What Do You Think Of This Poem: It Came to Me Upon a Storm?

M

Markus Sinclair

New member
It came to me upon a storm:
The wild whisper of the wind.
Although it did not hold a form
My other thoughts were drowned in din.
While in lament it spoke to me
And lit my path through space and time.
The portals opened to the sea
And I split forth into its mind.
My consciousness made time stand still
And I became a grain of sand
Upon this plain of poet’s will
And I began to understand.
But as soon as I took a breath,
As quickly as it came, it left.
 
Interesting. The only time the metre faulted for me was in the second to last line.

I would chance to ask you, considering the nature of the poem, about a comment you left me yesterday. You said that my poetry would improve (on a professional level I suppose) if I confined myself to a metre. You yourself seem to be ironically bound by metre while your very poem speaks of being bound by the rudimentary forces of the world. Your consciousness could only halt things for a moment.

The impressionists destroyed form when they realized it was the very thing that held them back. The nature of things and all that. Form should mirror intent.

You allude to this feeling and yet choose remain within the school of formality. Why is this?
 
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