What poetry poetry is.

[cherries_on_snow]

Wow! this is vivid and a bit frightening. =) I like it.

Poems, yes, but of fire,
devouring. Round
as fists before the danger.
Sure boats caught in the storm.
Cruel. Pure. Destilled
from the cruelty of birth,
sleep,
death.

Poems, yes, but rebels.
Full as if with water and,
like water,
opened to the geometry
of all bodies. Whole,
dispite the clay
and the tender
of their star shaped profile.

Poems, yes, but of blood.
Let those poems exude
from shadow. Release their pus
in the public square.
Loud, vibrant like
an earthquake
an exorcism
or the death of a child.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

Poetry is etched
on the inside
of my eyelids
when they close--
a song to which
each reader brings
a melody.

 

[cherries_on_snow]

I missed this one in my first reading of the thread. (Damn avid scrolling.) I like the approach to answering the question because poetry is always a bit personal isn't it? As a process of reading or writing.

A Brief History of Poetry

First come letters.
Those silly squiggles elude
my grasp of understanding
until they stop wiggling,
learn to behave themselves
as grownup letters should.

They become civilized,
join others of their ilk
and wedding bells peal:
form marries meaning.

I fill my small palms with pages
and birth Aha! R-A-I-N
squalls on paper, no different
from the furious water
that lashes my Saturday morning.

Weeks pass, words multiply
in me like rabbits, one by one,
then in pairs they board the ark
of my imagination: they enter me

unfurling, parading sentences
delicate minuets, bold boogaloos
and wild jitterbug joy pours
language into me because books

have become zoos
but the cage doors are open!
The words clamor out,
they growl, guffaw
and tear past the bars drunk
on the freedom of my knowing

they leap from dictionaries, storybooks,
flee magazines, billboards, conversation
and they live in me, they populate me!

They whisper: “Write us down.
Write
us
down.”

And I do.
I swirl them. They coalesce
in polyphonous patterns
of morpheme, syllables,
words, sentences awake me
ring poetry in the song
of all my days.

 

[HotKittySpank]

after reading a book about poetry types and terminology i came to the conclusion that poetry is a creative effort utilizing the medium of words and sound. types of poetry seem to be generated by some random person and then given a name based on that person's creation. then others follow suit using the same 'scheme' as its creator. this seems to hold water for me. however, it is not very romantic or creative to think of it that way.

i do like the idea that i could create - fresh
or, i could follow footsteps and see the same fine view as those before me
but what is really NEW? it is just undiscovered.
all things are circular or at some point fold in upon themselves...

donut anyone?

so, what is poetry? what ever YOU make of it.

 

[Seduceros2]

Poetry, the dangerous kind,
is a black hole in a pill.




Yep. That's what it is.

 

[Seduceros2]

This. Is. Brilliant.

Is that poetry squared, lol

To Make A Poem

Take an object
(ideally something that can
be folded) and bend it into
an airplane.

Go somewhere far. Not near
the sea (it will sink) or
the mountains (it will freeze)

Release it and let the winds
carry it someplace else

That is your poem