Ars Poetica Poems - Poems about Ars Poetica

Yeah Right

Yeah Right

If poetry is so easy to write,
drop a Choka, tercet, or a quatrain slight.
So remember the rules and keep things tight,
let’s see how easy it is to get right.

By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison

Gradations of Color

Hydration day’s a month away.
Online belonging company’s an hour from 
startup stardom. Titration hors-d'oeuvre 
Viewfinder pigeonholed 
to rooftop tourist 
traps ruin’d carriage holy woods 
Hollywood's margins, Carousel 13. 
Things You’ll Bury: 
molasses sourdough flowers crypto-
currency marginalia Lost (Bach set) 
ghouls in blockchain interdigita.
Me, if I’ve missed anyone, LL cool j.—
  < so. jersey. kühl

Story Structure

Story Structure


Some writers leave a story at the climax, 
like an adolescent male leaving the reader not totally satisfied. 
Other writers never bring the reader the climax, of their story. 
Good writers take the reader with them. 
They start the story with an introduction to the body of characters. 
Learning every nuance and curve of

Poet: ARS Poetica form

you say I am a poet
I tell you I am nothing
you say I craft words
I tell you I build nothing
you look confused
imagine how I feel
that with a mere smile
the raise of an eyebrow
you push the words 
right onto me
that's right 
don't you see now
I am your paper
you are 1000 words
waiting to be written
100 feelings 
waiting

Emagi Macleish Ars Poetica

Archibald MacLeish 'ARS POETICA'

    E                                E
      
         M

Ars Poetica

I swallowed an apricot seed when I was younger.
Everyone told me it was hard work to grow fruit trees

especially when winter marches south and tries 
to pry all those tiny orange dots from stubborn

wooden hands. I kept it safe, though, tucked away
in the pit of my stomach where despair and embarrassment

lived. I fed it reassurances:

Ars Poetica

Poetry is a busy crosswalk downtown,
when everyone moves together with elbows 
held a little wider than normal.
Poetry is a middle-aged man, creased 
and folded, sprawled out on the neglected 
weeds in Woodruff park, eyes wide shut.
Poetry is the free fruit for children
podium in between the produce
and clearance aisles, oranges
and apples withered to marbles.
Poetry is a

Ars Poetica: Brother

someday, he will sit stiff
on our piano bench 
to which he has grown accustomed, and i,
home, will sit nearby 
in our cozy armchair, 
an old accomplice to my posture.

     i can’t remember the last time i saw him relax
     this boy, this impossibly-almost man.

he will play me

Bemused

beMUSEd
by Michael R. Burch

Perhaps at three
you'll come to tea,
to have a cuppa here?

You'll just stop in
to sip dry gin?
I only have a beer.

To name the "greats":
Pope, Dryden, mates?
The whole world knows their names.

Discuss the "songs"
of Emerson?
But these are children's games.

Give me rhythms
wild as Dylan's!
Give me Bobbie Burns!

Give me Psalms,
or Hopkins’ poems,
Hart Crane’s, if he returns!

Or

State of the Art Iv

State of the Art (IV)

These are my "ars poetica" poems about the art and craft of writing poetry. 



Hearthside
by Michael R. Burch

“When you are old and grey and full of sleep...”  — W.  B.  Yeats

For all that we professed of love, we knew
this night would come, that we would bend alone
to tend

State of the Art Iii

State of the Art (III)

These are my "ars poetica" poems: the ones about the art and craft of writing poetry in a modern world that doesn't always recognize the artists or their work. 



Come Down
by Michael R. Burch

for Harold Bloom

Come down, O, come down
from your high mountain tower.
How coldly the wind blows,
how late this chill

State of the Art Ii

State of the Art (II)

These are my "ars poetica" poems about the art and craft of writing poetry. 



What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch

What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer 
~~~~underwater~~~~
watching the shoreline blur
sees through his breath’s weightless bubbles ...
Both worlds grow obscure.



In Praise of Meter
by Michael R. Burch

The earth is full of

Ars Poetica

Ars Poetica
 
Horace circa 19 BC gave some sound advice to
poets on the art of writing poetry and drama.

The following thoughts may echo in our minds,
most likely, the intent of what he may have meant . . .

A poem may excite and delight readers with its
imagery, meaning, metaphors, and so much more

A poem may speak

The Making of a Poet

The Making of a Poet
by Michael R. Burch

While I don’t consider “Poetry” to be my best poem—I wrote the first version in my teens—it’s a poem that holds special meaning for me; I call it my ars poetica. I also consider the poems that follow to be ars poetica verses.



Poetry

Poetry, I found you
where at last

Poetry: Ars Poetica

Poetry

Poetry, I found you 
where at last they chained and bound you;
with devices all around you 
to torture and confound you,
I found you—shivering, bare.

They had shorn your raven hair 
and taken both your eyes
which, once cerulean as Gogh’s skies, 
had leapt with dawn to wild surmise
of what was waiting there.

Your back was bent with untold

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