I decided what separates
The poems of the Young
From the poems of the Old
Isn’t the song sung nor story told;
Rather it’s down to The Style
Which captures a Frown or a Smile.
Do You prefer to mentally copulate
With the first prick of fresh heartache,
Or do you prefer the dejection,
Pain and unspared despair
Of often brutally-inflicted
Repeat Rejection
It’s simply a matter of taste.
A Choice doesn’t have to be made.
We can Break your heart Either Way.
not every poem
contains poetry truly
just words ensemble
Life is indecisive stage answers to the all kind of questions
Life, where performer is answer sheet
Poetic words are natural crystal mirror
where poet finds out himself spontaneously
Poetic expression is thoughtful interlink of knowing self
I never wanted you but poetic life;
because falsehood is eternally beautiful
The lie is mighty invisible;
visible is always weaker than invisible
No prayer there is in my pen;
fears make me not pious but repentant of opportunity
Who will forgive me I do not know
but if I embezzle the rights of invisibility
please pardon otherwise punish...
Not poetry this is but verbose aristocracy
where truth and falsehood is substitute beauty
19.05.2020 Chattogram
The larger the bird, the larger the turd
The bigger the tart, the louder the fart
The more beans he ate, the darker his fate
The more he drank, the more he stank
All the lines above rhyme perfectly internally
Yet to call them poetry rankles eternally
All is not poetry, I tell myself:
then relapse into rhyme
without reason—season
outside of season; for again
I imagine blossoms in winter,
snow that is warmly cold,
nuggets of 24k caresses
gems of crystal fire--
In my heart, for the umpteenth time,
I am a bedazzled knight
and prominent king--
My personal war of roses
and rainbows;
for while many may condemn me
to a cell of practical padding
I think God and the angels
at their best
are crazy in kind….
People are not poetry.
They do not rhyme and flow as the words printed on a book do.
We do not cut off and start with a line, that eventually draws up perfectly to the next. There are no series' of us. We live, then die. We all do not think the same, feel the same or perform the same. We clash, we bond and we clash again. We don't think with perfect rhythms. Our words do not roll off our tongues as easily as poetry, we cannot define our feelings.
If it's not poetry then it don't make sense!
My mentality is actually a masterpiece
practically painted masterfuly
to satisfy the custumer.
It's a ballad scratched on my pad
laterally after me and my pen
practice we'll start constructing a....
Rhyme similar to a rapper's free
with no actual beat blasting the masses
past disaster I will do it rapper free.
If it's not poetry then it don't make sense!
You write hiaku's touching hearts
I read sonnetts from the soul
You make cinquains from the brain
These odes make me feel like gold.
If it's not poetry then it don't make sense!
Without the rhyme I'd be dead
I take advantage of the moment
Releasing words from my head
That might get another open.
Repeat everything I said
Then go to a soul and quote it
He'll probably love what he heard
Then go and write him some words.
If it's not poetry then it don't make sense!
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.