Poems are stupid
Poetry is a special literary art. They sound or look pretty.
But they are useless!
Any moment the teacher says, “We’re reading a poem!” thoughts of hate and disgust stir inside my mind.
Such trash where I could care less about the meaning.
So illiterate, so hard to read and enjoy.
The poem that the teacher picked this time was awful.
It was one of those cutesy poems, where the end of each line rhymes, and it’s supposed to be clever.
But there was no story, and if there was, it was a dumb one. Come on, unicorns that eat rainbows and poop butterflies? The worst ideas come from poets.
“Perfect” beat, “flawless” rhymes. How outrageous! Too strict, too limited. Have you ever seen that kind of poem? The whole thing is a brick of text with the occasional crack between stanzas.
That poetry book I received from a teacher should be burned, burned, burned into a crisp until its very existence ceases! The ashes don’t deserve an urn!
Teachers need to stop reading poems to students. They’re pieces of drivel that are only good for frying brains into omelets.
All poems have to be confiscated by the National Guard! All poems need to be wiped off the face of Earth! Poetry should be banned and deleted from the public memory!
Iambic Pentameter #
My strength has left my arms as shallow whims
The void of my soul rejects the source of joy
Which I had treasured more than any gem
The freedom felt since childhood’s breezy days
A time I miss because I knew not hate
Upon myself inflicted such that now
I’ve bound my heart with ethereal shackles
Restraint that rivals the limits of will
False logic whittles motivation down
Before long I will shrivel into a prune
Who only saw itself as worthlessness
Frustration buried under countless flaws
And only ever cared about itself
A selfishness that lacked high esteem
Material possessions and ego
Succeeding nevertheless in ruination
Forgone hope that humans desperately feed
You want to be a poet? #
Can you even explain what poetry is to a 5 year old? A 50 year old? If you can’t do both, then you’re a baby poet yourself.
For pete’s sake, turn off the computer or phone and imagine a world without unlimited spotify. Can you appreciate poetry now? Go take a walk and clear your head. You actually have to remold your brain to pay attention to slow media for once.
What is blank verse? Free verse? Have you studied the basic meters and traditional English formats (or whatever native language)? Can you define what a foot is? Have you even taken a formal poetry class and at least know the basic building blocks? Do you play an instrument or sing? Do you expect to become a musician without learning how to read notes?
Have you seen or watched people perform and narrate a poetry slam and then think it’s boring? Ok, maybe you did. Did you know most comedians started off not funny and they have to work at being funny?
You’re mad because your poems sound too simplistic? Aren’t you writing for fun? Isn’t being bad and cheesy and finishing a poem part of the fun? What’s the point of being “good” if you’ve never been “bad?” Or are you looking for intermediate ways to level up your diction? Do you study normal prose and read lots of books so you can expand your vocab?
Have you ever traced pictures as kids? Which of those kids go on to become painters? Do you know why musicians and lyricists tend to be separate people? If writing good poetry was easy, why, everybody would be a poet!
Are you seriously expecting every poem you write to be gold? Do you think the best artists sh*t gold 24/7? Why do you need to be inspired by other poems? If you ask writers where their ideas come from, they just say “life.” You are alive, right? That’s all the inspiration you need.
I get it, most people find poetry boring without music. You don’t have to enjoy free verse; poetry and music has traditionally been structured because humans like rhyming and consistency.
Anyway here’s a little story. When I was younger I took piano classes. Piano classes went on break in summers. My mom wanted me to learn to play a piece that my sister was able to play at my age. I spent all summer practicing how to play it without an actual instructor to correct me. When my piano lessons resumed in the fall, I played it for my instructor. She gave me a pained expression and said, “I’m sorry to say this, but you played it completely wrong. It’s good that you tried and I don’t want to discount your effort! The piece is too advanced for you, but if you continue to work at it you’ll be able to play it.” Moral of the story is, comparison is the thief of joy and I never want to play piano again. I’m not serious about piano playing; I am not meant to be a pianist. And that’s fine.