This is how you write a poem;
First; forget everything
You ever learnt about poems,
Such knowledge should be reserved
For the minds of critics, and
Professors in dusty halls
Of universities, where
They are dissected and re-
Constructed against their will.
Second; embroil yourself in
Love; it is the only thing
That poetry is born from.
Even the saddest songs, and
Most bitter lines, are fueled
By what we once loved. Loss is
Just a love that has been lost
And anger; a love scorned. All
your words will be born this way.
Thirdly; find a quiet spot;
It doesn't matter much where
As long as it brings comfort,
Be it an old desk in a
Darkened room, or a field of
tall Sunflowers or bluebells,
Or the last place you saw a
Loved one, before fate swept them
Away to distant valleys.
Next you must make a promise to
Yourself to be brutally
Honest. Only the truth must
Be written here. There is no
Room for flowery words that
Must be thought over to much.
If it is true it will be
Beautiful, and your pen strokes
Will guide you towards greatness.
Finally, you must hold your
Writing implement of choice
As if it were the most loved
Of possesions, or mighty
Of weapons, or a child's hand.
I cannot tell you which
But you will undoubtedly
Know which when the time comes. It
Will strike you as obvious.
Upon following these steps
You will have become a
poet. From now on there
Is no turning back. It will
Consume you, and thoughts will take
You by surprise in lover's
Embraces, in sudden deaths,
Bird songs, and the words of of those
You once thought to be strangers.
Each word will be a gift to
The world, whilst remaining un-
doubtedly yours to own.
Use your power wisely.
Remember; without love
Your poems will start to
Fall into disrepair
And, without them you will
Lose your capacity to care.
I wish you well.
I wish you poetry.
I wish you love.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
This is how you write a poem;
First; forget everything
You ever learnt about poems,
Such knowledge should be reserved
For the minds of critics, and
Professors in dusty halls
Of universities, where
They are dissected and re-
Constructed against their will.
Second; embroil yourself in
Love; it is the only thing
That poetry is born from.
Even the saddest songs, and
Most bitter lines, are fueled
By what we once loved. Loss is
Just a love that has been lost
And anger; a love scorned. All
your words will be born this way.
Thirdly; find a quiet spot;
It doesn't matter much where
As long as it brings comfort,
Be it an old desk in a
Darkened room, or a field of
tall Sunflowers or bluebells,
Or the last place you saw a
Loved one, before fate swept them
Away to distant valleys.
Next you must make a promise to
Yourself to be brutally
Honest. Only the truth must
Be written here. There is no
Room for flowery words that
Must be thought over to much.
If it is true it will be
Beautiful, and your pen strokes
Will guide you towards greatness.
Finally, you must hold your
Writing implement of choice
As if it were the most loved
Of possesions, or mighty
Of weapons, or a child's hand.
I cannot tell you which
But you will undoubtedly
Know which when the time comes. It
Will strike you as obvious.
Upon following these steps
You will have become a
poet. From now on there
Is no turning back. It will
Consume you, and thoughts will take
You by surprise in lover's
Embraces, in sudden deaths,
Bird songs, and the words of of those
You once thought to be strangers.
Each word will be a gift to
The world, whilst remaining un-
doubtedly yours to own.
Use your power wisely.
Remember; without love
Your poems will start to
Fall into disrepair
And, without them you will
Lose your capacity to care.
I wish you well.
I wish you poetry.
I wish you love.
I'm planning on giving this one a rewrite, but I rarely get around to doing such things. I'm posting it mostly as a reminder to myself that I set out to do something. There's a good chance it will remain unfinished though.
