If I call it a prose poem, does that make it an actual prose poem? There aren’t as many rules about what a prose poem needs to have. It’s not like writing a sonnet or a Haiku, where there are definite rules that you have to stick to fairly well, or it is definitely not one of those.
A sonnet that doesn’t rhyme at all, and is thirty lines long is not a sonnet. A Haiku that has 200 syllables and ten lines is not a Haiku. But a Prose Poem … it must be written in prose, where you continue from beginning all the way to the end of the line, and then the next line, to the next, and so on, until you’ve finished … And there have to be certain ‘poetic devices’. I’ve checked out some lists of ‘poetic devices’ and yes, my ‘prose poem’ has some of those happening, not a lot, but some …
How will I know if what I’ve written is a Prose Poem? Well if I, the poet say it is, then it is, that’s how I look at it. It may be a less than perfect one, but so be it. I’ve never claimed to be a great poet, just a good one, and having an attempt at a particular poetic form helps to make me get better at writing in that particular poetry from, from my experience. These days, if I write a Haiku, I know whether or not what I’ve written is any good as a Haiku. I may enjoy what I’ve written, but it might still fail as a Haiku, and that’s fine, as long as I don’t claim it as a Haiku.
So I guess for this discussion to get anywhere, I’d better put my Prose Poem here, so others can have a look and hopefully let me know how I may have done in the writing of a Prose Poem. Comments very welcome, in fact they are needed!
My slippers don’t look like these, but colourful images are nice on a blog post, aren’t they, so here we are …
And here is my Prose Poem, or at least the piece of writing I’m hoping is actually a prose poem … Let me know what you think about it, please, please, please!
Thanks John M …
(a prose poem)
My slippers he says, why not write a poem about slippers. He’s not here when he says it, or I’m not there – one of them – or both, I guess – he says it in words, online, and I read it when he is somewhere else, in another time, we are both time-travellers, wordsmiths travelling from past to future, with only brief moments in time when we are both in the same place, at the same time, talking together in actual spoken words, and sometimes, hugs might happen … They have in the past, and I’m sure will again in the future.
Anyway, back to the slipper. Because he wasn’t there, he didn’t see the way my entire body shuddered, ever so slightly, just a small and brief shudder, like a tiny sneeze that my whole body took part in, not just my nose and upper body. That shudder began on the 28th of September, and has been sitting inside of me, escaping momentarily, then disappearing, then coming back, over and over, unseen and almost unfelt. But it’s there, it may always be there, waiting.
So I write about my slippers, and ignore the thoughts that scurry around in my head, and the small shivers that go from head to toes and up again, slight shivers, that are actually shudders, at my memories both remembered and hidden away. It started with my slippers, my inside slippers. On the day I wore my inside slippers outside. A mistake, I know that now. A painful mistake.
I have written about the results of the mistake, but on searching see the cause of that mistake, the actual reason, or part of it anyway, is not even mentioned in the book of poems I wrote about it all … Why is it so? As a person more famous than I, used to ask. Why is it so? Has my brain closed off to the main cause of it all, to protect some inner part of my psyche? I don’t know. But I am going to open up here, and briefly speak on the subject, the cause, the reason why it was so.
Slippers. Wearing inside slippers outside. Trip, fall (clumsily, painfully, twistedly). Slipper falls off, pain increases, yell for help, it arrives, then more help, ambulance, hospital, pain relief, another ambulance and hospital, repeat – lots of pain relief … Culprit slipper brought inside at some stage, not by me. And so many months later, I am healed, foot no longer too swollen to wear slipper, and healed enough, easily enough (operation a great success) but still not wearing those slippers, not even inside …
Not wearing my outside slippers outside either … Two pairs of slippers, neither pair being worn. And yes, it is Summer now and hotter, some days anyway, but even so … I’ve been wearing something on my feet with my socks when I go outside to do things – boots or runners, but definitely not my slippers, either pair … They, my inside slippers, are still holding onto bits of dried grass, picked up when I fell, and then managed to drag myself a short distance on the back lawn, before I was able to get the wherewithal to call for help. It would be an easy task, now, to bush off that dried grass. Simple. You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But life doesn’t always go like that. Life is, other …
If it was that simple, it would have been done. I would have done it. Wouldn’t I? But I haven’t. Why the heck is THAT so? Laziness is one possibilty, for sure, that and just can’t be bothered, but it won’t be that difficult. Wouldn’t be that difficult … So will I do it, will I go and get those inside slippers that I once wore outside, and paid for my error by breaking my ankle? Will I ever brush off that dead and dried out grass, make my slippers clean again, and wear them? A shudder pretending to be a shiver … No, not yet, I’m not ready for that, not yet. Maybe tomorrow, next week, next year? Or maybe never.
End of story …
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Carolyn Cordon - Creative 