every breath a bead in an endless strand
"I'm not sure about all this, but I'm starting to get the hang of it."
LITTLE GIDDING (No. 4 of 'Four Quartets') T.S....
The Wasteland -- T.S. Eliot <!-- end head...
"Cold Poem"Cold now.Close to the edge. Almostunbea...
About.com Robert PinskyRobert Pinsky’s The Sounds ...
: "A PRAYER FOR OLD AGEA PRAYER FOR OLD AGEGOD gua...
PERHAPS THE WORLD ENDS HEREThe world begins at a k...
Unwritten rules abound in Poetry.
This thing is only what we make of it.
While every writer struggles to break free
From Rules, we also try to make thoughts fit
Conventions of language for others sake
So they can understand what we have said
Since we all know that rules were made to break
And some rules, broken leave us dead,
We gently step around the past poets
Forms and fancies to forge our own language.
In our efforts to do this we forget
Our duty: to the readers thoughts engage.
While off rhyme or weak meter, we can ignore…
Our job is certainly never to bore.