When is a poem a poem?

Hi nannieroz - I liked your comment that I could see my grandchildren when I wish - like most grandparents I have to wait for the mums and dads to tell me when I can see them - only fair I guess

Well that's good news falconbird so happy you are able to see your grandchildren when you wish. Your poem nevertheless touched my heart. Keep up the good work.

I have noticed this forum has several talented "artistic" grans. How I wish I was one of them. Maybe now I have plenty time on my hands, I could learn something new.

I did write it, Falconbird. It was originally for the poetry module of my OU course.

It's not written from personal experience nannieroz.

I see my 3 grandchildren reasonably often but I've read all the stories about grandparents who maybe will never see their grandchildren and wrote it for them.

Not Too Old - did you write Priscilla and Drusilla? It's a fun poem.

Ah Falconbird ....... My heart goes out to you

That's very sad, Falconbird, but very lovely. Here's one to cheer us up.

PRISCILLA AND DRUSILLA

Running down the sunny bank, see the children play
Tag and pirates, you-can't-catch-me, all the long bright day
Pick the leaves and smell the roses, find a caterpillar
Two old ladies in the house, Drusilla and Priscilla
Watch the children weave and wheel, play their childhood games
Smile and nod and sometimes wave, never know their names

Rainy days and sunny days, both are just the same
Priscilla and Drusilla nurse their aches and then their pains
Carers come and carers go, some sweet and some so surly
The manager, a Mr Sid, is loud and course and burly
He sees the window on the garden, says its health and safety
Decrees it must be covered up to stop it being draughty

Drusilla and Priscilla with their view of garden gone
Sulk close together muttering, complaining on and on
They ask for knitting wool and needles, scissors and some yarns
Cast on the stitches, rheumy fingers, waiting for their chance
Take up the scissors, quickly snipping, make a hole, now two
Priscilla and Drusilla have at last regained their view.

Lovely Falcon. It sums up the fragility of the thread of contact grandparents have.

Here's one of mine.

Grandchild.

When he was born,
I thought for a second or two
That he was my own.
I loved him more than words can tell.

I helped care for him,
Prepared bottles and cuddled him
I applauded when he took his first steps,
Caught him when he fell.

Then his mother found a new life far away.
Communication lessened, faltered faded.
I try not to text too much, cry too much.
I miss him more than words can tell.

Any more poems by grandparents? I'd love to see them.

Perfect Soutra!

phoenix Why not send it to Mslexia or enter it for a competition? Not that publication makes it any more worthy but it is a nice feeling to see your talents recognised.

A poem is a poem when the language is fine
The images clear even if it don't rhyme.
When it's made up of sentences, even though it all flows
You know that what you reading is prose.

Oh Phoenix you are a brilliant wordsmith - there must be a way of turning your talents into dosh.

Eloethan & jings yes I did, and thank you both!

That's really nice phoenix.

Phoenix Did you write that? It's really poignant.

Thank you, FarNorth !

I thought you were quoting a poem, Phoenix. Very impressed that it's your own work.

Thank you all, I'm

Falconbird , don't mind at all! Flattered and grateful, actually!

It is, Phoenix.

And nfkdumpling that is very clever!

As to ee cummings, I loved his poetry as a teenager. I sort of know the poem off by heart, but was glad I looked that one up as I had a few words wrong and lines omitted.

I didn't like him at first, my childish part wanted rhymes in everything, but his poems are truly beautiful. Now I sometimes write haiku poems just for fun, in my head.

These are usually three lines, the first line 5 syllables long, the second, seven, the third, five. No rhyme needed. The content is usually nature, but latterly love and comedy have become fashionable. I think of it as the forerunner to Twitter by hundreds of years, because you have to convey a picture or feeling in very few words.

So taking Phoenix's lovely poem

Old man strokes old cat,
Peace and warmth is enough for now
In front of the fire

I wonder if a poem is a poem if that is how the writer sees it?

That's quite beautiful, Phoenix.

Poem, prose poem, I just love your work Phoenix.

I love the way you let us see the old man and the old cat "The gnarled hand reaches out to stoke the bony back." It reminded me of the way cats don't show their age very much but do become thinner.

It's lovely as it stands but using as an example the rhyming couplet ending in "knack" and "back" you could tighten the poem up. "Puss and "Caress" is a good half rhyme too.

Hope you don't mind my comments? I used to teach English among other things.

Perhaps the definition of a "poem" could be a personal thing, like art and music.

The discordant (well, to me at least) sounds of some modern jazz are not music, but they are to others. Similarly, what to me seem random daubs of colour on a canvas, might be viewed as art by others.

Just a thought!

In my mind it is - just.

There is a proper pause, a breath at the end of each line.

It has a lilt to it and wonderful imagery too.

So, it could be a poem - just.

(Was that a poem?)

You're welcome, Ariadne ! But, is it a poem? Only one rhyme, does it scan?

Grans, you tell me!