How do you write a good poem?
There is no manual, no how-to for dummies.
Poetry has a million forms. It is intangible, it is beautiful.
It has existed since the beginning of civilization, in each culture.
There may be rhyme schemes, iambic pentameter and strict rhythms,
but the true poetry is what fills these lines, the words.
There are 171,476 words in the Second Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary.
Countless ways to twist them to your will.
There are thesauruses, rhyming dictionaries and grammar books to aid you in your quest.
But true poetry is what fills those words, the emotion.
Happiness fear, surprise, sadness, anger, disgust.
Countless ways to combine them, twist them to your will.
And when the emotion is strong enough you don't need thesauruses, dictionaries or guidelines.
The words melt their way onto the page
as you break down the flood banks of your inner core.
words bend around the powder blue lines,
ink seeps through the fibers
and before you know it,
a spew of words lay breathing softly on thin sheets.
This, for me at least, is poetry.
There is no manual, no how-to for dummies.
Poetry has a million forms. It is intangible, it is beautiful.
It has existed since the beginning of civilization, in each culture.
There may be rhyme schemes, iambic pentameter and strict rhythms,
but the true poetry is what fills these lines, the words.
There are 171,476 words in the Second Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary.
Countless ways to twist them to your will.
There are thesauruses, rhyming dictionaries and grammar books to aid you in your quest.
But true poetry is what fills those words, the emotion.
Happiness fear, surprise, sadness, anger, disgust.
Countless ways to combine them, twist them to your will.
And when the emotion is strong enough you don't need thesauruses, dictionaries or guidelines.
The words melt their way onto the page
as you break down the flood banks of your inner core.
words bend around the powder blue lines,
ink seeps through the fibers
and before you know it,
a spew of words lay breathing softly on thin sheets.
This, for me at least, is poetry.
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