First a bit of preamble - I get so sick of people who think that all rhyme is trite. Look at just about any modern poetry anthology, and you'll note that the vast majority of "poems" therein have no rhyme, which is fine - really. I like to rhyme, but understand it just isn't everyone's "cuppa tea", and can forgive anyone who just doesn't groove on what I consider my art form.
What I can't forgive is that so many of these "poems" (I use the term loosely) just don't mean anything! Call me old fashioned, but I strongly feel that in order for something to qualify as poetry it has to convey an idea or paint a picture with words.
Other than the obscure pieces, there are the other "poetic efforts" that get anthologized...the ones so artfully dark and maudlin that you want to hunt up the poor soul who penned that dubious gloop and suggest a good therapist. (Buck up, buckaroo - life isn't that bad - is it?) Then again, perhaps I'm not the one to correctly categorize poetry. You see, I sent off some verse to a respected poet, who told me that what I write is considered more "rhyming prose" than poetry. Which confused me a bit - what does that make all of those people that I considered the classic rhyming poets of the past?
I know poetry is subjective...what is poetic to you might not be poetic to me. But I still can't fight the urge to rail against the pseudo-intellectual types who want to relegate all rhyme to the trashcan.
Needless to say it was after reading some dubious "poetry" that I penned this fictional rhyming conversation between two rival poets...
Two Poets:
"Look at what I've written!"
(Clearly you are thrilled.
Poetry has bitten -
would that you were skilled.)
"Published!" you state smugly -
"Would you care to read?"
(Oh - this could get ugly!
but I'll read indeed.)
After all, you read mine
with derisive sneer.
Didn't need to opine -
your disdain was clear.
So I'll take a moment
your verse to peruse.
Then with glee I'll foment
ways I can abuse.
"Words tossed out at random -
chosen from a hat?
No two lines in tandem?
I don't care for that."
"It's poetry! - (you snivel) -
Artful and intense!"
Now I have to quibble -
"But it makes no SENSE!"
"Popular opinion
claims that rhyme is trite.
Were I fashion's minion,
more like YOU I'd write!"
All aghast you tremble -
lips you sternly purse.
Now you shan't dissemble -
I'm far too perverse.
"Stultifying triteness -"
you begin to scoff.
I'm through with politeness,
so I cut you off.
"All the rhyme that's written
isn't Hallmark bound.
Some, in fact, are smitten
by more rhythmic sound."
Still you are contentious -
"Publishers don't want - "
" - Verse so unpretentious?"
I can't help but taunt.
"Verses so sophomoric!",
you brashly reply -
and brazenly euphoric
I punch you in the eye.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, September 10. 2010
Friday 25 March 2011
Wednesday 9 March 2011
Sins of Omission - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Since my last blog mentioned the poem about forgiveness that was the beginning of this new poetic phase in my life, I thought I'd post that poem this week. But before you read the poem I want to explain the title...
I thought a lot about forgiveness after my friend asked if I'd ever written a poem on the topic. I asked myself what I was most sorry for of all the things I've done. I've always been fairly well behaved, never committed any crimes or done anything foolish under the influence of alcohol or drugs. (Which is easy when you never use alcohol or drugs!) This has been a mixed blessing in my life. It doesn't allow me the option of "forgetting" the stupid things I do, but on the flip side, because I do remember what I did (or more likely said) to offend, I almost always have a fairly accurate inkling of what I need to apologize for.
Over the course of my life I've offered up a lot of apologies. Usually they come fairly quickly after the offense - (I possess a healthy conscience) - but there have been occasions when I stewed for a very long time before I said I was sorry. I guess the point I'm trying to make is that I have learned the importance of apologies. I try to atone for my misdeeds. Sometimes I feel a bit like the woman my mother once quoted as saying, "I've eaten crow so often I've started to develop a taste for it!" I can't say I love making apologies, but over time it has gotten easier.
I don't spend much time regretting things I've done. Once the apologies are over I move on. What I really regret though, are those things I should have done. I'm sorry there are people I wasn't kinder to. I rue the times my lack of self-confidence kept me from accomplishing what I could have, and the occasions when I should have shown more affection, or been more encouraging or understanding with those around me. I regret all the times I didn't follow a sudden urge to "do something nice" - to call a friend who might have craved a listening ear, or offer help to someone in need.
Those "sins of omission" are the things I regret the most - the opportunities I should have taken to try harder, be nicer and do better. I'm convinced that at the end of my life I will feel the most sorrow for the things I didn't do - my sins of omission.
Sins of Omission-by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (Feb.'06)
Forgive
the things I haven't done-
lives I didn't touch
and hearts I have not won.
Forgive
the words I haven't said
to sad and lonely souls
whose hearts I could have fed.
Forgive
the challenges refused-
hours that I've wasted
when talents went unused.
Forgive
the chances that I missed-
hands I should have held,
and cheeks I should have kissed.
Forgive
my fear-filled errant heart-
not for all it's done,
but all it didn't start.
I thought a lot about forgiveness after my friend asked if I'd ever written a poem on the topic. I asked myself what I was most sorry for of all the things I've done. I've always been fairly well behaved, never committed any crimes or done anything foolish under the influence of alcohol or drugs. (Which is easy when you never use alcohol or drugs!) This has been a mixed blessing in my life. It doesn't allow me the option of "forgetting" the stupid things I do, but on the flip side, because I do remember what I did (or more likely said) to offend, I almost always have a fairly accurate inkling of what I need to apologize for.
Over the course of my life I've offered up a lot of apologies. Usually they come fairly quickly after the offense - (I possess a healthy conscience) - but there have been occasions when I stewed for a very long time before I said I was sorry. I guess the point I'm trying to make is that I have learned the importance of apologies. I try to atone for my misdeeds. Sometimes I feel a bit like the woman my mother once quoted as saying, "I've eaten crow so often I've started to develop a taste for it!" I can't say I love making apologies, but over time it has gotten easier.
I don't spend much time regretting things I've done. Once the apologies are over I move on. What I really regret though, are those things I should have done. I'm sorry there are people I wasn't kinder to. I rue the times my lack of self-confidence kept me from accomplishing what I could have, and the occasions when I should have shown more affection, or been more encouraging or understanding with those around me. I regret all the times I didn't follow a sudden urge to "do something nice" - to call a friend who might have craved a listening ear, or offer help to someone in need.
Those "sins of omission" are the things I regret the most - the opportunities I should have taken to try harder, be nicer and do better. I'm convinced that at the end of my life I will feel the most sorrow for the things I didn't do - my sins of omission.
Sins of Omission-by Sharon Flood Kasenberg (Feb.'06)
Forgive
the things I haven't done-
lives I didn't touch
and hearts I have not won.
Forgive
the words I haven't said
to sad and lonely souls
whose hearts I could have fed.
Forgive
the challenges refused-
hours that I've wasted
when talents went unused.
Forgive
the chances that I missed-
hands I should have held,
and cheeks I should have kissed.
Forgive
my fear-filled errant heart-
not for all it's done,
but all it didn't start.
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