what makes a poem good?

Reminds me of Bukowski for some reason. Am I wrong?

Others say the same but I've never read him.

I did order one of Erskine Caldwell's pornographic novels today. Tobacco Road eats shit but a few of the others have merit.
 
Hey you. :) Let me take this op to thank you [and all others involved] for the challenge... very appropriate for Poetry Month. :rose:
It's poetry month? :eek: I think you will be pleased to read the entries, was disappointed you didn't enter... and thank you :eek:

Others say the same but I've never read him.

I did order one of Erskine Caldwell's pornographic novels today. Tobacco Road eats shit but a few of the others have merit.

Oh you misunderstood me, wasn't saying that you reminded me of Buc, just that the bolded text reminded me of him
 
Your PMs are disabled so I'll have to point it out here in "open mic" - if you keep responding to this "person" it will just keep on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on ...................... write poetry instead, at least you can. :)

I know, but all the really really really good trolls are already taken and it's been years since I've had a good stalking.

Oh and bless your soul. If Butters would stop picking on my poor limericking skills, I might be inclined to share some more.
 
I left thoughts elsewhere on the subject.

Bottom line: A poem reveals some truth, in a style that's elegant and appealing, and coherent and clear, and is a kissing cousin to music. Poems ought to beg to be songs.

thankyou

i agree with the truth part, even if that is the poem's own truth and entirely fictional - if the reader can recognise and relate to it as a truth, it's worked regardless of its origins.

elegance is good, though i've read technically inelegant, disturbing, and - at first read-through - obscure pieces that work well. what can first appear obscure is often only a matter of layers that peel back with a little effort on the reader's part to reveal the good stuff. of course, obscurity for its own sake is pretentious bull crap.
 
I know, but all the really really really good trolls are already taken and it's been years since I've had a good stalking.

Oh and bless your soul. If Butters would stop picking on my poor limericking skills, I might be inclined to share some more.

i'm such a hardarse bully, right? :cool:
 
i'm such a hardarse bully, right? :cool:

The hardest bulliest arse I know.

But I'm a better poet for it.


Not Up To Code


She made mention
In her lecture spanning scanning
The scansions absent
In the architecture of my many mansions
While I sat in detention
Through these rampant unsubstantiations
And wild conjecture
Regarding my lack of planning
 
I almost forgot to mention; I had a dream about Butters last night wearing a very fancy dress. If I wasn't so colored blind, I might be able to describe it. And I have to say, even though I've never seen a photograph of anything more than her dilated iris or rack, Harry is a very lucky man. :rose:
 
The hardest bulliest arse I know.

But I'm a better poet for it.


Not Up To Code


She made mention
In her lecture spanning scanning
The scansions absent
In the architecture of my many mansions
While I sat in detention
Through these rampant unsubstantiations
And wild conjecture
Regarding my lack of planning
blueprints ;)

I almost forgot to mention; I had a dream about Butters last night wearing a very fancy dress. If I wasn't so colored blind, I might be able to describe it. And I have to say, even though I've never seen a photograph of anything more than her dilated iris or rack, Harry is a very lucky man. :rose:
ha, probably my saying about that hollywood party i have to find an outfit for.
 
I almost forgot to mention; I had a dream about Butters last night wearing a very fancy dress. If I wasn't so colored blind, I might be able to describe it. And I have to say, even though I've never seen a photograph of anything more than her dilated iris or rack, Harry is a very lucky man. :rose:

Oh, I've got that frock now, looks very nice with my hair up off my shoulders. and I am, very lucky ty
 
thankyou

i agree with the truth part, even if that is the poem's own truth and entirely fictional - if the reader can recognise and relate to it as a truth, it's worked regardless of its origins.

elegance is good, though i've read technically inelegant, disturbing, and - at first read-through - obscure pieces that work well. what can first appear obscure is often only a matter of layers that peel back with a little effort on the reader's part to reveal the good stuff. of course, obscurity for its own sake is pretentious bull crap.

Poems aren't s'posed to be WHERES WALDO puzzles, that sort of thing belongs in Agatha Christie mysteries. Poets who present their creations as hunks of uncut ore (Its inside the stone) are pissants.

Cut the goddamned truth outta the rock, polish it, and display it.

Most poems are Bruce Jenner I AM WOMAN moments.
 
Poems aren't s'posed to be WHERES WALDO puzzles, that sort of thing belongs in Agatha Christie mysteries. Poets who present their creations as hunks of uncut ore (Its inside the stone) are pissants.

Cut the goddamned truth outta the rock, polish it, and display it.

Most poems are Bruce Jenner I AM WOMAN moments.

i'm not speaking of uncut ore: i've no time to go mining, smelting, creating something of substance out of crude lumps; i'm speaking of finely-tooled, multi-faceted pieces of craftwork. there's a huge difference. as writing and comprehension skills develop, there's a certain joy to be found in revisiting a poem only to find there's so much more to it than you had seen before. if the reader's engaged enough to bother to look for the layers, the poem should reward them for their time.

not every reader wants their poetry handed to them like a meal that's been pre-digested - some of us enjoy the complexities of nuance that work with eachother to create more than words on a page.
 
i'm not speaking of uncut ore: i've no time to go mining, smelting, creating something of substance out of crude lumps; i'm speaking of finely-tooled, multi-faceted pieces of craftwork. there's a huge difference. as writing and comprehension skills develop, there's a certain joy to be found in revisiting a poem only to find there's so much more to it than you had seen before. if the reader's engaged enough to bother to look for the layers, the poem should reward them for their time.

not every reader wants their poetry handed to them like a meal that's been pre-digested - some of us enjoy the complexities of nuance that work with eachother to create more than words on a page.

Looking around here I know youre right.
 
i can't tell from blind text whether or not you're being facetious but that doesn't really matter. i know there's some exceptional writing on this forum; it's not a true reflection of the kind of material that mostly gets posted as poetry on the main site.
 
i can't tell from blind text whether or not you're being facetious but that doesn't really matter. i know there's some exceptional writing on this forum; it's not a true reflection of the kind of material that mostly gets posted as poetry on the main site.

I was pleased to take it at face value
 
i can't tell from blind text whether or not you're being facetious but that doesn't really matter. i know there's some exceptional writing on this forum; it's not a true reflection of the kind of material that mostly gets posted as poetry on the main site.

Show me an example of exceptional.
 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VShyqHcWjPY

POULENC

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IkNaoPYyXY

Would God I were the tender apple blossom
That floats and falls from off the twisted bough
To lie and faint within your silken bosom
Within your silken bosom as that does now.

Or would I were a little burnish'd apple
For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold
While sun and shade you robe of lawn will dapple
Your robe of lawn, and you hair's spun gold.
~
Yea, would to God I were among the roses
That lean to kiss you as you float between
While on the lowest branch a bud uncloses
A bud uncloses, to touch you, queen.

Nay, since you will not love, would I were growing
A happy daisy, in the garden path
That so your silver foot might press me going
Might press me going even unto death.
 
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