I remember poetry in junior high and high school. As an honors English student, we were always tasked with the ass-numbing thrill of reading poetry and then forced to write it as well, in its various forms. Sonnets, Haiku, Iambic Pentameter, and on and on. I hated it. I dreaded it. I was not bad at it per se, but I did not enjoy it one bit.
Loathing
Along with reading Shakespeare, which I still can’t stand, I had a long and distinguished list of poetry I loathed reading. Shakespeare was just, for me, difficult to follow, droll, dissertations on old historical issues hammered over and over again, in old English, which is not spoken in the last hundred years, if not longer.
I have often said that reading Shakespeare should be handled at the college level, because it’s cruel to impose his work on inexperienced and young minds that, let’s face it, could not and do not care to direct the difficulties of the ancient language,
Yes, it’s flowery, and yes, it probably, to the person that enjoys his work, makes the experience that much more “thrilling”. But nope, not to me. I had no issue with the Old English for the most part, but the subject matter and the way he wrote are what turned me off.
Proceed with Caution
Oh, and don’t venture to say that out loud in front of a teacher or another writer, because the shaming comes next. I am willing to bet there are many who feel as I do about the Shakespeare torture. As for his plays, I’ll leave that for another post. Suffice it to say, while dramatic, the language is also so difficult to understand and confusing to follow.
So, poetry. I never liked it, as I stated before, and I find it so shocking and surprising that I have been published in that genre, approaching twenty times, and have a collection of books with my work in them nicely decorating my studio office shelves.
My Growing Love
The very first poem I wrote was a challenge I forced myself to write and submit. I saw so many requests for poetry submissions that I said, let me give it a go. No written type of work was going to best me.
My early poetry was banal, simply stated, and juvenile. Each time I was published, I took more risks; I started brushing up on my vocabulary, and it all began improving. I am happy about that. I only hope one day it will be considered exceptional. That being said, I was getting turned down a lot- not unusual- but some of the pieces were well written, and I didn’t see why they were declined.
Discovery
I began going, time and time again, to the magazines’ websites or online pages and found that a vast majority of the poetry was not what is typically considered poetry, in my book.
The poems that were being praised were in prose. Nothing rhymed; there was no beat or measure, and the words were plain and simplistic. While the imagery was, in some cases, excellent, these “poems” were micro or flash fiction, non-fiction, et cetera. When on earth did this happen and why?
I must have missed where Shakespeare wrote his poetry in common language, with no formality or tempo. I never saw the musings of Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, or Edgar Alan Poe in the common spoken language with no attention paid to rhyme.
Oh Where, Oh Where Are for Art Thou, Poetry
So, what has happened to all the lyrical, beautifully and carefully constructed poetry of old? I know prose poetry writers will all shun me, but is it that difficult to methodically write poetry with tempo and rhyming words?
I understand that difficulty. More often than not, I have great difficulty stating a phrase with a beat and a particular rhyme pattern. I do. I have been known to scrap many pieces because suitable words would not come.
I even find it difficult to establish a tempo that remains consistent, but I still go at it and stick to the classical poetic formats. I love them now, which I find amusing, actually.
Even so, with all of this in mind, I decided to give prose poetry a try. And yes, it is so much easier. It can churn out poem after poem in no time. All that is needed are the appropriate line breaks, and my little microfiction, flash non-fiction, or prose poetry is off and running.
I get it. I do. It’s a pain in the rear to write in the old standard format of poetry, but isn’t that why we called it poetry, to begin with?
Old Friend
It is flowery, or morose with dramatic flair. It’s the tension of line after line being fit into a pattern, to tell a story, in a way that is far more interesting than just sentences on a page.
I find that upping my vocabulary to find proper rhyming word selections that fit their corresponding statement is incredibly challenging at times, but when I am finished and I reread and proofread my work, I feel like I have discovered a new part of myself.
I feel like I have expanded my understanding of the world and life in such a beautiful way that I want to write more and more. I feel utterly creative.
Don’t Get Me Wrong
I don’t negate that prose poetry tells a story and with imagery that shoots images into the mind. I have read many that have been amazing, and there is so much talent out there with creative storytelling abilities. I just don’t understand why it is not considered simply prose.
The beauty of conveying a complete story in so few words is so incredibly admirable. Creating a world or scene in depth and concisely is talent. I simply don’t see the difference in prose poetry versus micro, flash, or short writing.
That said, I don’t get the disdain for traditional poetic expression from publishers and other writers.
I will have to ask a publisher of one of my prose attempts, should I have the good fortune to have a piece of work published, or ask a professor why and how the genre has changed. Until then, I’ll ponder it more.
Please do not be insulted if you write poetry in prose form. I do not discount your talents or the style of the work. I just would love to know the whys.
All written work is valuable and, historically speaking, will tell and demonstrate to future generations who we are as a culture and the climate of society here in our time, so it should by no means be dismissed.
Keep on, keeping on. The sharing of our lives and souls is beautiful in all forms, and I appreciate the souls who write and put their hearts onto paper or screen.
(Published on Medium, December 2025)
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