Poetry:
Falling...
Flailing...
Shadows dance about leathery wisps.
Prose:
That’s right, folks. Today we’re investigating the difference between prose and poetry. What is it exactly that makes something a poem, and something else a piece of prose?
Poetry:
Questions plunk the backs of our necks..
Plunk!
...like chestnuts at a sun-weathered fair, asking... asking... and I cry out!
Prose:
Right. Well, anyway, there are several ways to go about drawing the distinction. One way is simply to ask oneself – what is it about these words that the writer is trying to emphasize? Is it the meaning behind the words, the information the words are trying to convey? Or is it the direct emotional response of the reader to the words?
Poetry:
Feeling
Asking
Turning
Twisting
Melding and mixing, it joins
We join
And blur, and everything spins, and the one looks like the other, and
we press the “Enter” key
over
and
over
and also “Tab.” Poetry.
Prose:
As my friend is trying to say, over time the line between prose and poetry has become less distinct. Rhyme and meter have gone out of fashion somewhat, and there are many published poems that would look like prose with fewer carriage returns and line feeds. Poetry has become more and more experimental, becoming everything for everyone until it means nothing. Eventually, poetry may define itself out of existence.
Poetry:
Eventually, poetry may define itself out of existence.
Prose:
That’s not funny.
Poetry:
That’s not funny.
Prose:
That’s seriously annoying!
Poetry:
That’s seriously annoying!
Prose:
My classification as literature is questionable.
Poetry:
Shattering of glass, and the splinters glisten in the rays of the torch.
Prose:
Oh, shut up. You’re so full of yourself. You’re like that other guy we were talking to the other day... “Art.” He had no clue who he was. The most nebulous and amorphous person I’ve ever met. Why can’t you just settle for some convention and make life a little bit simpler? You can’t be poetry just because you want to be! You have your place and I have mine. I am prose! I am unique, and I have a purpose and nobility that you could never hope to achieve!
Poetry:
Today I listen, and reach out into the writhing foam, hands caressed by thoughtful inquiry. And I grasp at nothing, and it falls into the abyss, slipping out of my hands like urine, gritty and warm. And I see prose before me, wagging a finger at my use of conjunctions, and I see with narrowed eyes. And I move towards prose, and I caress him, and take myself into him!
Prose! Come to me!
I shall take thee within me, hold thee within my forever embrace!
Prose:
Okay, this is getting just a little bit
kinky. Stop that! I had no intention of putting a carriage
return there. STOP THAT! I said
STOP
that.
Do you think you’re making some kind of point, you pretentious hyper-emotional piece o
f...
I’m trying to communicate something clearly here. I don’t want your “forever embrace,” and, while I’m at it, I don’t think anyone has a clue what you’re saying. I don’t think you’re saying
any
thing
at all.
You’re just playing around and expecting people to approve and unless you stop I’m going to gaze into the shadows and... **gasp** “Gaze into the shadows?”
What have you done to me? I’m... I’m... losing c o h e r e n c e
The words are just coming and they don’t mean anything and they spring like daisy-guns as gazelles in the desert and vibrant indistinctive choleric if asymmetrical fecal desires violation cried down ever e’er sh astrymdnvwpoasvnrkslgfn62azxcvpoiupozxivu poiwpowev.nr,emnvgxfuovndagpoiwqpwlvasdnlv;kwasdfoweinawegfon aprngowergnponqerogneorgnqrognoeringg..........................................
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