When dangling fifty two meters off the ground, the people below look like ants. The ants, I imagine, look like snowmen.
I don’t think the drugs have worn off yet.
When dangling fifty two meters off the ground, the people below look like ants. The ants, I imagine, look like snowmen.
I don’t think the drugs have worn off yet.
Let’s say your sink has exploded, your significant other is more significant with others, your pet is sick, the roof is on fire but not in a fun/party way, you’ve been told off by people you respect, your job is a soul-draining vampire that has clamped down on your neck and won’t let go, you are frustrated, mad, and sad.
But you still have to write.
Most people are not taught how to read poetry. Sure, everyone gets required reading in school, but what is an average 14 year going to make of e. e. cummings’ “r-p-o-p-h-e-s-s-a-g-r” while waiting for the class to end?
When writing poems, one should avoid all forms of clichés. However, sometimes the form itself can be a cliché.
Take Victorian poetry (and keep it.)
I have rambled on about what poetry is, isn’t, and what it should be. But I have never gotten around to talking about how to write it or how to become a poet.
I am going to try to take care of that with as little crying as possible.
Please note: I did not say that there would be no crying.