C
C Jam
Guest
I'm not sure that I understand the Question. No, wait. I am sure that I don't understand what you are asking here.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
V
VISION
Guest
WHAT THE IS POETRY
Poetry is emotion,
An outcome of commotion
From the fathoms of the hearth
And depths of the ocean
For the surf it must traverse
The winds slapping too
Of hurricanes and its wile mess
Of fire too
Storm within a storm
Yes in living human form
That is what Kroshta will say,
If you may,
Have more metaphors.
I pray do teach me what is
Metre what is rhyme,
All I know is metro
And have just no time
For the last wording
In a syllable cry
Try, try, just try
And with end of a new sentence
Let it match with a fry, a fly or my, my.
What is poetry?
But a random piece of art
For beginners let us start
With criticism , condemnation
And assault
No, not, it’s not your fault
Its all but normal worldly phenomena
Of character assassination.
What then is poetry may I ask?
Picking up a phrase here
And a syllable there
Put on a Poeter’s mask and say
How did I my poem display?
That’s the poets true art?
Poetry is emotion,
An outcome of commotion
From the fathoms of the hearth
And depths of the ocean
For the surf it must traverse
The winds slapping too
Of hurricanes and its wile mess
Of fire too
Storm within a storm
Yes in living human form
That is what Kroshta will say,
If you may,
Have more metaphors.
I pray do teach me what is
Metre what is rhyme,
All I know is metro
And have just no time
For the last wording
In a syllable cry
Try, try, just try
And with end of a new sentence
Let it match with a fry, a fly or my, my.
What is poetry?
But a random piece of art
For beginners let us start
With criticism , condemnation
And assault
No, not, it’s not your fault
Its all but normal worldly phenomena
Of character assassination.
What then is poetry may I ask?
Picking up a phrase here
And a syllable there
Put on a Poeter’s mask and say
How did I my poem display?
That’s the poets true art?
B
becca
Guest
your face..
N
Not your goody 2 shoes
Guest
Are you asking??
"How did I my peom display?" I like that phrase..... some who the know of not know is what makes it so plesent, the way the words fit together so prefectly to form so many different outcomes,
As one interperts one way, the next interperets another, "That's the poets true art" and it is no question for that is what it is....
"How did I my peom display?" I like that phrase..... some who the know of not know is what makes it so plesent, the way the words fit together so prefectly to form so many different outcomes,
As one interperts one way, the next interperets another, "That's the poets true art" and it is no question for that is what it is....
T
The Mighty Iano
Guest
What is poetry? Nothing that you write, I'm sorry to say.
A
A Voice in the Wilderness
Guest
What is a poem? A craft of words and sense,
Of sinewed syntax wrought with utmost care,
Of tropes and lines, and simple ornaments,
Steered on their course by winds grown wise with wear.
A craft of silk so finely sewn it seems
Quite seamless, like the world it softly mocks,
So perfect that it flows in satin streams
And sings as softly as a cradle rocks.
Whence does it come? A loving calloused hand
Inured to tine and toil, and yet so deft
Each syllable and serif's turn is planned
As surely as the finest fiber's weft.
We come to know this mystery by degrees --
A poem is all, and yet is none of these.
Such are my simple thoughts on the nature of poetry...
Of sinewed syntax wrought with utmost care,
Of tropes and lines, and simple ornaments,
Steered on their course by winds grown wise with wear.
A craft of silk so finely sewn it seems
Quite seamless, like the world it softly mocks,
So perfect that it flows in satin streams
And sings as softly as a cradle rocks.
Whence does it come? A loving calloused hand
Inured to tine and toil, and yet so deft
Each syllable and serif's turn is planned
As surely as the finest fiber's weft.
We come to know this mystery by degrees --
A poem is all, and yet is none of these.
Such are my simple thoughts on the nature of poetry...