Re: Poetry

Re: Poetry

'Let the time go by.....I dont care if I - Can be here....
On the street - where you live !!

Re: Poetry

X Factor here we come Pats....

Re: Poetry

..mmm - the nerves would get the better of me now..
This is a 'true' poem - penned by me...
'Sounds Easy'
I tried to play the piano, with one hand I was good....
But the other - wouldn't folla and do the things it should.
I tried to play the gui-tar - I cut me nails real short...
I studied all the chords - In the lesson book I bought.
And, even tho' me fingers hurt, I kept on with each chord,
The agony of pain and sound - sent me nearly bald.
But still I wasn't beaten - which shows I must be keen....
But what do I end up with... a 'bleep-bleep' Tambourine !!

Re: Poetry

Yes, oh dear indeed. I'm sorry, plantman, but despite your personal opinion the rest of the world accepts that blank verse is poetry. You might not like it but it's a fact.

Some are better than others of course and the piece you heard may have been a poor example and you have a every right to hate it. Some rhyming poems are pure drivel and some are great literature.

Here is an example of universally acknowledged great unrhymed (blank) verse by Alfred Lord Tennyson. It's just the first few lines of a much longer poem about what it is like to have been a great leader and be growing old but it can be read on a personal level too. It has "intense feeling" and "rhythm" which defines poetry - it is written in iambic pentameter which means the syllables are evenly stressed and unstressed to give it a recognisable rhythm (da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM)



It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known,-- cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,--
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

This is Shakespearian unrhymed poetry:

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
William Shakespeare

Re: Poetry

I don't disagree that unrhyming poetry exists, I just cannot get a proper explanation as to why it is classed as poetry. The two examples which you cited are, in my opinion, no more than essays poorly punctuated. I tried to read them with some rhythm but to no avail I'm afraid, without any rhyme it all seems so pointless...

It appears to me that to appreciate this stuff as poetry needs a certain mindset, the same one that would possibly also maintain that Tracy Emin and Damien Hurst produce great art.

I fear that it all smacks of the Emperor's new clothes to me...

Re: Poetry

I have to agree with the above... Poetry should flow, be an easy read whether funny or serious, the fact that it rhymes makes it more interesting, its a clever art.....

Re: Poetry

Sorry I'm with you two I couldn't make any sense of them and certainly couldn't get into a rhythm. Now Bobbyboy's I was sing songing along with (yes I did notice the 2nd & 5th lines), and Pats I ended up doing a train to yours I loved it. Pity I can't introduce you to my friend he writes Salford poetry and it's good, well I think so.

Re: Poetry

Hazel.....thanks gal x......

Re: Poetry

"Well I'm sick in the head,and I haven't been to bed,
since first I stepped ashore with me plunder,
I've spent all me tin,with the ladies drinking gin,
now across the western ocean I must wander.rog

And its all for me grog,
me jolly, jolly grog,
all for me beer and tobacco,
well Iv'e spent all me tin with the ladies drinking gin
now across the western ocean I must wander

Where are me boots Me jolly, jolly boots,
all sold for beer and tobacco
well the soles were wearing thin,
and the uppers lettin' in
and the heels are looking out for better weather

And its all for me grog,
me jolly, jolly grog,
all for me beer and tobacco,
well Iv'e spent all me tin with the ladies drinking gin
now across the western ocean I must wander

Where is me shirt, me jolly,jolly shirt
all sold for beer and tobacco
well the sleeves are all wore out
and the collar's turned about
and the arse is looking out for better weather

And its all for me grog,
me jolly, jolly grog,
all for me beer and tobacco,
well Iv'e spent all me tin with the ladies drinking gin
now across the western ocean I must wander.

.........................