Today my newest poem on Coffee house Writers posts. The posting rules for Coffee House are slightly different for the poetry department. In the poetry department there are two types, the type I am is devoted to poetry and rarely post else. Coffee House is devoted to growth of their writers. So, the poetry department that I am a part of does a weekly assignment. A challenge if you will. The weeks that you post you are required to at least attempt the assignment, and to comment on other attempts. This way we grow, we learn.
I have written free verse my whole life. I am I think comfortable, overly so sometimes, with free verse. I love the lack of restrictions on my writing.
The poet ee cummings used a lack of following the syntax rules to separate his poetry from the mainstream. I am in no way comparing my poems to his, but it was an argument that I used in high school when the teachers wanted me to follow all of the poetic rules. I have learned the rules since, because it is easier to break rules if you know them. In high school though, I was not worried about the rules of what I was writing. It was a coping mechanism. I was writing pure emotional purge, without care of what I was truly putting into the world. It wasn’t until later, when I was safer, that I started to consider how to improve my words.
So I am thankful now to attempt the challenges to improve. A good many of them are new forms. As poets, we often stagnate in single forms because they become easy to write. (The reason why I have been taking on Haikus lately.) I hate stagnation. Poetry should be fresh. A new view.
This week the assignment was a Ghazal poem.From the internet search “Ghazal (Pronounciation: “guzzle”) Originally an Arabic verse form dealing with loss and romantic love, medieval Persian poets embraced the ghazal, eventually making it their own. Consisting of syntactically and grammatically complete couplets, the form also has an intricate rhyme scheme. Each couplet ends on the same word or phrase (the radif), and is preceded by the couplet’s rhyming word (the qafia, which appears twice in the first couplet). The last couplet includes a proper name, often of the poet’s. In the Persian tradition, each couplet was of the same meter and length, and the subject matter included both erotic longing and religious belief or mysticism. ” I did not follow the rules exactly… Wouldn’t be my poetry if I did. I did however try to get the setup right. Tell me what you think, did I get it close enough?
Usually I post my own poems on Monday… Though I have featured other poets. Today I am adding another layer to the possibility of Monday poetry….. A discussion of what poetry is. For me, it is part of who and what I am.
Poetry is something different to each person. It is I think often misunderstood. I have lost count of how many times people have said that they didn’t like poetry… The different forms of poetry so often are lost to time. Poetry is a broad umbrella. Songs and raps, these are both forms of poetry. They require a skill to write that not all poets possess.
A friend and I were having a conversation about some beautiful songs that she had written. Because they were not yet sung, she had been told that they were just poems… Which is both true and not true. I am a poet, but I cannot write songs. It takes a special ability to be able to write lyrics.
I write mostly free verse. I can do other types of poetry. Haiku, sonnets, slam poetry, etc… I am capable of writing other styles. I every now and then challenge myself to write in a structure that I am not used to.
Poetry is a personal form of expression. Every poet does their writing different. Some like my friend Michael who does the Haiku a Day, prefer the structure of a rigid poetry form. Some like me love the lawless freedom of free verse. There are so many versions of verse that you can write however you are most comfortable.
Not everyone is meant to write poetry, but poetry is not meant to be only for the elite. Even bad poetry is worth having in a world of so much suffering. So share with me your poetry! Let me read your soul.
be in meter, or keep certain time. It doesn’t have to be flowery, filled with love, flowers and cheer. The only thing that is for sure Is poetry is a place for your heart from which to outpour…
Poetry does not have to be shared it can be written and then hid, Shoved away into a drawer, Given a time to mellow like wine. Growing much finer given time.
Poetry can be shared, spoken proudly and displayed. Given to everyone in the light of day. Put it on public display Shout it out, It’s all okay.
Yeah I know. I usually just post my own poetry or do a spotlight for Monday… But I just spent a week with bronchitis. So I did not have a post prepared. And I felt like that was not fair to those who read my blog.
So I decided to mix the two and add a story of explanation. To change things up and hopefully give the reader a smile.
A Haiku A Day is run by an author that I worked with on Under The Mists. Haiku is for me a difficult form. I do so much better with freeform poetry. He is posting literally a haiku a day. I am in awe of his talent. Well I thought that it would be a neat challenge to try and answer his Haiku with haiku of my own. Silly right? Well I obviously did not manage it every day… But I have been able to do it a few times. Now I challenge you. Take a look at the haiku below and then go check his blog. See if you can match my answer to the original poem.
Now if you can… And send me in email your answer, I will be doing a giveaway. I do not yet know what I am going to give away. But free is always good, right?
Here are my Haiku.
The light was never hers Though she was told that it was Darkness was always home
The words choked the pen For the poet knew to be sin To lay down the pen.
Payment often comes Due in less than convenient Moments slowing life.
Sweetness fades away Memory remains to haunt him Over kisses stolen proper
Sanity is overrated insanity has benefits Missing pieces hide easy
The words outcry all For choosing one is downfall At the beginning then.
Tonight I see a Note of similarity between sleepy poet and me.
Echoes continue till We return to hear wisdom From who we once were
Pattimouse 