30 Poems in 30 Days: Breaking the Rules
September 25, 2007
This is Day 22 of 30 Poems in 30 Days
Doing What You Can’t
“Can’t” is a word that should rarely be applied to poetry. There is very little that “can’t” be done in a poem. The beauty of poetry is that the risks are so low. While it would be stupid of me to say that you “can’t” get on the bestseller’s list with a book of poetry, I can tell you that the market for poetry is significantly smaller than the market for fiction. You can choose to be saddened or frustrated by this, or you can embrace the minuscule size of the market. If you aren’t writing poetry to get rich, then you don’t have to worry about the demands of the market. You don’t have to write “marketable” poetry, because most poetry isn’t very marketable anyway. You are free to indulge you wildest and most experimental ideas (or your strictest and most conventional ideas) precisely because the consequences are so minor.
So what if most poetry doesn’t rhyme anymore? If you like the way it sounds, do it.
So what if nobody reads epic poems anymore? If you have that much to say about one thing, then you should say it.
So what if sestinas don’t sell well? Nothing sells well. Write it if you like it.
There is nothing wrong with taking risks and breaking rules. Just remember that broken rules don’t make a poem good or bad. You aren’t going to impress someone with your combination enjambment, alliteration and tetrameter unless the poem is actually good. you don’t break rules just to break rules. You do it because it is what produces the poem you want to produce.
Today’s Poetry Assignment
Try something that scares you (just a little) and then write a poem about it.
Today’s Recommended Poet
Ken Rumble recently released a book, Key Bridge
- Ken Rumble’s blog
- A Review of Key Bridge
- Five Poems by Ken Rumble
- More Works by Ken Rumble
- More Poems, including excerpts from Key Bridge
This is the scariest thing I ever did.
Twenty-five Years
Twenty-five years alone
Were two lifetimes
Two children full grown
A grandmother to four
Who could ask for more
I had climbed every mountain
. . . and
Followed every stream
Just like the song told me to
Living my dreams, settled my scores
Made amends, I couldn’t pretend
I wasn’t happy, content, satisfied
And yes, sometimes a little bored
When he said close your eyes I was . . .
Hmmmm, sitting at the kitchen table
But let me tell you first that
When he first started coming around
I just wasn’t sure I was able
To put up with some man hanging about
Telling me what was what
But he was different somehow, like a
Friend or the brother I never had
I was always glad to see him coming
And there was a little chemistry added to the mix
He had a real job, even a watch, and this laughter
That we shared, and how he dared me to do
Whatever I said I wanted to
So here he was now, with his hand warm on my thigh
And me with my eyes closed wondering why he was
Acting so strangely tonight
Go ahead, open up he said
And “what to my wondering eyes should appear”
But a little old man with a diamond solitaire
And oh no, on his knees, and oh no I thought, please . . . not yet,
As my opened eyes focused and I found my true sight, there it was
Resting on a satin pillow like a star in the night
Oh boy, this fella was serious, and yes, I just might, but
Diamonds are just NOT my cup of tea I thought
The politics you see, I would explain
But the look on his face
And the shine of his eyes
Believe, there was no way to deny it was love in his heart
Then he said it, will you hand fast with me, and never part
I couldn’t speak, seconds passed
I’ll take care of you, he said, I’ll be your man
He talked fast, and plenty, till there wasn’t
Any thing left for me to do but shut him up with
A kiss, and a simple I do
Ahhh! I love it Connie, a sweet story told with down-to-earth honesty and humour. You take us through it step by step, so that to me it almost feels like I’m in your head with you! And of course that ending is pure romance.
Connie, Connie, Connie, another one I have to save on my computer and print out….
I’m glad you guys like the poem.
OOops, that was me — not annonymous
EXPELLING MY DEMONS
On a couch of red leather I lie flat.
The room is lined with crystals,
the corners green with ferns.
I close my eyes.
He speaks aloud his prayer
to call protection over us.
White light filters through my aura,
rainbow colours flood my chakras,
gold light spins a mesh cocooning me.
Seventeen small things
rise and leave my field
with very little persuasion.
He supports my head
as I gather my breath and blow them
back to the Great Light.
Then the dragon goes.
At first I feel its reluctance,
but it listens and is convinced.
He reads its rights
and limitations.
I feel it weigh the options and decide.
I am a free will being. It must not stay
if I refuse it lodging.
It leaves with surprising ease.
The pain of previous occasions
doesn’t happen. I feel clear
and tired.
This is both scary for me and was how I felt when I was younger:
Keeping Silence
My thoughts collide;
Expressions melt;
Bringing in fear;
My heart had felt;
Arising nausea;
Hurting pain;
Falling starts;
My clothes they stain;
Why am I here?
Who do I seek?
My clothes in all;
Fall to my feet;
All sounds drown out;
My hearing at halt;
Everything gone;
Closed in a vault;
Hearing impaired;
I like it this way;
No one to heart;
No “games” to play;
Faces melt;
Port holes close;
All these minutes;
Suddenly frozen;
A dark room;
Within it I lay;
Breathing slow;
Black and gray;
A window I seek;
Noises they’ve stayed;
I wanna kill you;
I want to blow you away;
I take a deep breath;
I blow hard;
You scream;
As you float afar;
Bye noise;
Bye all to you who suck;
I’ll never like you;
Goodbye all that muck;
I’m bondaged in shackles;
Made of memory;
My life;
I will never see;
I’m nothing to you;
So keep away;
My body, soul and mind;
I’ll keep at bay;
I like my life;
Without you in it;
Me and others;
Just don’t fit;
I don’t want you to know;
Anything about me;
All you people;
I really don’t need;
My experiences stay;
I read them all;
Who needs to know?
The feeling in which you fall;
I know what there like;
All weasels and pest;
I hate the lot;
And all the rest;
I curl up in the corner;
Arms around my knees;
My flesh and hair;
The rats they feed;
Pist in psyche mode;
I cringe at that;
I ate that one, this one;
To the last rat;
Blood dies in my mouth;
My cloths they stenched;
Silence is reached;
No thanks to a wench;
The noise maker;
Humming in my ear;
You think you got me;
But I killed all I used to fear;
You brought them to me;
Thinking I’d fall;
But you all the one;
In hell you crawl;
Skin inflamed;
I feel the heat;
My heart aches;
With every hit in beat;
No noise around;
The hell with you;
I take in breaths;
But only a few;
I killed you all;
Not a chirp in shock distance;
I lift my head;
Sun shines through;
Hits the floor;
With thick morning dew;
Mold is growing;
Filling my nostrils;
It grows in my skin;
My body it fills;
How long have I been here?
How long have I stayed?
I’ve been held down;
My life faded;
Where to go?
Forward I guess;
Why do I care?
All you want is the best;
I hear the mold;
I crawls up my spine;
Up my neck;
And down a fine line;
I still sit here;
I will not move;
My life alone;
Becomes anew;
Not only silence;
But everything else;
The one that kills;
And all that sells;
I pray to God;
For all that you make;
For this night in silence;
For my soul to take.
Connie and Rosemary,
WOW both poems took my breath away, thank you so much for sharing them!
Rianon: Elsewhere I have expressed some lack of enthusiasm for your rhyming - but here I see that you’re being “rappy”. The short, two-beat lines work that way too, of course. Well, I probably don’t really get rap, though some of it’s exciting. I know it is used to deal with some very serious subjects indeed, having grown out of urban disaffection - but still I question whether it is the most appropriate style for this heavy subject matter you’re dealing with here. In all your work, your tone seems to me sensitive rather than raw. Even when you’re angry and aggressive - with reason, obviously - it’s more complex than just the outpouring of rage. I think a different style might serve you better. Which is not to say that this doesn’t work as you intended, only that I think there are many more directions too, in which you could take your poetry.
I do have many ways that I express myself and I do agree with you I think that I could express myself in a different style. I wrote this and my other sensitive poems when I felt it, when it was tearing me apart and needing to come out. I feel that it’s a better way to put it down on paper than it is to deal with it in other ways I use to. Here is another poem I wrote, Please tell me what you think:
Photo Gallery
Frozen;
To look at one’s self;
Cemented;
You come in;
The loving;
The prize;
In front of me;
Singing;
The next;
Your dance
To step;
A hex;
In time;
You’re still;
Movement absorbs me;
Fine;
Step aside;
Some one talks;
Silence broken;
Thoughts stride;
Life is still;
Time stopped;
Beauty exults;
My soul in fill;
A statue of steal;
Screaming;
Almost alive;
Feel;
Bring forth;
The next turn;
A corner;
Art and more;
Exhilarating;
Pounding heart;
Emotions;
Not just a fling;
Everlasting flight;
Yearning;
Craving;
As beautiful as night;
I want more;
Can you feel it;
I dig deeper;
I soar;
Smile;
Frowns;
Indifference;
Beauties;
Feelings mixed;
Confusing thoughts;
Racing;
Bodies fixed;
Pictures move;
Yet unshaken;
Tricks never play;
I’m soothed.
In this one I felt as though I got out what I feel when I enter an art show.
I agree and thank you. I feel as though that I need to learn how to express myself in a different style and I’m just know exploring them. When I find it I feel as though it will release me and find prosperity in letting go. Thank You And God Bless!!!
Rianon: I have commented on this impressionistic piece on the “Confessional” page where you posted it again.
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