A poem--I think?

[SummerSolstice]

About going running in winter. The beginning and concluding lines are not entirely ironic... I'm actually not sure if this is a poem. Does it really "count" if all you do is write prose broken up into lines? I think I might try to apply a meter to this... I don't know. I'd appreciate your tips... also help with a title.


I can not write a poem about this.
I try every time I come out here,
Stretch my quads and give my shoes an extra knot.
The words are in front of me, and I chase after them.
How to describe the leafless branches stretching cloudward?
They are like nothing as much as bony arms,
But that's been said before. One reaching out
Over the trail bends subtly near the end,
Before growing long with fingers,
Like a woman holding out her hand to be kissed.
The washed-out green of the patchy grass,
And the blue of the cloudy sky,
Look bright against the gray of everything else--
Like a black-and-white photograph dabbed with watercolors.
That's almost a poem.

How do I explain the sensation
Of freezing with the cold of winter
And burning with the heat of exertion in the same body?
Or of being dizzy from hyperventilation
And oxygen starvation at the same time?
My lungs explode and collapse a hundred times a minute.
What are the words that can convey the feeling
Of wind-chapped cheeks and thighs and teeth?
My leaky bottle drools gatorade on my pants leg,
And the skin beneath stiffens with cold.
I wipe my nose on a cotton gardening glove.
Noises of sloshing bottle, wind, traffic, shoes,
Form a border around silence.
Not silence--is it? Loneliness. Aloneness.
But it is silent, too... What word do I chase?
Does it even exist?

Where is the poetry in this?
I know it is there, because I catch it
in the corners of my vision.
The branches are not bony arms,
the landscape is not a painting. It is something else.
Do not wait for me to tell you what.
Bring Frost, Longfellow, Poe. Put them in my body,
Let them tell you what it's like.
I can not write a poem about this.

[Pendragon]

Seems beautiful to me! I've seen stuff by established poets that made far less sense and had less of poetic meter! ... http://www.cosgan.de/images/midi/froehlich/k015.gif

[jon1jt]

this poem is really terrific, wow! and what an ending--so matter of fact, resolved, complete, and yet enigmatic. and i agree with pendr above - too many lines to list, but i see a lot of talent here.

loved these lines esp---
How to describe the leafless branches stretching cloudward?
They are like nothing as much as bony arms

thanks for sharing!

[SummerSolstice]

I've been away for a while so I haven't had a chance to reply... anyway, thanks, Pend and Jon, for your kind words! I do feel like I want to hack at it somehow, work on it and make it presentable. I know how to do that for prose writing, but poetry stumps me. Maybe I'll repost this poem after I take my poetry class next semester! :D

[Arania]

Wow, you have a gift for writing. This is very beautiful.

[ktd222]

I'm actually not sure if this is a poem. Does it really "count" if all you do is write prose broken up into lines? I think I might try to apply a meter to this... I don't know. I'd appreciate your tips... also help with a title.

Sure it could still be poetry. Line breaks are not only a function of meter. There are many uses for line breaks such as word emphasis, enjambment, etc, it all depends on what your function of using the line breaks are for.

[ktd222]

By the way, I like your poem.;) Poetry is not about explaining at all, but about drawing the reader in to experience what you'd felt. I think your definitely on your way to being a great poet:thumbs_up

[Dr Eep]

I truly enjoyed reading this - and as Jon1jt mentioned, I too loved the honesty and down to earth feel to your writing.

I also smiled to myself because I could almost see those creative visions begin to unfold before your eyes through this very beautiful transitional passage of writing - if you don't mind, I'd like to share it as I experienced it,
SummerSoltice wrote;

The words are in front of me, and I chase after them.
How to describe the leafless branches stretching cloudward?
They are like nothing as much as bony arms,
But that's been said before.

Here - the honesty of your searching for the right words is very compelling - as if your saying to your brain - c'mon - give me some magic and you know what - it does respond magically. It's as if it suddenly gives you this vision as it flows and begins to free asociate and connect images because this is what follows;

One reaching out
Over the trail bends subtly near the end,
Before growing long with fingers,
Like a woman holding out her hand to be kissed.

Absolutely beautiful - getting started is daunting for all of us but trust your creativity and it'll flow just like it did there!!

Thanks for sharing a great poem!!

[dramasnot6]

About going running in winter. The beginning and concluding lines are not entirely ironic... I'm actually not sure if this is a poem. Does it really "count" if all you do is write prose broken up into lines? I think I might try to apply a meter to this... I don't know. I'd appreciate your tips... also help with a title.


I can not write a poem about this.
I try every time I come out here,
Stretch my quads and give my shoes an extra knot.
The words are in front of me, and I chase after them.
How to describe the leafless branches stretching cloudward?
They are like nothing as much as bony arms,
But that's been said before. One reaching out
Over the trail bends subtly near the end,
Before growing long with fingers,
Like a woman holding out her hand to be kissed.
The washed-out green of the patchy grass,
And the blue of the cloudy sky,
Look bright against the gray of everything else--
Like a black-and-white photograph dabbed with watercolors.
That's almost a poem.

How do I explain the sensation
Of freezing with the cold of winter
And burning with the heat of exertion in the same body?
Or of being dizzy from hyperventilation
And oxygen starvation at the same time?
My lungs explode and collapse a hundred times a minute.
What are the words that can convey the feeling
Of wind-chapped cheeks and thighs and teeth?
My leaky bottle drools gatorade on my pants leg,
And the skin beneath stiffens with cold.
I wipe my nose on a cotton gardening glove.
Noises of sloshing bottle, wind, traffic, shoes,
Form a border around silence.
Not silence--is it? Loneliness. Aloneness.
But it is silent, too... What word do I chase?
Does it even exist?

Where is the poetry in this?
I know it is there, because I catch it
in the corners of my vision.
The branches are not bony arms,
the landscape is not a painting. It is something else.
Do not wait for me to tell you what.
Bring Frost, Longfellow, Poe. Put them in my body,
Let them tell you what it's like.
I can not write a poem about this.


I absolutely love it! I am a runner too, and my favorite season to run in is winter! Something about your energy competing with the chilly air for control makes for an amazing high. I have not thought of a way to describe it until this poem, well done!!!!:D :D :D

[SummerSolstice]

Aww... thank you guys! I didn't think there'd be anything more to this topic... I was just browsing around and was surprised to see all the replies! O_O

Dr. Eep, that's exactly it. Only without the magic actually appearing--or so I thought, I guess! I know there's something beautiful to say about what I feel and see, but I'm just not smart enough to say it, like stretching for something you're not quite tall enough to reach. It's frustrating, but I guess it turned out better than I supposed. ^_^

[Matsiah]

[QUOTE=SummerSolstice;302994]About going running in winter. The beginning and concluding lines are not entirely ironic... I'm actually not sure if this is a poem. Does it really "count" if all you do is write prose broken up into lines? I think I might try to apply a meter to this... I don't know. I'd appreciate your tips... also help with a title.

Hey bro,


I'm new to this wondrous, and yet, still spectacular establishment. By establishment I'm mean website, of course; however, I'm a quite familiar to forums such as this. Anyway, we must push forth to more pressing matters. Allow me to begin by saying, though I claim to possess knowledge, my knowledge is incapable if any proving methods or checks of credibility. Now knowing that, if your wanting to accept that which I have to say, read all that lies herein: I definitely believe that this is some form of poetry - quite possibly free-verse - and I almost want to acknowledge a recognition between the style, and the style in which Stephen King writes poetry; moreover, know that Stephen King isn't known for his poetry. I enjoyed it... Thanks for the post.

Postscript: I too have a bottled up inquiry: Might 'ye consider the reserving of all rights on that which I've written and choose to post, to be slightly drastic? A bit 'o cautiousness hadn't ever hurt anybody... Correct? Also, I'm in dire need of a 'Work Load Reduction' to reduce the tremendous strain that is being placed upon my feeble little wrists. I wonder, might there be some sore of wrist strap - as is with bowling - for use when typing. My wrists are seriously deteriorating; I curse my dad and mom - both of whom are decently sized in stature; yet they couldn't pass the genes my way - for bestowing such fragile physical characteristics within my encoding of DNA! I suppose it would help if I abridged my posts to the information of pure necessity. Auf Wiedersehen = Goodbye

[Triskele]

also,

meter, rhyming scheme and stuff like that aren't essential for a piece of writing to be a poem, they just help sometimes with the flow of the piece, my favorite style is freeverse, which has none of these characteristics and so becomes all about the words.

[Matsiah]

First I'd like to note that the poem herein was written some unknown while ago; furthermore, omission of revision was both incidental and accidental. Alright, now I'll show my jumpy self to all when:


I hereby reserve all rights to all herein:

To fit in the groove one must take shape,
To be the 'in' one must sit and merely grin,
The problem is I run sin,
It is where I have been that is what I shall be,
There is much that some might not perceive,
Though thier claims to know seem true,
One shall not judge thee,
None shall judge thee,
I'm me,
I'll do what I say, I'll do it my way,
Astute actions are acute,
If your a tree then I'm the root.. I'm able,
I'm stable,
Your dazed,
I see through that haze and into your brain,
Inner of your mind is like every other kind,
Sui Generis, I'm barest of.. of feel,
One should know my claims are real,
Incapable of feel I'm like a demon,
When water striketh thy skin it steams,
I'm hot with the fueled fury that consumes all,
Incapable of fall because I've fallen,
Consume experience and harness,
This is me, I'm free from thee,
Though desire for that which I can not have is all that is me,
I guess I can't expect all to come freely.



P.s. I'm new to this site; though, if I begin to post examples of my various works, - be it poetry, short story, other - you can expect a belligerent style from me. Just thought I'd cast forewarning to all who might take fright from the sight of dominance within write. This here is actually one of my more settle 'poems' or 'rhymes', whichever One prefers...

[Matsiah]

Not that anyone will buy it!

[Triskele]

i think that some of the best poetry just gathers dust in some everyday folder.

[Matsiah]

I have but one suggestion to the person who's thread I suddenly realized I invaded with mediocre writing.... Perhaps when describing the leafless branches that stretch downward should be describes as stretched groundward? Just a simple revision that - Least I think - sounds pretty good and basically merges with your already written word's syllables nearly exact. I will absolutely, completely understand and cope neatly if you deny this as a suitable revision in your final draft, however, it does cause thought -doesn't it? Downward is to groundward as upward is to sky high... I don't know cause, I just pictured it as that but hmm... an example for my own satisfaction; while attempting to exercise the use of the term 'sky high': Her feebly frail yet upright and frizzy hair looked lively with it's old and split tips pointing sky high.
Not bad of auf dem kopf eh? Oh excuse my obliviousness...only joking; however, (auf dem Kopf) is something like: Off the top of my head. Here I go again ranting... soon I'll be panting, and then sweating... before long, disrobing... then slowly but surely I'm probing sweat pores, simply to release scores of sweat that's stashed and packed back within several hundredfold plus many o more of them deep pore soars.

[Matsiah]

Ah yes, I agree. I've read of published authors who've written several works and sold nearly - if not more than - twenty or even thirty years down the road. IMAGINE THAT! Oh! I a fiend for that dream of publication... Be it novel or novella, I don't care, I just wanna sell ya! For the readers of course, not to mention my name's set bold against a single page of history. Think, page is to fraction of book as book is to fraction of history - A book being, merely one page. I'm really outta it today; that's why I keep missing your comments. Aside from my sporadic spackle of nonsense that derives from the extremely fatigued condition of my mind, I agree completely.

[Matsiah]

I'm done lurking the shadows of this thread... off to the next, I guess. I'll go check out the posted short story's and take note of various plotting skills and whatever...