacher can quell all questions without squashing the few based on true curiosity.
Still, I ask: What is a poem these days?
Prose with more line breaks?
Ideas uncoupled?
Half-written thoughts that trail off?
Descriptions that lead only to the next line, as there is no space for response?
Sentences without punctuation?
I casually peruse modern poetry. Not enough to lend credibility to my opinions. Where is the form? What is the purpose?
What if I wished to convey . . .
Elliptical longing
Unrequited hatred
Fleeting terror
Beauty vanishing
Life un-cycling
Stagnant disinterest
Unexpected shivers
Dreams disjointed
Folding inward
Burrowing under
Vanishing in nearness
All it needs is a clever title, and I can turn it in.
I had a poetry professor once who had to give grades to stuff like this.
i read poetry and am swept up with the cadence and choice of words. i think about sitting down and writing a poem, but then daily life gets in the way. i hope to join you in this endeavor some day! K
I hope so, too!