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Darling, it's not formal it's formula. I completely concur that most established formulae are exercises which, when done as well as can be, can produce something as marvellous and toned as a flexed latissimus on a tanned back. < sigh >The_Fool said:Form or Formal Poetry
Form Poetry is poetry written to very specific rules. The most well known is probably the Sonnet. No, I am not going to get into the specific rules of any form poetry in this post. I may include those in other posts later, but that is yet to be determined.
Love it or hate it, Form Poetry is definitely a type of poetry. Some poets feel restrained by the limitations place up on them, depending upon the type of form. Therefore they never consider writing form poetry.
I recommend attempting forms. This is another way of exercising your skills as a writer. Just another challenge. What it does is it influences word selection; focuses the writer on the sound of the words and how they are accented; and it sets specific limits on how long or short a poem is required to be.
You don’t have to consider a form poem to be something that you want to show your audience, just consider it to be a conditioning exercise for building your poetic muscles.
And no Ange, I am not going to write a friggin’ Sestina about poet rules…![]()
Thanks for resurrecting this thread.The_Fool said:and after a hiatus...
Second Counterpoint: There is a school of thought that says the writer writes the work to communicate himself. It is up to the reader to research the topic and become educated enough to understand what is said. I disagree, but I lost my All-Knowing hat.
A hitchhiker may need his towel, but a writer needs his dictionary. Not to mention all the other references one might need to write. But if a writer has his dictionary, then the people around him are more likely to relax and assume that he knows what he is talking about.



So there have been a couple of threads lately that have really set my teeth on edge. I’m not talking about the political, racial, misanthropic or misogynist threads. I’m talking about the ones that seek to explain good writing, good poetry.
Fuck good.
“Good” is one of those words that is essentially meaningless. Along with its moronic twin “Bad.” Descriptors “Good” and “Bad” are so nebulous as to almost have no meaning. Almost. For me, they have no place in criticism and little use in writing as they paint so little of the landscape.
Weak words lead to muddled writing. Muddled writing leads to lost, listless, disengaged readers. If there are readers at all.
There are other words and phrases that add fiber, but little meaning to writing. As readers, we are surrounded by them every day. Just remember, we are trying to let our writing unfold, not shit it out.
I do it really 'good'Oh stop being such a fuddy duddy...and kiss meI do it really 'good'
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Inspiration, my Fool!Less is More.
After you craft the draft of your lastest blurt, sit back and take a look at it for anything extra. Anything that does not add to the story. Then take a very sharp knife it cut it out. Poetry is spare. Poetry is condensed. It is the fine cognac distilled from wine.
Example:
The glorious day ended gracefully
as the incandescent sun
faded from the sky
yielding its bright yellow light
to shades of scarlet, orange and pink.
Then encroaching twilight
leeches color from the sky
and leaves a shading of gray
Day ends gracefully.
Incandescent sun fades.
Bright yellow yields
to scarlet, orange, pink.
Encroaching twilight
leeches colors gray.
Inspiration, my Fool!
Today's eve was made of grace
The sun's harsh flare at last shaded
by the kindly West,
who graced us lavishly with her gold
until all of it was spent into gray
except for the band on your finger.
I like that twist with the band. Telling a story and not telling a story. Is it a spouse, friends that regret a marriage, widow or widower? Which direction do I, as reader, want to take it?
Today's eve was made of grace
The sun's harsh flare at last shaded
by the kindly West,
who graced us lavishly with her gold
until all of it was spent into gray
except for the band, my darling,
on your finger.
or;
Today's eve was made of grace
The sun's harsh flare at last shaded
by the kindly West,
who graced us lavishly with her gold
until all of it was spent into gray
except for the band you had forgotten,
on your finger.
Kenneth Koch once told me that a poem needs to read well as natural speech (I must admit I don't remember his exact words almost forty-five years later but that was the gist of it).
His point was that just arranging words awkwardly or leaving some out or getting them to rhyme doesn't make something a poem.
Personally, I prefer poetry that has the traditional elements of rhyme and meter, but I have always since taken "Mr. Cock's" advice into account
When I feel like being an asshole, I say, "There is no such thing as poetry." Surely if something exists, it can be defined and I have yet to find a single definition that fits all those works that I would consider poetic.
I'm sure that, like beauty, poetry is in the eye (ear?) of the beholder. But, personally, I don't think that arranging words on a page in a special way turns them into a poem -- a test is to read them aloud and see what you think of them that way. But of course that is mere a personal opinion.
Quite often when I have been driving back from skiing this winter the radio has had a little literary moment on, Garrison Keillor's Writier's Almanac, and sometimes he reads a poem, or a supposed poem. Last month he was reading this one (remember I was just listening to it, not looking at it written down). I remember thinking it was an interesting story, but not a poem. Any opinions?
Sometimes I plant landmines that offer divergent meanings depending on whether the white space is observed or ignored.
yes, fuck good
is it something i can sing?