![]() |
Poetry Information |
|
|
Rules for Writing Poetry
You've been writing poetry since that first assignment in your high school writing class. You know the rules about writing poetry, right? Are there rules? Well, if you frequent the poetry forums across the Internet as much as I do, you'd find that there are a lot of amateur poets who adamantly declare that there are no rules for writing poetry and if someone even suggests reading poetry or books on poetry, many of the amateur poets will throw up a defensive front. My opinion seems to swing fervently toward the opposition. You have to know the rules before you break them; at least that's what I always say. I know that writing a sonnet in iambic pentameter is an art that has been buried in the tombs of the renaissance, but understanding it, along with the numerous other dying closed forms of poetry, is a powerful tool when writing that prosy contemporary piece. Being a great poet demands an intricate understanding of the way in which language works its edges into a reader's conscience. A poem is a mosaic of sounds, syncopations, and images. All of the little fragments of a poem must work together in a unified fashion to culminate in something refreshing and new. Refreshing and new? Well, you might wonder how understanding such archaic attributes of poetry such as meter and rhyme might help a contemporary poet craft a refreshing new poem. It is all about the sound and the innovation of it. Even scientists stand on the shoulders of those before them. You don't have to manage a perfect rhyme or a measured foot in a poem to be jumping from the inspiration of Shakespeare's sonnets, but having those rhythms and rhymes teetering in and out of the wrinkles in your brain will send a very subtle vibration of sound through your very own pieces. In summary, read, read, read, know the rules, and then break the rules. Goodness help you, please break them. Here are some references to help you along the way: -Books: The Practice of Poetry: by Robin Behn Writing Poems: by Robert Wallace and Michelle Boisseau A Poetry Handbook: by Mary Oliver -Websites: www.poetrylessons.org www.poetrymagic.co.uk http://www.unc.edu/depts/wcweb/handouts/poetry-explication.html http://www.poetry-portal.com/poetry.html -And don't forget to read some contemporary poetry: www.poems.com http://www.pedestalmagazine.com/ Devrie Paradowski is a freelance writer and poet. Her poetry has been published by several literary journals and she has written dozens of articles for various publications including "Poetry Renewal Magazine," and "Poetryscams.com." She is the author of the chapbook, "Something In the Dirt," which can be found at http://www.lulu.com/content/108560 . In 2001, Devrie founded a popular online literary community ( http://www.LiteraryEscape.com ) that has become highly respected for some of the most honest and in-depth poetic critique on the Internet. In keeping with her commitment to inspire amateur writers to hone their skills, she also founded a local writer's group called, "The Fire and Ice Writer's Group."
MORE RESOURCES:
Poetry - Google News |
RELATED ARTICLES
A Happiness Poem If a happiness poem could bring forth a smile, Then my face would always dress in style.If my ears could hear my computer screen, From one to another, they, too, would grin. The Art of Receiving Poetic Critique You can show your poem to your mom, your spouse, your co-workers, or your friends, but you might not get the responses that you can suck up into your little writing fingers to use in an effort to refine your craft. What does it really mean when someone who cares about you, but not for poetry says, "Wow, this is great. Four Poems: Two for the Devil, Two for Peru Here is some witty poetry (not sure if that is the proper word: witty, but it will do): one poem on the Aztec year 2012, a year that has been in the public's eye quite a lot; one on cloning, and the biblical end time events--which, if I may add seems ripe for the monster events that are said to take place; and two poems dealing with some tradtions of Peru; one imparticular, on vacationing, where not to go; all the makings for some thought.Aztec BabyOn December 25, 2012 AD The Devil had an idea- He'd clone himself In the form of a baby; Called the Antichrist. Contract of Death [Now: in SPANISH and English] Contract of DeathI heard today, the preacher say: "Daniel has warned us long ago, Of the trials and tribulations we Are now facing, with our foes?"He says the 'Antichrist' was now In Europe crying: 'peace,' and the 'Axis of Evil,' had already placed Hidden Atomic Russian weaponsUnder our feet, here in the good Ole heart of the United States; 'Palestine's cry for peace,' he adds, Is a loaded Gun for Revelation 3:10;America. A 'Contract for Death,' Is what he called it. Song of the Great Zimbabwe, and Silver and Inca Blood [Poems and notes] "Song of the Great Zimbabwe"Across the African, winter's skyIn the Southern edge of Zimbabwe Looking down from the Hill ComplexFrom on top, of an Ancient Rock O'er the mountains steep-:A, vista I've longed to see, residesA site, I've longed to meet-; Thus, dwells, within this African Valley,Among the greatest of man's feats? The great, Great Zimbabwe (Enclosure).A million-stones, built these ancient wallsSome twelve-fathoms, fathoms high That seems to reach unto the sky;Some say: a fortress, and palace, it is; And perhaps-, the legendary 'Ophir!'#747 7/2/05Silver and Inca BloodIn the Great Silver mines of Potosi-(Inca Indians) Conscripted mine workersCarry Quotas of ore-up hundreds of feetOf rope laddered-steps For don Francisco de ToledoAnd King Philip II, of Spain-;A farcified vision to becomeRich-off Inca blood, In the year-1571?#744 7/1/05Notes: (The Inca Empire): the assumption is often that the Inca Empire was a large enterprise of its self; a common mistake at best; complicated for sure; but for the most part, the Inca Empire was comprised of ethnic groups who were subjugated into the Inca Empire, similar to the Roman, which was a city nation [Empire] you might say, who subjugated the whole world into its Roman Empire; likewise, so did the Incas of South America. Two Poems and a Short Story 1)dying in the bar [sluggishly]yet, I would crawl too upto the bar, it was everything, the dampness the carved wood the zoned-out-ness in my head dreaming; it was better than death? then I took another drink?so many I never moved much, like dead fish. my head split like an ass it was numb and, nothing else numbness was my homeacross the street, dancing on the patio the moon was out. Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King] The Torrents of HellHell's furnace- Likened to a chimney Vomits her torrents Of flames- Into the air Through earths crust And the earth's trembles-!Agitated, she projects A thick curtain of smoke To heat the feet of those Who provoke her every wish. Like molten iron She waits for the soul(the moment) Then molds, into her enclosure Human serpents? Out of savage flesh!No storm, no struggle No eruption, no typhoon, Just a terrible phenomenon, Hell is capable of producing; And upon death, Back into the Abyss They melt!. Looking Out the Rear Window The funeral rite concluded With the pastor shaking hands, Offering words of comfort I didn't quite understand.The undertakers came forth And summoned pallbearers' four. Ode To Quetzalcoatal [Now in Spanish and English] Ode to QuetzalcóatlQuetzalcóatl the GreatNo one knew his true name, so they Called him Quetzalcóatl-feather Serpent He and his crew of nineteen: faces Strange faces, images of a prince, a lord: King of the Yucatan in the year 986 ADHe was a tall man; long cloths, sandals; White as day, with a long beard, black hair. Some say red: some don't say? But they called him priest, Lord, king Amongst many things: god!. Ocean Heal Me Ocean Heal MeOcean heal my wounds Let your waves curl and foam on my body Wash away blood, heal scarsOcean renew me with your power As unceasingly you roll Giving strength that's been drainedOcean keep me warm Wrap me in your brine Caress me with your tidesOcean disperse my tears As they flow in you I cleanse my soulOcean let me grow in your depths Color me vibrant blue, coral, green Clear = revitalizedOcean your spray anoints me Cool and refreshed My spiritual renewalOcean be my friend Hold me flowing in your currents Ever moving, ever changingOcean, heal me.© 1983 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is a researcher, author and teacher. San Francisco [Almost a Sonnet] (The city by the bay of Northern California, near which the Pacific Ocean resides; the year is 1967)Mid October seemed like some spring day,When through the poised waters, dry as lead, The ferry, like vague shadows that stand the dead,Slipped down the curved coast of Frisco bay, Rounded the Golden Gate,-and San Francisco lay, Before me, that gay city, pink and red, Hippies covered Haigh Asbury's homeless head,-My home, to be, I found stirring and grey.The waves busted on the wooden-sides; fishermenNearby with long necks, looked and cast again. New Poetic Work By Ethiopian Immigrant Promotes Respect, Courage And Cultural Sensitivity McLean, VA - "The Healing Conscious" tells the story of an Ethiopian immigrant boy on his fascinating journey to America and adulthood. Author Kifle Bantayehu, a 23 year-old second-generation Ethiopian immigrant, recounts this poignant tale in poetic format. I Hate The Wait (Weight) I get up in the morningAnd want to stay in bedOh, so nice and warmLike fresh from the oven bread.My day is oh so busyI wish that I could stayIn the quiet of my houseIf only I could play. Two Poems, with Figurative Language Says Mr. Dennis Siluk, when asked to review his poetry somewhat, for he hesitates all the time when I ask him to so; I can tell you. Write Your Way to Fame Have you ever thought about how nice it would be to see your poem discussed in the New York Times? Think you have what it takes to become a famous poet? Well the unfortunate truth is that no one has what it takes to be a famous poet. Here's a little exercise: Name the most famous contemporary poet you can think of. Opposites Do Attract Quite Well When I am climbing up, you are stepping down. When I wear a smile, you wear a frown. My hero, my best friend, my Grannio (a.k.a my Grandmother) She raised me like I was her own daughter from the day I was born 32 years ago.She loved me like nobody else has ever loved me in my life. The Dead God of Copan (in English and Spanish) English VersionAnd the Death God said: "Let it rise to its glory in the Rio Valley-for a season; then let it be gone, we shall call it Copan?"Prologue: Empires come and go, liken to cosmic events, or the storms around the world: Atlantis, Mu, Greece, Persia, Rome, the Inca Nation, and even the great Maya heroic times of Copan, in Central America. All came and all left, one way or another; now just dust and artifacts in the spiral of time. Commuting Hell! It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,As I huddle down, inside my coat,a commuter clone, just waiting for a train.Insidious rain, just drizzling down,through weak light of creeping dawn,Paper sandwich bags and old coffee cups,blowing past, look so forlorn. Exalted Poetry; Two poem [and commentary] Bells for Belphegor!.. |
| home | site map | Art of the Ocean |
| © 2006 |