June 1st, 2016

Shaman - Horse

Blog - Practicing to Free Form

After over six hundred days of poetry I'm finally becoming comfortable with writing free form poetry. The prose form that some people come to naturally has blossomed after I've written nearly seven hundred poems. Why? What is this delay? Why was practice practice practice necessary for me?

The explanation for this is that I came from blogging origins. I originally sought to put my poems into modified sentence form as if they were a mutated paragraph. In time I moved to a lyrical format that approximated free form, but still it wasn't quite there. The time wasn't wasted though! Through poems written day after day I learned about rhythm and rhyming. I learned about when the rules should be followed and when they could be broken with poetic license.

Time passed, the poems continued day after day, and the commas and periods dropped away. Now I am writing, when I chose to, in a free form format. I've rose above my stilted beginnings and backed into a more “professional” presentation through repetition of effort. While this may seem to be a surface transition, so much more has been learned. Perhaps it is more than commas and periods, an end only achieved by practice.
Shaman - Horse

Poem - If My Words

My secret longing, well, secret until now, is to write poetry as beautiful as the songs that bless my ears. I can imply a rhythm, asking the reader to hear instruments in their imagination. I would be that much closer to heaven if I could meld music and prose into songs, and then move people in ways that mere poetry cannot.

If My Words

If my words could echo a song
provide a moving facsimile
sounding like a singing voice
reaching the etheric notes.

If this prose could carry a tune
enclose the harmony in mere letters
only if the sky could be contained
in the package not meant to sing.

If these stanzas could make you strut
move your feet to an eternal beat
first shuffled by ancestors old
who knew nothing of these messages.

If my poems were as soulful as a hymn
sounded by the angels' chorus
standing on the clouds above the pages
made plain upon the earth below.

If only verse was a soaring melody
I'd find the dream I long seek
to move my prose beyond the word
to make to fly beyond this mortal coil.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160601.