Original Poetry Forums

Poetry Discussions' with 21st Century' Suggestions

04-24-2010 at 05:21:41 PM
  • ThoughtCaster
  • ThoughtCaster
  • Posts: 54

Poetry Discussions' with 21st Century' Suggestions

Word Choice in Poetry:

Can poetry employ any sort of language?

An odd question, but the beginning poet
will often find his or her diction attacked as cliché or contrived.

What can be said?

Are there overall principles in important elements of literature?

Remember that lexicons are governed by social usage.

Fashion change.

1. Vocabularies not only reflect interests and fashions, but must be broadly effective in a contemporary setting. That is the argument against poeticisms and out-of date words like thee, 'tis, maiden.

2. Words never possess wholly transparent meanings, but in the more affective poetry their latent associations, multiple meanings, textural suggestions and rhythmic power are naturally given freer rein.

3. The touchstone is always the intended audience. Words too familiar, or too remote, defeat the purpose of a poet, and that observation remains true, as much for traditionalists writing inside a poetic tradition as for others trying to kindle poetry out of naked experience.

Last edited by ThoughtCaster 04-24-2010 at 05:22:25 PM

04-25-2010 at 08:46:07 PM

Poem Forceps, The Sounds of Labor

I find this interesting, I had my brain ceiling walking all day....

Here is a bit of tid, of what shall be did,
A poem maybe a kid, and out it slid
A boy or a girl, good or invalid
Deriving from the poets pyramid
Knowledge, and will is the grid
All ideas are hid, until you un-lid
Do not forbid, an idea never get rid

A poem, portraying the pain of childbirth..
The pain of poembirth may vary from one culture to another...
Some Poets say they forget the pain....

((('put your chin on your chest'
'breathe through the pain'
'push down through your bottom, not from your abdomen'
bite down, bear down and count to ten before releasing'))))

So perhaps we need to figure out the culture of our post-apocalyptic world.

To raise a warrior...
A poem to conquer...
Think about the emotions the reader-to-be will feel.

100 years from now, poet-speed.......
~~~
I have created words, I consider myself a word-designer/pioneer-

Poets here on OP love' these sweet children of mine~

Beautifire
Churchild
Moonpalachia

The Slingtionarious Wictionary;
http://www.originalpoetry.com/the-slingtionarious-wictionary

But this I find interesting, it coincides with inspiration from,
William Chester Minor:
also known as W. C. Minors (June 1834 – March 26, 1920) was an American army surgeon who made many scholarly contributions to the Oxford English Dictionary while confined to a lunatic asylum.
He devoted most of the remainder of his life to that work. He proved to be one of the most effective of the volunteers, systematically reading through his library and compiling lists of the occurrence of words. These he kept current with the words needed in the volume being worked on at the time. [clarification needed] As his lists grew, he was able to supply quotations on demand for a particular word....
Interesting story google it.....or click below;
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Chester_Minor

thank you, John E WordSlingerrolleyes

04-27-2010 at 10:47:45 AM
  • ThoughtCaster
  • ThoughtCaster
  • Posts: 54

Are poets the new journalists?

Poetry can serve as a vehicle for narrative journalism.
Poems tell us about ourselves, and our times.
If you see something beautiful and touching, furthermore ugly, why not write it?”
There’s actually some hope to be reported in a country flooded with doomsday news bulletins
Poetry seems unlikely to replace standard print narratives and even less likely to supplant the inverted pyramid, but its future and the future of news may be bound together at the margins. We are just beginning to imagine how both will evolve and the ways in which they might work together in narrative reporting.
This sort of poetry shares our immediate interest in what’s happening in the world,
but also allows the poet to reconstruct “events, landscapes, human figures” from events in a way that brings the reader close and clear to the time.
Lets look at the poetic diction influenced by the language of reportage and the basic difference in the purpose of journalism versus that of poetry.
The implemented language that needs to be cut.
What poets do you know here on OP like this, and famous poets?

Bring on the poetry.
Bring on new voices.
Bring on the news.
Tell us something that matters with words that tell us about the world, about the human condition.

04-28-2010 at 08:50:14 PM

RE: Poetry Discussions' with 21st Century' Suggestions

Tell us something that matters with words that tell us about the world, about the human condition.


Those Crafty Government Planners
____________________________



Rockefeller oil painted Earth-land ever-green
FBI were planning lots of heinous, new drug schemes
working with the CIA... and Stanford's protocol
secrets buying U. S. Army, implementing all.



Searching answers, explorations, study human mind
drooling hungry, wanting psychic flavors, genuine
teamster players, setting motion, running for a goal
test-case study, Rhesus woman, matching their control.



Never given chemicals or prior medicine
perfect finding golden pinpoint, what was happenin'
massive spices ruin pudding, doses added low
coastal travel, night in May-time, Castroville they go



Operation Artichoke-ville, snickering the name
grinning pompous, planting seed deed, cunning doctor game
baby Rhesus, conceived quickly, hidden, like a treat
monitoring, years of singing, private obsolete



Mouthy Birdie, talking, blurting innocently truth
something missing, seeing too much, mirror-spouting sleuth
time to mute her, little Bluebird, medical invent
focus silent, mental eye-view speech, to circumvent.



Learning paranormal muscles, inside exercise
quiet watchful observations, 1950 spies
leaving her room, bending no spoons, questioning her wise
sadly mutant seemed to recoil, empty stare-full sighs



After thirty birthdays, living homeless, feeling free
year-long sojourn watching her gifts open flowerly
silver flute-long, golden harp-songs, playing melodies
humans helping, never hurting, dressing strangely, she



Landing hometown, finding new sounds, voicing angrily
wanting honest planet choices, suing companies
Eli Lilly, poison peddlers, endless money tree
branches feeding healthy birdies, toxic needle tea



Hood-wink public, growing offspring, altered DNA
breeding weaker humans, sanctioned, by the AMA
filling worker beehives, global selfish enterprise
samson blue-blood, given long-life nectar to survive



These new crimes are sold as pus, they all contaminate
plastic, gaseous baby bottles, toys with new lead paint
even dry-wall kills us slowly, China doesn't care
No one watching governmental plan to lead us, where?


Last edited by Springsize 04-30-2010 at 10:44:50 PM

04-29-2010 at 01:37:22 PM

Are poets the new journalists?

Quote:
Originally Posted by ThoughtCaster


Bring on the poetry.
Bring on new voices.
Bring on the news.
Tell us something that matters with words that tell us about the world, about the human condition.



Thoughts and everyone,

I decided not to play hooky today, because John told me of this thread on posting a poetic voice for world issues, and events.
Anyone who knows me knows that on this subject my pencil has a big mouth,
and my creative voice screams, so I thought I would share one that you may , or may not have read. I hope you like. smile

Maddi

Afternoon stroll

-Where have all the rabbits gone?

Using my hand as a visor, I shield the sun's reflection, and look up at the giant clock-tower, stationed at the center of the village square. The oversized, round, face mocks my existence, as the numbers say, ‘tic, tic, tic..’ Constantly, the hand skips forward. However, time is yet to reach the destination.

A wreath hangs in an office window, all dressed in flowers that will never grow, and a silver bow for a formal hello. Can’t the inviting eye realize that this bound ivy is dead, and the decoration is a memorial, marking an unmarked grave? The deceased is the earth, the building a headstone. I can spy this tomb, and hear this truth, although many others cannot; unlike the earth, buildings cannot talk.


I wonder, I wonder, what shade the world would be, if each of us lent a smile to our passing brothers and sisters. Oh, what a techno-color treat we could create. The most appealing reality is that this gift would be free. Free of discrimination, free of neglect, free of malice. We could change the gray, if only we could accept the colors. If, indeed, we so hate useless spending, why then do we choose to put such unaffordable value, on values? We as human-beings complain we cannot afford, what could already be free.

Precious! I think as I walk through the park and view the beauty of a young child, while his mother sits on a dark, green, park bench. The little boy must be about the age of seven. Such a gracious year to be alive! Filled with endless curiosity, and wonderment. I remember- Oh, how I remember, discovering this mystic kingdom with such clean eyes.

He appears to be talking to himself. I wonder if he is singing nursery rhymes, or if he is speaking to an unseen friend, that only his magical eyes can see. Wait! What is that he is holding to his delicate ear? This little angel has become a puppet- as I notice that his tiny hand clenches a cell phone!

Why would his mother allow him to choose this way? Does she not see the castle in the sandbox, or how the swings have secret wings, and if you close your eyes you can feel them fly? No. She does not see this place waiting for discovery, as she is to consumed with the boys cell phone clone-Nokia, which apparently has affixed itself to her own ear. She is arguing loudly into the plastic piece; about money, I think, as she shouts “Why should you care about me, as long as you get paid!”

If only, if only, she could comprehend that the faceless enemy on the other end of the signal, will one day become her son. Then, would she find the time to play?

Fifty-cents for a newspaper, which is imprisoned in a steel yellow cage. I peer in the mesh window-‘Headline News; Eight Car Pile Up! Five Dead!’ A pain bathes over my heart, as I think of the mechanical slaying. I wonder where they were going on the last day of their clock. I wonder who they have left behind in this world, who they were, who they were yet to become.

‘HONK!’ A loud horn wails from the traffic which zooms past swiftly on Main Street.
Automobiles(H.M.C.)- Human mobile cubical. So many taking up space, and expelling their signature scent, to perfume our lungs.

Unfamiliar faces filed inside their H.M.C. Forward they move, like the clock,-to reach their destination. Can they possibly know that they- like the clock, will never truly arrive?-If they did, would they still be eating, drinking, talking, laughing, singing? Maybe.

Do the families that lost the 'Headline News! Five Dead!', think to themselves; 'If only they would have been on horseback, carriages, on a bicycle, or even foot- this massacre, would have never happened! They would be alive today; to laugh, and to cry , to succeed, and fail, but most of all- to love.’ Maybe.

Before I carry myself home for a nap, under my loyal oak-friend; I take one more look around at this man-made forest.

I look at all the beautiful, gray, people who pass each other, shoulder to shoulder, yet their eyes will never meet.

I skim over the endless decorated graves, and the concrete meadow on which they stand.

The corporate children, who will never play.

The variety of human mobile cubicals- that have become our suicide necessity, for speedy travel.

The long row of yellow prisons, that are more than obliged to scream our self-destruction; for the low cost of fifty-cents!

Oh, and of course, the bright paper trail of ‘must haves’, that were so generously left along the roadside by the concerned citizens of gray; in the event, that I should lose my way home!

I start home with one final thought; Where have all the rabbits gone? I glance up at the giant clock, and as the hand pulses around the numbered face -still it warns, ‘tic, tic, tic..’

04-29-2010 at 06:23:24 PM

RE: Poetry Discussions' with 21st Century' Suggestions

Another WordSketch By John E WordSlinger, for the school of poetry, multiple assignments, ThoughtCasters' poetic journalism, and Ninja Village, and Orens History. When I was in high school this event scared me, so after studying for Japanese Poetry, this story came to mind, and made me sad.



Haiku and Dust

late summer mushrooms
little boy and the fat man
guardians of gardens
the mountains and palace
was saved by a honeymoon

imperial silence
a necessary evil
fire has a sound
it was haiku and dust
rain of ruin from the air

a break in the clouds
uniting the metal birds
a tombstone less ground

both governments forgot haiku


04-30-2010 at 10:50:36 AM

Poetry Discussions' Castlemists' Death of a Genre

Castlemist wrote an interesting piece on poetry.

There is a discussion in the posts,
interested in Poetry CPR in general, not Castlemists poem'
he raises a point...
, and why you are here visit his website
THIS IS A MUST READ
http://www.originalpoetry.com/death-of-a-genre

There is a lack of Editors, and Investors not Poets, and Readers.

http://emotionography.net/

Last edited by WordSlinger 05-02-2010 at 08:07:37 AM

04-30-2010 at 10:55:13 AM

RE: Poetry Discussions' with 21st Century' Suggestions

As soon as I posted this a commercial came on TV,

Poet.com

http://poet.com/

04-30-2010 at 11:34:42 AM

RE: Poetry Discussions' with 21st Century' Suggestions

Poets have always been at the forefront of revealing the atrocities of governments, religion and the greedy rich, revealing their control, domination, and fear tactics, their destruction of nature and human spirit.

Famous poets who have paid the price for speaking out, to name a few:

The first century Italian poet, Publius Ovidius Naso, (commonly known as Ovid). Ovid was exiled to the barren, barbaric-ruled coast of the Black Sea by the Roman government for writing about love and sex and the harsh laws of Rome and religion. He was never seen or heard from again.

In the 1960’s, the Russian poet, Joseph Brodsky, was condemned and sent to 18 years hard labor for not having “government permission” to be a poet.

In 1936, the Spanish poet, Lorca was executed by the “Franco” fascist for being a poet, because he was more popular with the people than Franco was. The fascist took him into the mountains and his body was never found.

Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda was on the run for several years from the Franco fascist. Fortunately he survived.

Songwriter / poet, John Lennon openly spoke out against the Viet Nam conflict and the atrocities of governments, war and hate. Lennon was hounded by the F.B.I. until, in 1980, he took 5 bullets in the back.

Can anybody add to this list of brilliant poets hounded by governments and religion for being "poets with a voice"?

05-12-2010 at 08:16:37 PM
  • ThoughtCaster
  • ThoughtCaster
  • Posts: 54

RE: Poetry Discussions' with 21st Century' Suggestions

This is an eassy from a friend named Wolf Larsen
this may scare you but this age is your age.

http://www.secretwebsites.com/essay_grammar.htm

11-20-2010 at 01:01:48 PM
  • ThoughtCaster
  • ThoughtCaster
  • Posts: 54

RE: Poetry Discussions' with 21st Century' Suggestions

Poetry in Turbulence
by Jeffrey Side
To many non-specialists of literature, poetry is deeply unsatisfying. There are several reasons for this, but two in particular come to mind. The first is that most poetry is overly descriptive, leaving little to the imagination; the second is that the rest of it is abstruse. This presents the non-specialist with a dilemma: either to persevere in the thankless task of attempting to unravel an increasingly unrewarding literary crossword; or to make do with the superficialities of descriptive verse and the resultant ennui. Both projects would presumably confirm any prejudices that these readers entertained about the relevancy of poetry to their lives. In circumstances such as these, I think it would be appropriate to introduce a method of poetic appreciation, which, although unorthodox, would encourage the non-specialist to revise any negative opinion of poetry held.The first thing that has to be drawn to the attention of these readers is the fact that it is up to them to come to an understanding of the poem. The poem is unlikely to facilitate such a response without this active participation on their part. The main thing to point out to them is that valuable time and effort would be wasted in attempting to look for the poem's intended meaning. Rather, a more helpful course would be to encourage readers to actively engage in their own particular and personal exegetical responses to the text — however idiosyncratic or perverse the results of this may appear.It is of minor importance whether the commonly received meaning of the poem is discerned by the reader or not, as the ultimate aim of such a personal response is to enhance the enjoyment value of the work as opposed to engaging in a scholastic deciphering of its hermetic aspects. What the poem is meant to mean should not be of paramount concern for readers wishing to gain satisfaction and enjoyment from the work. On the contrary, surface meaning can sometimes be more of a disadvantage than a blessing, as in such instances the poem disallows the mind an active part in the creative process that the enjoyment of art requires.A satisfying poem is one that enters the reader's mind and turns the key to his or her imagination. It enables them to find meanings and emotions that hold a particular significance and relevance to their experience. A poem that fails to satisfy does the opposite: it tells you what it is about, the emotions you are to feel and the understanding you are to have.Each reader should be permitted the fundamental privilege of formulating a meaning which would (for that reader) be the quintessence of the poem's significance. The words and images of a poem should be looked upon as devices that the reader can solicit to paraphrase their own experiences. Such an approach to reading poetry, if widely understood and accepted, could possibly restore poetry to its status as an important and popular art form.Jeffrey Side has had poetry published in various magazines including: T.O.P.S., The White Rose, Poetry Salzburg Review, ism, Sphinx and Homeground. And his poems have appeared on various poetry web sites such as Poethia, nthposition, Ancient Heart Magazine, Blazevox, hutt and Cybpher Anthology.He has reviewed poetry for New Hope International, Stride Magazine, Acumen and Shearsman Magazine. From 1996 to 2000 he was the assistant editor of The Argotist magazine. He now runs The Argotist Online web site:http://www.argotistonline.co.uk/index.html

Source: http://www.PopularArticles.com/article17045.html

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.