|
Chapter un
One
must come up with an idea,
something that will hold,
through length and scope.
One also has to decide on content,
make
it interesting,
worthy of the read.
(and write)
In this poetic endeavour,
I intend to write a discourse
on
how to attain that goal.
Parameters for writing
include style and genre,
in this case freeform for both.
You
see this starts with three line stanza,
has a single thought added,
then for some reason wanders
into a four line
diatribe, tricky!
But such is the relative freedom
offered by being nonspecific,
one can indulge in poetry at
ones whim,
and not lose sight of the final outcome.
(yes, the end)
Chapter deux.
When writing, one is allowed,
nay
permitted, to lapse,
into olden forms or modern jingles
type Thee like thou knows,
it's for the best after all.
Sometimes
wander into a verse
that requires rhyme in it,
the content shallow or terse
and wonder if it's finished yet.
But
oft I follow the laws
of the illogical and nonsensical,
wax lyrical, or just place thoughts
where none stood before.
(an
empty platter needs filling)
Towards the near-middle,
poems tend to lose their way,
the interesting thing is
to keep them rolling,
make them sound different without loss
of context or demeanour.
(like a story, perhaps)
Introduce
new characters, names,
something that sparks the reader
back into action, a hyperbole
keep away from repetition if
you can
it loses the reader, cringeful.
See how easy it is,
to change form and style,
not lose the readers
interest
as he succumbs suddenly to five line stanzas.
(A change is as good as anything)
Now I must say,
there are different judgements,
some people will shun you for length,
others for content and message,
yet others
for style, who cares.
(It belongs to the writer)
Middle
Take a vignette, add a title
in bold type of course so it's seen
as a title, make it complicated
yet
easy to read for the viewer.
Content
Often people sway away from poetry
that has stronge language,
I don't give a fuck what I write,
I care more for the shitty message
than some preconcieved idea of morality.
Plagiarism
Once in a while, we all plagiarise,
after
all no idea is one persons alone,
yet there are some who deliberately steal
content from other poems or songs
to
make a point,
no problems here,
just say who it belonged to, fucker!
Chapter Three
Will follow,
as all good verse tends to do.
Chapter trois
You
make a statement
postulate Haiku verse,
simple yet visionary.
No apologies,
your work stands redolently,
passes
scrutiny.
See the change occur,
style beholden by choice,
make simplicities.
Chapter quatre
Discussion ensues to this day,
on
whether rhyme should come into play,
metric length and metric form,
for most it's not necessarily the norm.
Some
bypass it for just a style,
where words are played mile on mile,
stick to no meter, nor no rhyme,
belt out rubbish
time after time.
Makes sense to those in the know,
how words just applied for difference,
trying hard to see
and show,
make a sentence glisten and glow,
hold to due diligence.
Write from experiences gained,
or just
imaginative referral,
agonised and duly pained,
like glasses freshly framed,
words crisp, or often feral.
Take
the time to run amok,
with words quite nasty and gruesome,
there's argument over shit and fuck,
a lot of people ride
their luck,
and most times win or lose, succumb.
Expouse themselves in verbs and nouns,
write humour or sadness,
in their ways,
some think their poetry needs a clown,
or needs to be written in the down,
in the end what matters
is the phrase.
Chapter cinq
There is an opinion often sought,
a critique of work done,
a work in progress,
as if the writer
is unsure
of his or her ability.
Take time to think about
what you want perhaps?
Yes, opinionation rules
our life,
the opinion of the reader,
good or bad,
happy or sad
but just a response will do please.
Why
then do some poets cringe at anothers read?
There is advice available,
that a poet should write,
and be happy,
don't
seek perfection
just a moment in time.
Do we master the craft, or is our craft the master?
Chapter six
Well,
not
quite an epic,
but one close to being very long,
if you've got to this stage,
take a breath,
marvel at your own
ability
as the reader to indulge the poets craft.
Doctor, get me new glasses,
these ones are worn out.
Instinct
is a gut feeling,
often used by the poet to write,
something seems destructive to the flow,
goes,
replaced by
another noun or verb,
juxtaposition creates anomalies,
yet works nonetheless.
Thanks for indulging my whim,
this
be the end, le finale, das fullstoppen,
I truly appreciate your perseverance.
|
