I have used the term "fractured prose" before now to describe some of the so-called modern poetry out there.....and so it is!
I must also add a big BUT to the above as there are real poets out there who can and do write magnificent soaring poetry that is blank verse. Most of this poetry takes flight when you read it aloud as the sound and timbre of the words elevate and colour the author's thoughts, taking the reader on the intended journey.
I have experimented with the concept of free-flowing verse myself and include below some humble examples of mine.
Please enjoy!
Broken Essays - Liquid Wisdom
Alcohol, that's the secret, alcohol.
Sterilizes anything, kills the bugs,
Fixes the stomach, corrects
Your vision of the world. It is
The Bringer of Truth.
The Liquid Illuminator. Ha!
You remember when you first
Got drunk?
Whoa! Steady on! How the world turned!
In fact you couldn't quite grasp
How it all turned so rapidly
Around you while you were
Standing so still!
There's wisdom there if you could
Just reach out and grasp it.
But the world is spinning too damn fast!
Broken Essays - Seaweed
In the dark,
Upon my bed,
Between the conciousness of day
And the drifting wooly black of sleep,
The ebb and flow of childhood memories
Crashes and foams upon Imagination's sand.
What beach is this?
A stranger's place now I've moved on.
The grass-topped dunes wail loudly in the wind.
The hills of sand flail my naked legs,
A punishment for running down their faces.
I thump to a jolting stop on the
Hard-packed sand at water's edge.
Breathe the ozone!
The salt spray stings my squinting eyes.
The wet and pungent odour of ageing
Seaweed fills my lungs, embraces me.
The rolling roar of boiling surf fills my head,
And then recedes.
The dark has come.
I turn upon my side and fall asleep.
© Kim Randell
- and finally a composite which has rhyme, rhythm and free verse mixed together....
YOU ASK SO MUCH
(or The Laureate's Lament)
You beg of me some imagery,
Sweet pictures of my thoughts?
Some words that brush a scene
In living colour that cavorts
Across the canvass of your soul,
To carry you to pleasant rest
In quiet bliss on some enchanted knoll?
The great gallery of artwork
That fills hallways of my mind
Most times defies my tongue,
So leaving listeners blind
To all those views I have within
That might enrapture or enthral,
Or drown in dark far deeper than old sin.
Most words are just poor colours
When you want to paint a scene
Of some majestic thought,
Or sweet dreams that glow serene.
But I'll still put pen to paper,
Crafting poems as best I may,
Some sugar in the vinegar of truth.
© Kim Randell
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