Prose poetry?

[Liar]

A little conecpt that I'm trying hard to grasp...

I wrote this yesterday on the train from work. Is it poetry, or prose with too many line breaks? Or something in between?

---------------------------------

Family Planning

3 yo seated firm in a buggy center aisle
We speed from city to suburbs, rattling steel,
world whooshing by.
She quirms
on the verge of breakout.

But Mommy had raisins, well good...

take a handful
don't drop them, love
and please don't cry
I know it's hot
and you are tired
but so am I

...pleads her eyes.

But now we home in on another station
and distraction gauges hit red again,
helps keep the easily strained patience
manageable.

9 yo in the seat facing me.
Silent, behaved, serious...
...feeling adult for once I guess.
Picture perfect,
shiny black Korean hair,
porcelain doll neat,
hands folded in lap.

leans forward now and then
to speak
with viking beauty
golden blonde mother
next to me.

She must be adopted.
Child I mean, not mother.

Trolley kid is bright and blue,
mommy (if mommy it really is?) punky-ish
asian with a permanent giggle
stuck just below vocal cords,
legs to rest a gaze and linger,
and the smoothest tiramisu midriffs
in the northern hemisphere.

I keep thinking is it all a mistake,
that they must have swapped
in the central station panic.

Blondie beside
(I feel her firm hip
and warm shoulder skin's
oblivious brush against mine)
should stand over there,
and miss anime cliché sit
next to me.

It would be for the best really...
...give me a clear view
instant visual gratification,
milky fudge early summer tan
flexing flowing
like her golden hair...
...as well as easier access to Punky,
much more spunky sexy stimulating
in the long run...
...and no ring on that finger.

Porcelain doll looks up at me,
into my back and forth darting eyes,
and smiles knowingly.
She realise, of course she knows...

...they are not born yesterday,
kids these days.

 

[WickedEve]

"Prose Poem: A genre in the poetic spectrum between free verse and prose. It is distinguished by the poetic characteristics of rhythmic, aural, and syntactic repetition, compression of thought, sustained intensity, and patterned structure, but is set on the page in a continuous sequence of sentences as in prose, without line breaks."

 

[Angeline]

"Prose Poem: A genre in the poetic spectrum between free verse and prose. It is distinguished by the poetic characteristics of rhythmic, aural, and syntactic repetition, compression of thought, sustained intensity, and patterned structure, but is set on the page in a continuous sequence of sentences as in prose, without line breaks."

Are you quoting yourself? I always knew you were erudite.

 

[Tathagata]

I always knew you were erudite.

Does that mean Bi??

 

[WickedEve]

Are you quoting yourself? I always knew you were erudite.

Uh... yeah, sure. lol
Actually, I looked up that definition yesterday. I knew that prose poetry didn't have line breaks, but I wanted to know what exactly distinguishes a prose poem from a "regular" poem.

 

[Angeline]

Does that mean Bi??

Maybe in your daydreams it does. hehe.

Although Eve and I may have had a revelation yesterday. She liked my poem so much she called me Mistress. ee certainly seemed intrigued by the idea.

I'm changing my name to Mistress Angeline.

 

[Tathagata]

Maybe in your daydreams it does. hehe.

Although Eve and I may have had a revelation yesterday. She liked my poem so much she called me Mistress. ee certainly seemed intrigued by the idea.

I'm changing my name to Mistress Angeline.

well i know what I"LL be thinking about all
day now

 

[WickedEve]

Does that mean Bi??

You're a butt picking monkey.

 

[Tathagata]

You're a butt picking monkey.

she said lovingly....

 

[Angeline]

Uh... yeah, sure. lol
Actually, I looked up that definition yesterday. I knew that prose poetry didn't have line breaks, but I wanted to know what exactly distinguishes a prose poem from a "regular" poem.

I pictured you saying it when I read it. It sounded like you, lol.

There used to be a prose poetry journal on line that really helped me see the distinction. The prose poems were not just in paragraph for but they were full sentences, too, not little poetic phrases. And yet, the imagery and odd twists of language made you know that it wasn't straight prose.

 

[WickedEve]

Maybe in your daydreams it does. hehe.

Although Eve and I may have had a revelation yesterday. She liked my poem so much she called me Mistress. ee certainly seemed intrigued by the idea.

I'm changing my name to Mistress Angeline.

YOU TOLD!
Oh, Mistress, you said it was our secret and ee's.
I'm traumatized now. Spank me... make sure ee (the pig) is watching, though.

 

[WickedEve]

prose poem

Here's one I found that I like:

"The winter her body no longer fit, walking felt like swimming in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Everything stuck to her skin: gum wrappers, Band-Aids, leaves. How she envied the other girls, especially the kind who turned into birds. They were the ones boys hand-tamed, training them to eat crumbs from their palms or sing on cue."

-- Nin Andrews

 

[Angeline]

YOU TOLD!
Oh, Mistress, you said it was our secret and ee's.
I'm traumatized now. Spank me... make sure ee (the pig) is watching, though.

ee is busy making breakfast. He can watch later. lol.

Wimbledon that is.

 

[Liar]

Wowee, this thread turned monkey faster than a cheetah fart.


Anyway, sans some line breaks, and reqiurked a bit, heres the thing again:





3 yo seated firmly, epitome of Pout in center aisle buggy. We speed from city to suburbs, rattling steel, world whooshing by. She squirms on the verge of breakout... but Mommy had raisins, well good...

take a handful don't drop them love and please don't cry I know it's hot and you are tired but so am I ...pleads her eyes. But now we home in on another station and distraction gauges hit red again, helps keep the easily strained patience manageable.

9 yo in the seat facing me. Silent, behaved, serious...feeling adult for once I guess. Picture perfect, shiny black Korean hair, porcelain doll neat, hands folded in lap...leans forward now and then to speak sharing secrets and gleam in eye with viking beauty golden blonde mother next to me. She must be adopted, complextion reveals, but still loved like no other.

Child I mean, not mother.

Trolley kid is bright and blue. Mommy (if mommy it really is?) a punky-ish asian, a permanent giggle stuck just below vocal cords, legs for gazes to rest and linger, and the smoothest tiramisu midriffs in the northern hemisphere, the kind that drives any Alpha male wild.

Mother I mean (goddammit), not child!

I keep thinking is it all a mistake, must have swapped, a one in a million fluke born in central station panic. Blondie beside (firm hip and warm shoulder skin's oblivious brush against mine) should stand over there, and miss Anime cliché sit next to me.

It would be for the best really...give me a clear view, instant visual gratification, milky fudge early summer tan flexing flowing
like her golden hair...as well as easier access to Punky,
much more spunky sexy stimulating in the long run...

...and no ring on that finger.

Porcelain doll looks up at me, into my back and forth darting eyes,
and smiles knowingly. She realise, of course she knows...

...they are not born yesterday, kids these days.

 

[WickedEve]

I genuinely like it, liar, and I'm sure it's prose poetry, but not positive, since I don't know enough about it. I remember there being some prose poetry challenges at another board last year. And I learned that a prose poem is more difficult to write than you think it is.

Did you see the prose poem a couple of posts up? I believe that one easily falls into the p.p. category.

 

[Liar]

Yeah well, fing is... this is almost how my regular prose look. So maybe I always write prose poetry?

 

[WickedEve]

Yeah well, fing is... this is almost how my regular prose look. So maybe I always write prose poetry?

I write a lot of prose and much of it is very poetic. I think I could even take an excerpt from some of them and post it as prose poetry. Though, I really need to read more about it. I'm now in the mood to write a prose poem.

 

[WickedEve]

I write a lot of prose and much of it is very poetic. I think I could even take an excerpt from some of them and post it as prose poetry. Though, I really need to read more about it. I'm now in the mood to write a prose poem.

Oh, I forgot. My newest poem (in sig line) was inspired by a story of mine. I took a few lines from it and created Bruja Sunset. It's not prose poetry but it was born inside a story. And my bob Finds Love poem, was recently featured on another site. The editor restructured it to resemble a prose poem. It read that way, but was it really a prose poem? I don't know. Can you take most any poem and turn it into prose poetry? Is having a poem look like prose (full sentences, paragraphs) all that's required?

 

[Tathagata]

Oh, I forgot. My newest poem (in sig line) was inspired by a story of mine. I took a few lines from it and created Bruja Sunset. It's not prose poetry but it was born inside a story. And my bob Finds Love poem, was recently featured on another site. The editor restructured it to resemble a prose poem. It read that way, but was it really a prose poem? I don't know. Can you take most any poem and turn it into prose poetry? Is having a poem look like prose (full sentences, paragraphs) all that's required?

To me if it's set up with paragraphs, etc its not poetry.
Just my opinion
it may be creative writing...but it's not poetry.

"The winter her body no longer fit, walking felt like swimming in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Everything stuck to her skin: gum wrappers, Band-Aids, leaves. How she envied the other girls, especially the kind who turned into birds. They were the ones boys hand-tamed, training them to eat crumbs from their palms or sing on cue."

looks like the begining of a short story to me
I like it...but I wouldn't say it's poetry


but then again
i'm a butt picking monkey

 

[WickedEve]

To me if it's set up with paragraphs, etc its not poetry.
Just my opinion
it may be creative writing...but it's not poetry.




looks like the begining of a short story to me
I like it...but I wouldn't say it's poetry


but then again
i'm a butt picking monkey

Yes you are.
All I know is that prose poetry is suppose to fall somewhere between prose and free verse. I'm going to do some research...

 

[The Mutt]

People keep telling me this is not a poem, but I don't think it really fits the definition of prose poetry either. Maybe it is a monolog. Poetry is best when read aloud anyway, so I don't worry that much about its form on the printed page.
The Gettysburg Address could be considered a prose poem, couldn't it?
I should have paid more attention in Poetry class...but the teacher was so hot.

Healthy Obsession

by The Mutt ©

Jack Spratt would eat no carbs,
His wife was lacto-vegan,
And so betwixt them both, you see,
They nagged and lectured and pestered their friends so much that no one would come to see them anymore.
They became sullen and withdrawn,
Pounding out miles on their Stair Masters,
And checking their own feces for fiber.
Mrs. Pratt became obsessed with a perceived sag in her breasts,
And took to lifting free-weights with a personal trainer.
His name was Raul.
Jack began to secretly buy Big Macs when he was out walking the dog,
(For the dog, of course, but he carried a toothbrush with him.)
One night, after Pilates,
Mrs. Spratt asked Jack, "Do these pants make me look fat?"
He said, "No, your fat ass makes you look fat, you fat ass."
She beat him to death with a twenty-pound dumbell.
Mrs. Spratt went to prison,
Where after a meal of Country Fried Steak with beef gravy,
And a nice peach cobbler,
Her boyfriend Agnes got carried away with the broom handle,
And Mrs. Spratt bled out on the gray, concrete floor.
It was a healthy red.

 

[WickedEve]

To me if it's set up with paragraphs, etc its not poetry.
Just my opinion
it may be creative writing...but it's not poetry.




looks like the begining of a short story to me
I like it...but I wouldn't say it's poetry

Okay, after 2 minutes of research (I become bored very easily) I found that prose poetry is a hybrid and it's not suppose to be "poetry," but instead, it is a form of prose with poetic characteristics (or poetry with prose characteristics).

 

[WickedEve]

Here is my poem Gigged, where I attempted to add a dash of prose poetry at the beginning before drifting into free verse. Obviously, it didn't work. Only one comment and it was from another southern frog gigger (maria) lol

Gigged
by WickedEve ©
There's a flat frog on my road. Do you suppose God painted him asphalt, or is he just a shade of death? Reckon they can't all be green.

"Hey fella, betcha were headed for Frog Bottom over by Monkey Fixx's place."

Memories jumble with scraps of tales, then leap into poetry:

Monkey Fixx snatched that sack
down by the track.
Some gave chase along side thunder.
Others mellowed in the lightning.

They swore to catch him gigging,
poke him good, spill his blood,
and swill the shine.

"If you hadn't been run over, then you would've gotten yourself gigged."

 

[Tathagata]

Okay, after 2 minutes of research (I become bored very easily) I found that prose poetry is a hybrid and it's not suppose to be "poetry," but instead, it is a form of prose with poetic characteristics (or poetry with prose characteristics).

good thing you don't work for NASA with that research work ethic.


ok so....it's not poetry
so.......
I was RIGHT
Haha
Butt picking monkey genius strikes again

 

[WickedEve]

How about this, Mutt:

Jack Spratt would eat no carbs. His wife was lacto-vegan, and so betwixt them both, you see, they nagged and lectured and pestered their friends so much that no one would come to see them anymore.

They became sullen and withdrawn, pounding out miles on their Stair Masters, and checking their own feces for fiber. Mrs. Pratt became obsessed with a perceived sag in her breasts, and took to lifting free-weights with a personal trainer. His name was Raul. Jack began to secretly buy Big Macs when he was out walking the dog, (For the dog, of course, but he carried a toothbrush with him.)

One night, after Pilates, Mrs. Spratt asked Jack, "Do these pants make me look fat?"

He said, "No, your fat ass makes you look fat, you fat ass." She beat him to death with a twenty-pound dumbell.

Mrs. Spratt went to prison, where after a meal of Country Fried Steak with beef gravy, and a nice peach cobbler, her boyfriend Agnes got carried away with the broom handle, and Mrs. Spratt bled out on the gray, concrete floor.

It was a healthy red.