Poetry

The explosion of mutilation of language, often known as 'free-verse poetry', is the work of people who would play tennis without a net.

Poetry is condensed prose, boiled down in a stock pot. It is the demi-glace of
literature, strong and flavorful, and best taken in small doses.

Prose = words in the best order

Poetry = the best words in the best order

Infinity = the very last poem in the most perfect language imaginable...

Thank Wordsworth for the first two contributions, myself for the third....ha! ha! among the trumpets, indeed!

The opposite of true poetry is free verse. But isn't that really storytelling? Who's to say? Cowboy poets argue about it all the time. But Doc Stovall says Cowboy Poetry is anything a Cowboy writes that speaks of the Cowboy way of life. Debra Coppinger Hill agrees, but insists it must also illicite emotion on the reader's part. Both are correct. Poetry is not poetry if it is good or bad...but when it says somethig that draws from us a sigh or shout.

When I was younger, I could write poetry easily but did not like reading it much. Now I am older it is more difficult to write and I still don't read much poetry.... I think there is much better quality of 'poetry' in some pop songs.

Poetry need not rhyme. Particularly if you're dealing with words like orange, silver, purple and month.

Said the Duck to the Kangaroo,
`Good gracious! How you hop!
Over the fields and the water too,
As if you never would stop!
My life is a bore in this nasty pond,
And I long to go out in the world beyond!
I wish I could hop like you!'
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.

`Please give me a ride on your back!'
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.
`I would sit quite still, and say nothing but »Quack,«
The whole of the long day through!
And we'd go to the Dee, and the Jelly Bo Lee,
Over the land, and over the sea;-
Please take me a ride! Oh do!'
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.

Said the Kangaroo to the Duck,
`This requires some little reflection;
Prehaps on the whole it might bring me luck,
And there seems but one objection,
Which is, if you'll let me speak so bold,
Your feet are unpleasantly wet and cold,
And would probably give me the roo-
Matiz!' said the Kangaroo.

Said the Duck, `As I sate on the rocks,
I have thought over that completely,
And I bought four pairs of worsted socks
Which fit my web-feet neatly.
And to keep out the cold I've bought a cloak,
And every day a cigar I'll smoke,
All to follow my own dear true
Love of a Kangaroo!'

Said the Kangaroo, `I'm ready!
All in the moonlight pale;
But to balance me well, dear Duck, sit steady!
And quite at the end of my tail!'
So away they went with a hop and a bound,
And they hopped the whole world three times round;
And who so happy, -Oh who,
As the Duck and the Kangaroo?