Ooh. What a way to start off a post–the lamest joke in the book for a title. I apologize.
In the realm of writing, poetry is definitely not my forte. My rhyming poetry usually comes out only a few steps above “Roses are red/Violets are blue.” Take last year’s Christmas poem, in which I resorted to rhyming “Dickens” with “chickens.” It nears the epitome of a literary train wreck. If my rhyming poetry is lilting and childish, then my free-form poetry sounds like Harry Potter banging his head against the wall and saying “Angst!” repeatedly.
(The reader would be interested to know that I just wasted about half an hour re-watching all of the Harry Potter Puppet Pals videos when I went to look up the one to which I made a reference above.)
Here’s a sample of said “Angst Poetry.” I called it “Metamorphosis II” and it took me about ten minutes to write.
Let me tell you a story about a caterpillar.
It was really quite ugly
and it hated itself as much as everyone else hated it.
Then one day it decided it was going to kill itself
So it wrapped itself up
And hung itself from a twig
And waited oh
At length the wrappings
Encasing the caterpillar in its own wretchedness
Fell away, and a beautiful butterfly was revealed.
Everyone loved it
For its talent
The butterfly was happy. It was glad to leave its caterpillar self behind.
that was over.
It was content.
Then another change came over the butterfly
It wanted to be
It couldn’t find itself
Underneath all the flash
It was lost.
It wanted to change itself back.
So it wrapped itself up again
And hung back up from a different twig
Where the remains of the last time
Were still visible.
It waited for weeks.
The wrappings fell away
And the butterfly tumbled out.
It hadn’t changed back into a caterpillar
It wasn’t the same.
It was weak.
It was avoided by everyone else
But it felt right.
This is who I am
Said the ruined butterfly.
It’s better than before
And better than the start
Even if I’m crumpled
This is me.
And maybe a ruined thing can find a way to be beautiful, too.
The butterfly was wrong.
It died within the hour.
Ahem. So, even though poetry isn’t a strength of mine at the moment, I’d like to try to add it to my repertoire as a writer. Prose is all well and good, but poetry is a different kind of expression, and it fascinates me.
Are any of you poets? As for the prose writers, do you dabble in poetry as well? What are your thoughts on poetry vs. prose?