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being nessasary

a quirky look into being

Poetry.

Did visual echoes of your old English teacher shoot up your spine?  The painful angle you must bend your neck to even contemplate what the hell the Tennyson is trying to say?  Why must you understand meter?  What the hell is an iamb? a trochee? Do you shiver thinking about literary terms?  SIMILE! METAPHOR! ALLITERATION! PERSONIFICATION! BAAH HA HA HAHAHHAAHA!!!

Poetry has been mis-taught.

You should really give it a chance.

You were trained to see

words written

like this require you

to slow to the down,

seek the deep.

You really do not have to.

You can take my words

for what they are.

Just read what you see,

take my strange spacing as insanity.

you could look for the bottom,

you may find seaweed or stone.

you could shrug at this silliness

and leave it alone.

Sure, some poetry

is like the other gender.

Foreign and puzzling,

A planet in-between.

Perhaps Frost has one

traveled path

and Thomas’ time

doesn’t let you play.

Wordsworth.  His daffodils

do not let you wander your way,

The words wear

your terror.  Read this

as a paragraph.  Read this

out loud.  Hear

what you fear.

When you want suggestions as to who to read, let me know!

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