Is it poetry if it rhymes? Is it poetry if it’s popular? Does it have to have a specific form or metre to be confirmed as a bona fide verse?
Yes, no and maybe! There’s a lot of snobbery surrounding poetry, around creativity and the arts in general actually and poetry and art in particular. The idea that popular poems can’t be ‘real’ poetry is given the lie by some of the classics, as well as by the poetry of people like Roger McGrath and Brian Bilston, who also both happen to demonstrate that rhyming verses are verifiably poetry. All early poetry rhymed - though not necessarily with end rhymes. Rhyme and particular stresses were an easy way for people to remember oral tales.
My first attempts at poetry were rhyming and some of the best children’s poetry uses rhyme. It can be engaging, lyrical and memorable. You don’t need to grow out of it either, there are more subtle rhymes than end rhymes to be had in the poetry milieu. Rhyming poetry can be complex, with internal and imperfect rhyme, for example.
I’m not a very clever or sophisticated poet and prefer accessibility for a general audience, to coded references for literary readers, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate and enjoy different types of poetry. That’s part of the point isn’t it? That there are multiple forms within the genre and that they can be employed by different people in different ways to connect with a variety of people. For me, communication and engagement is the keystone of my writing. Would I write poetry if no one was reading it? Yes. I have and I would, but as I get older, being able to get my words ‘out there’ has become increasingly important.
Here are a couple of new poems I’ve been working on over the last few days, whilst prevaricating about some work I need to be editing. They’re still in Draft stages.
Let me know your thoughts in the comments, about creativity, poetry in general, or my poetry in particular.
The Stages of Grief I’m eight poems in, never bothered with the bargaining, headed straight from denial and anger to this lingering malaise that I can’t quite shake. A clichéd cloud hanging over me, turning shades of grey, smudging the blue, colouring life with charcoal shadows hard to erase. I wonder how many verses it will take to write away the pain? Lingua Franca We had no common currency, he was obsessed with sport and money, success measured by a burgeoning bank balance. We would have talked about our rescue dog, had he survived. He always loved animals more than people, certainly more than children.
Really like that second poem. Strong ending - a whole implied backstory in just a line or two. Great stuff!
It's important to read the audience; yes, you have something to tell us, but keep it to a page please guys. I remember one poet who went on and on and on about her mental health. I was willing her to shut up, and she was only half way through. Exhausting.