Prose Poem:

I heard tell of the killer man. He was dressed in black they said. He was dangerous, this man. I didn't care for the stories. I went out on my way. I was to get to Montana in two days. I could waste no time. Along the highway I walked. Day in. Day out. Following the winding road. Exhausted, I stopped for a while to rest. The truck looked familiar. I noted the cross bones on the bumper. Where have I seen this before. The truck pulled over. The man got out. It hit me then, this was the killer man. Need I say more.

Blog 20: experimental poetry

When our two souls stand up erect and strong, by: Elizabeth Barrett Browning

When our two souls stand up erect and strong.
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curved point, --what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented? Think! In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Beloved, --where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.

Removing words:

When our souls up and strong.
Face to face, drawing,
Until the break into fire
At either point, -- wrong
Can the us, that we should not long
Be contented? Think!  higher,
The would press on us and
To drop some  of perfect
Into our deep, . Let us stay
Rather on, --where the unfit
 moods of recoil away
And isolate spirits, and
A place to and love for a ,
With darkness and the rounding it.

New version:

When our souls are built up in love and strong.
Face to face, we stand, drawing higher
Until the love breaks into a glorious fire
At either point, no one did the other wrong
Can this be us, that we should not long
Be far from contented? Think!  higher,
The world would press on us and be loud
To drop some of its perfect knowledge
Into our deep love, But please let us stay
Rather let us love on, to where the unfit
Moods of those people finally recoil away
And they won't isolate spirits, and remove
A place to belong and love for a while,
Without the darkness and pain rounding it.

Deep in the expanse of the hot African desert,

The sun beats down on the cracked ground.

And the fur on the back of the fierce lion

Sweats with the midday sun.

He has taken a firm stance before me

To show his dominance.

I take a step forward into his territory

Challenging his gaze with my own deep stare.

He questions my motive with a slight tilt of his head

And I react.

I raise my knife and trace his head from where I am.

There is no fear like my own.

I know the risk,

I have lived in this desert long enough to know the danger.

But I have no choice, this lion killed the one I love.

And has sparked a fire in me

That will not be put out.

I need to make my move,

For he is approaching me now,

And the look in his eyes warns me that he won't stop

Until he gets his fill of human flesh from my bones.

Purposefully I drive

The sharp edge of my knife into the heart of the lion 

And it is even. 

I agree with Dana Gioia, poetry is losing its significance in everyday life. In my own life, I have observed that poetry is similar to reading books in that only people that enjoy reading them will do it. Many people cannot get into reading or poetry, and will not go out of their way to read it. I enjoy reading, but only if it something that truly grabs my attention. It is the same with poetry. I often can’t follow through with reading something unless it is interesting to me. So, I think the best way to get people to read poetry is to make it appealing to them. This is the hard part because everyone has such different taste. However, that is also the beauty of poetry. It differs so greatly from poet to poet so it is able to capture a wide variety of audiences. Dana Gioia explains some ways to make poetry a part of American public culture. First she says that when poets give public readings they should spend time reciting other people’s work. She claims this will bring admiration to poetry in general and not just the specific poet. I also believe this may help to bring more attention to poetry as a whole. Gioia also says that public readings of poetry should include forms of art beyond poetry such as music. This will get people with interest in other forms of art to come to the reading and they may become interested in poetry through the event. Overall, I believe poetry is a dying art, but if poets can find a way to bring more public awareness to poetry then they may be able to bring poetry back into the American public.  

Me: Hi mom sorry I missed your call. (iambic tetrameter)
Mom: Sure you are (sarcasm). I bet you were busy with Jack. (iambic tetrameter)
Me: No, I was actually getting ready for work. (iambic pentameter)
Mom: Ok. Well I was wondering if you were coming up this weekend. (iambic heptameter)
Me: I'm not sure yet. I need to find out my work schedule. (iambic tetrameter)
Mom: Ok. How is school going by the way? (iambic tetrameter)
Me: It's going good. I got an A on my patho exam Thursday. (hexameter)
Mom: Sweet. Only an A huh? (iambic dimeter)
Me: Ha ha, sorry to disappoint you. (iambic trimeter)
Mom: I am kidding, that is awesome. (iambic tetrameter)
Me: Thanks. Well, I gotta go or I'll be late for work. (iambic pentameter)
Mom: Ok, call me when you get home. (iambic trimeter)
Me: I will, I love you mom. (iambic trimeter)
Mom: Love you too. I will talk to you later. (iambic trimeter)

Most of the conversation was iambic, but the type of meter varied greatly.

A Girl Sold into Sex Trafficking 

The despondency showing on the small girl's face

A tear falling from God's eye

I didn’t know what to do when they came

I could see the hesitation in their eyes

Before they spoke I knew of his demise

They didn’t even have to say a name

I never expected it to happen so soon

The fear that crept up in me was real

Why did this happen it wasn’t the deal

We had only just gotten married in June

I don’t know what I am to do with my life

This man was meant to be here next to me

The future looks so grim from where I stand

What will happen to all that we had planned

I will no longer be loved as his wife

For my days to end quickly is now my plea