I think I need this now. I'm in.

I sign up here- I said yes to this, I hollered, as stan put it.

"acts of transmorgrification." "Jocular to change or transform into a different shape, esp a grotesque or bizarre one"
No wonder you are excited with this aim in view stan!!

Ann of Norwegian troll secrets

Gonna be great fun I'm sure
Glad to be a apart.

and
when Stan ,
u have a few freer moments
do read my

We shall meet again

poem
coz we will some day

in those folded happy days of sunlight ,
snow
ruffled with darkness
still all times
warmth we ought to show

Any room for me ?
If so, I'M IN !! I think its something I need !

And perhaps even a bit contentious (fingers crossed)

Is there any set subject you want the prose on, or can I use an old piece of prose that I had written a while back? It is on a two people meeting and seperating at a bar. Let me know.

Thanks, Cat

I just finishing writing my prose. I can't wait to post it. I see that prose is written in a straightforward language with paragraphs indented and poetry in figurative language with stanzas. Traditionally in poetry the first line in the stanza is capitalized with prose all lines are capitalized. Poetry is traditionally written with meter, with more adverbs and adjectives. Whereas prose is mostly written with a narrator.
Novels, srorytelling, newspaper articles etc are written in prose. Poetry can be narrative or not. Poetry is more of a Art form

orm.

The argument about what is prose and what is not is already happening.

Stan, you named eveyone moderators. May I suggest that that makes the moderators role meaningless. You need to choose people whose values and experience you trust and name them moderators.

not sure what you mean here .... prose consists of proper sentences as far as i understand
and poetry does not necessarily capitalise the beginning of every line
cheers
judy

Bring on the 21st!

Let's really talk about the very big difference, the gulf between a black hole and a supernova, the difference between prose and poetry!

I have prepared a piece of prose which takes as it subject the difference between these two forms of human expression, I hope this fits the bill stan?

Ann.

I took mine from a true story, about an old friend of mine. I woke up with the story in my head this morning. So I wrote it down in four paragraphs of five lines each. I tried to keep it factual. Can hardly wait to post it.

always, Cat

Is Anni not with us stan?
she said something about this theme lately:- In a quote from a comment to Jess
" I really need to get more knowledgable about the study of poetry, I am not even so clear as to what is prose (is prose so bad, I thought I understood the difference & enjoyed prose, or is it less desirable here at Neopoet?) & could use a brush-up on poetry structure & terminology in general. "

? Ann.

I wrote my prose about the moon. They way I wrote it, it may read like a list of full sentences. Maybe that how it should read huhhhh. Lol if not I'm sure Judyann will point it out. :-)

I have four paragraphs. All four talk about the moon affect on a particular subject in each paragraphs, for example his it affects the ocean and its inhabitants.

I'll have to settle and write my prose. My question, does it have to be interesting, stimulating, or it can be plain dull prose?

OK so I'm getting that basically a prose is a story told in plain sentences . no greatly appreciated adjectives used .. just telling what happened as quickly an efficiently as possible .. right?

There has been a fair amount of discussion in threads lately about whether poems are poetry or poetic prose and what the difference is. I know many of us would be interested in and benefit from exploring this gray area.

Yay, room for one more... Ok for me to join this one Stan? I'll pm you just in case... Sounds great!

Anni

You will I am sure be more than welcome, your input here will be good.

It looks as though you already write about the two aspects of literature, so I'll send some of mine:-

From the web I like this don't you? :-
"When you write in prose, you cook the rice. When you write poetry, you turn rice into rice wine. Cooked rice doesn't change its shape, but rice wine changes both in quality and shape. Cooked rice makes one full so one can live out one's life span . . . wine, on the other hand, makes one drunk, makes the sad happy, and the happy sad. Its effect is sublimely beyond explanation." - Wu Qiao

Nordic cloud:-
Hope you forgive the length?
POETRY OR PROSE WORKSHOP M. Ann Waddicor 17th April 2012.

Mans idea in the first place of creating two collections of letters denoting the words poetry and prose in the first place, are only like any other theory of science or metaphysics-religions not absolutes; we tend, as human beings, to fix or immortalise our ideas that spring from our nature, our existence, and call it sacrosanct, when they are not anything more than our current manner of describing what life is. 

For a poem to be a poem, we say it is shorter than prose; and yet, when Shakespeare tackles rhyme and gives us tomes to express one story, it is of the longest type of poetry.

What we really mean is, does it have the elements of elevated thought made saturated into an essence of meaning, something like a potent poison or elixir that touches, or strikes a chord of great recognition, or disgust, in a flash of lightening, or a smooth soft ride on the surface of a mirror that, like a lake, has hidden depths.

We want something beyond reality, and at the same time using the palette of reality, with all its brilliant and subtle colours to awake our awareness of man, of nature, of our existence, our birth and death, our needs, desires, and desperation, all expressed in a poem reduced to a readable length, synthesised experiences spelled out in what can be called, a work of art.

Where Prose can spread its wings and explore the whole in a more leisurely manner, and although occasionally reaching the rich pinnacles of lofty poetry, is aimed at giving us a plot that has time stretched out, to be more like our lives, containing mundane expressions of scenes and happenings that in poetry would be boring, but in prose keeping us in the picture with narrative, and containing so many aspects of human communication, that as a poem, it would be a cumbersome tome indeed; as the difference between the succinct detailed beautiful little water colour paintings of Jules Bissier, and the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel differ in expression, the one immediately grasped visually, where the other takes our making an effort to see the whole.

The extremes in poetry itself are the grand epics, like the plays of Shakespeare, or Dante, compared to the Japanese haiku, that can be expressed in the fewest words each making a whole story in each its own manner.

A word alone can be a poem, as it awakes our experiences that heighten our perception of it.

Many words tumbling through out minds in excited rhythm can tear is from where we are, into a vortex of dream - like richness that, as the dance of a leaf leaving the tree performs, meeting every element of experience sharpened to an image, apparent and intense, and all this is created in our mind's eye, touching our whole being mentally and physically, caused by these extraordinary, ordinary tools called words; groups of letters juxtaposed, sound patterns, all joining the cacophony of man's philosophical and scientific musings on what life is all about.
_______________

My letters through the years have been what I call prose and yet those receiving my letters described them as poetry. It wasn't until I decided to write some poetry needing one or two(!) from myself in an anthology of my families poems, that I began in earnest to write what is called poetry. These took the form of the traditional manner of writing what is recognised by all as poetry. eg

The rhyme those little patterns of sound we are first introduced to as children in nursery rhymes. These trigger off the enjoyment of music dance sound patterns in the child, ever loving rhythm from all natural movement. They create their own rhyme patterns, sometimes repeating them ad infinitum, becoming a drone, a continuum, that can be annoying to adults but to the meditating guru a blessing.
All around us are these sound patterns in nature with for instance the birds in man's creations in the machine not to mention the gossiping neighbours!!
a
All this entertains taints and disgusts us, we know then that we are alive, we object, we cry we laugh we create poems in the same manner enjoying the fact that we as individuals as a society have a voice take part.
_________

The word Poetry immediately conjures up in the mind something made beautiful, made more real than real, touching the imagination, picturing the world in rainbow colours, sensitive to nature and man's nature, enhancing all in an aura -like beautiful music. This can be one aspect of it, as there are so many types of poetry describing the whole spectrum of existence. It all depends on the era and fashions of the time in which one lives.

The poetry of the 1800's is sometimes so overloaded with romantic notions, that its dripping sentimentality appals the modern mind. To be whole a poem can have all aspects of the genre, but this all depends on the writer of them, their depth of thought, their insight and understanding, their own freedom from, or binding to, the isms and ideas of man, gods and daemons, ideals coupled with the make up of our individual brains.

End of my writing.
_____________________________________________________________________
From the web:-

NOTES: Prose and poetry writing have different characteristics and approaches.

1. Prose has sentences arranged in paragraphs. The information presented is more pragmatic, many times, than in poetry. Sentences in paragraphs of prose follow each other, one after the other. The first word of each sentence is capitalized. Punctuation for both prose and poetry is the same. The first line of each paragraph is indented. The language of prose is straight forward, with less figurative language than poetry.

2. Poetry has a different form than prose. The appearance of poetry on the page or computer screen is different, unique. Where prose has paragraphs, poetry has stanzas. Where prose has sentences in a paragraph coming one after another, poetry divides into shorter lines, with a phrase or group of words that join together on each line. In traditional poetry, the first word of each line is capitalized. Some modern versions of poetry have only the first word of each sentence capitalized as in prose. Indenting of lines depends on where the writer desires to have indenting. Poetry is created with figurative language such as poetic devices.

And some more I know some don't bother to look at the net sh!
WIK
Poetry (from the Latin poeta, a poet) is a form of literary art in which language is used for its aesthetic and evocative qualities in addition to, or in lieu of, its apparent meaning.

Prose is the most typical form of language. The English word 'prose' is derived from the Latin prōsa, which literally translates as 'straight forward.'
-_______
Poetry
1) the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful imaginative, or elevated thoughts.
2) Literary work in metrical form; verse.
Poetry is language spoken or written according to some pattern of recurrence that emphasises relationships between words on the basis of sound as well as meaning. This pattern is almost always a rhythm or metre (regular pattern of sound units). This pattern may be supplemented by ornamentation such as rhyme or alliteration or both.

Prose
noun
1. the ordinary form of spoken or written language, without metrical structure, as distinguished from poetry or verse.
2. matter-of-fact, commonplace, or dull expression, quality, discourse, etc.
Prose is the form of written language that is not organised according to formal patterns of verse. It may have some sort of rhythm and some devices of repetition and balance, but these are not governed by regularly sustained formal arrangement. The significant unit is the sentence, not the line. Hence it is represented without line breaks in writing.

Love to all always Ann.

demeanour suggests. The whole of that very long piece you posted amounted to pluralism, that whatever anyone believes is true. It makes me cranky.

We are here to work together to find agreeable ways to give critique and write poetry understanding the difference between poetry and prose. It helps no-one to suggest that intent is meaning.

If we work hard at this workshop we will be more clear about the poetic values of our work and how to crit the non-poetic values of others.

By the way, I bet you $3.50 that very few people beside me read your long piece end to end. Most poets have Bipolar and/or ADHD and/or are lazy and don't read long comments. I've proved it over and over again on Neopoet. Cloudthings, Dawningdaytripper and Magics waste most of their words.

Keep your arguments short and succinct.

Most of that Jess is from the net, The beginning bits were
me thinking around the subject, and I don't mind if
no one bothers to read it, I wanted to write it and that's that.

Manipulative- like you when I state things I find I mean what I say,
but no one has to, in any way, agree with what I day, as I said above,
I like to wander round and through things in my own way-that's
my way of enjoying finding out things, things that are in my head
hidden until they get written out.

Otherwise, if I have misunderstood the meaning you give
manipulative in this instance, please elaborate for me.
I am willing to hear, in fact keen to.

Not in the least innocent!!! Ann.

The Fire

Sherry once lived above me in a Duplex apartment
with her boyfriend, Steve, a scoundrel and thief
he brutalized and demeaned her in many ways
all which we heard quite well through our ceiling
when things got bad, she would knock at my door

They were about to move into another building soon
and Sherry asked if she could stay with me instead
My boyfriend at that time was against this so she left
Steve had an enemy whom he had cheated badly
in a bizarre, criminal deal of illicit drugs

One night, at their new place, this enemy found an open window
he climbed in with a full can of gasoline
he splashed it around the living room furniture
then, climbed back out to safety before lighting the fire
they were asleep in their bedroom when their puppy began to howl

Steve and Sherry awoke to a room full of smoke
they made it through the blazing living room and out the door
Sherry went back in to find her puppy, Princess, as Steve ran
later, the firemen found her dead from smoke inhalation
she was two feet from the puppy who had been her only comfort

but not so flowery -sorry

Spring is fragile, easily banished by the south wind. Despite the presage of warmer and sunnier days to come with the welcome northerly breeze of yesterday, a cold, wintry wind blew. Today, when the sun rose from the desert in the east and slowly brightened it, the morning sky would be covered from horizon to horizon with a blanket of multi-coloured fluffy cloud that looks just like wool on a sheep.

On a day like this was going to be, the eastern horizon appears ablaze as the great red ball's first new light is poured into the flock in the sky. The sheep overhead perform a slow kaleidoscope of colours as Earth's special star rises higher and morphs through orange to yellow, by which time the multifaceted reflection of many shades has blended to a milky grey.

The day remains grey. and the cool-cold wind blows continuously. Time slows and an atmosphere of waiting prevails. Even the birds hush. After a premature deepening, and an even greater conflagration in the western clouds than had burned the morning sky, the colours of sunset bring an early dark to an already dull day.

This type of day seems to be the universe's way of helping us to come into summer gently. It is hard to rise from the winter cocoon of home with its warm comfortable clothes, fires and good books. By offering justification every now and then, as outdoor summer approaches, to return to a cosy day inside, she helps us to wean ourselves slowly from the long hours of wrapped-up security.

A sure test of whether a poem is actually prose is to remove the line breaks and format it as paragraphs. It works every time. It may still contain poetic qualities of imagery, but will read as prose. Some poetic qualities un-likely to appear are rhyme, alliteration and regular meter.

Stan do we post our prose in this thread or as a Workshop poem?

the difference between prose and poetry becomes an argument only if the prose is written as poetry
one cannot call full paragraphs and sentences poetry

characteristally poetry used to use a certain amount of rhythm, rhyme and form
free form does not necessarily do so
therefore the problem arises in the use of free form more than anything..
- so what we (i) am trying to discover is when a poem attempted in free form crosses this line and becomes prose.......

lol - if that makes sense
cheers
judy

Ok .. So I just finished one possible prose .. three paragraphs five sentences each .. it's a story I made up of my new friend, the blue monkey, and how we met .. no rhyming no poetry just a story .. is that acceptable ? need guidance to if I'm doing this correctly

I just noticed my names not on the list .. I'm still in, right?

Plain Prose Moon
The moon has been around for eons shining on couples in love, developing waves that washed away sand on the beaches. The moon even kept count of celestial events throughout history. No matter where in the world we live, the moon has a story to tell whether its in nature, man, or beast.

In the beginning God said let there be night and night was formed. With out the moon, night would be no fun. It would be black, bland, and blank. Instead, the moon is brilliant in its glory. Thus its light, millions of light years away, give us poetic inspiration everytime the moon shines.

Sometimes life gets us down, but relaxing in a chair on a deck under the many phases of the moon, soothes the thoughts causing grief. Like a flashlight in a blackout, the moon lights the path of darkness that invades joy and happiness. The moon, myraids of stars, galaxies, and planets out to space was created for our joy here on earth. Think about it, the moon is a ugly black rock when seen from space, but is beautiful in form seen from here where God has his foot stool.

The moon radiating across ocean waters is beauty at its best. Just imagine the sea creatures, coral reefs, whales thousands of years old benefiting from the moon's existence. When I meditate on the beach, watch the moon slowly cross the Atlantic I become mesmeric as the ocean waves takes my troubles out to sea and bring nature to my heart, soul, and mind.

Poetry:-
The burglar eyed the window
where the deed was to be done.
Prose:-
The burglar was a swarthy bloke with black hair and a round ruddy face and he walked with a limp, his clothes were dishevelled and his gait, as he passed along the street, was deliberate and slow as he perused the site where the burglary was to take place.

The day was damp from rain in the night, although the faint sun had begun to colour the park opposite; as the burglar walked along in the same rhythm as the fence palings, he seemed to flicker with them when she looked out of the window through the net curtains.

She didn't know then, that he was a burglar, but becoming curious she opened a crack in the lace and looked hard at him. His swarthy shape draped in an old grey mackintosh looked slightly ominous, he eyed the houses in a particular way, sizing them up, or so it looked to her.

When he suddenly stopped, and was looking straight at her house, she quickly dropped the curtain and stepped back. That face became imprinted on her mind as someone not to speak to, or even to look at.

He had an air of evil, if one can call it that, something mysterious and to be avoided at all costs. He carried a small leather bag over one shoulder which swung from side to side as he lurched in uneven strides, after having stopped, possibly having caught sight of her, he walked more softly, as if coveting a secret and maybe that's exactly what he was doing.

WORKSHOP ENTRY
I met a new friend yesterday. I happened to hear a voice unknown to me and got worried . Listening harder , the sound grew louder . Thinking my problems could get no worse , I grab the camera and go into the bathroom .

A sudden urge came over me to take a picture of myself . When I looked at the result my stomach hit the floor . I couldn't believe my eyes . There , wrapped around my neck , was a small blue monkey !!

Relief swept through me . I thought I had gained another voice . After calming down the monkey and detaching it from my inner ear , we introduced ourselves . Now , I have a new friend .

I think that automatic writing may be more prose than anything.
I do a lot of writing of that type then have to sort out into verse or poetry maybe verse for me, as my poetry is ??able
Your workshop should bring out some wonderful themes to be transposed into poetic form, well I will read with great interest.
Yours Ian.T

I think when somebody writes anything that is meant
to be read or heard by others, it should bring vivid visions along with it .
To be able to close your eyes and watch the story unfold

The little boy was examining closely sections of high voltage multi-core cables and bits of PVC He was sure he could make something out of them. Just something. Not a spaceship or robot, just some indefinable something. His dad made things so he knew he could. So he wasn’t paying attention when the honkas attacked.

Honkas came in three kinds, they all looked like pterodactyls but the little ones he hunted and cooked for food, the medium sized ones were aggressive and tried to eat him. The biggest ones could be tamed and took him to the places where the strange folk lived.

It was the medium sized ones this time. They trapped him in the narrow space between the shed and the fence but were too big to get at him. He just had to wait it out. No problem, he’d done it before. Mum or dad would find him and be cranky at him hiding again, but he would be safe.

so who gets whose?

Hi all, wow so much to read above, I have read much, but not all, but feel I should get on with adding my own bits here... so here they are (then I'll finish reading above... exciting though!!!!

On my perspective on poetry Vs prose...

I think my confession that I would like to be better informed on the subject may have been part of the inspiration for the workshop, if not it doesn't matter, most of you here have seen it I think, since it places my ignorance on the issue crudely in the open. Previously I realise I had a loose understanding that PROSE was a longer, more conversational means of communicating an inspiration. I had read long ago, Shakespeare's work described as generally more prose than poetry, with a little poetry throughout, so that was my vague understanding. Poetry being more likely to rhyme traditionally, though in contemporary forms was completely acceptable not rhyming, but with a style that required more pause and placing of lines than general sentences (the works of Esker, or Kailashana are perfect examples for me of pure poetry, without prose & without rhyme... mostly).

Now after far more thought, my understanding matches the description Jess provides so well articulated above, I couldn't put it better, so please refer to his offering above & know that this describes exactly what I now understand to be the distinctions between poetry & prose...

I will add one more thing I feel is VITAL to bring into this discussion, that this workshop has clarified for me, that I was quite ignorant of before, & that is the fact that people actually assign the term PROSE to every day writing such as conversation, letters (regardless of content) & newspaper articles, therefore it is almost critical to make the distinction between POETIC PROSE & PLAIN PROSE. Obviously there is a huge difference & for the sake of clarity it needs to be officially understood & acknowledged (workshop-wise)... For purposes of poetry, or what people generally expect on Neo for exampe, POETIC PROSE is usually included in the generous topic of poetry... PLAIN Prose is not... Please correct me if this is not the case... So now here is my very plain prose peice....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I will post separately to save confusion.
Cheers
Anni

To birth or not to birth
I put myself through an incredible amount of soul searching about whether to have a child or not (I wanted one, but that wasn’t enough). I was astounded how many people just go ahead and have babies with little thought for anything or anyone but themselves. I wondered if any of them had considered what they might really offer their child, or whether the world really needed another human being. I plunged into parenthood after I had confidently answered the questions I thought most relevant to his wellbeing… Would he know he was completely loved, and would there be a good probability that he would contribute something really worthwhile to this world.

I wish more people would put more thought into the process and consequences of birthing and raising a child. Technically, parenting is a more important undertaking than most university degrees prepare one for. Ethically this would never be proposed and probably shouldn’t be either. But perhaps the ethics and realities of parenting should at least be considered in school?

It could be argued that the creativity so often expressed by artists (including writers) who were trying to work through the childhood complications are a gift to the world also. There will always be aberrations, and happy mistakes, mismatches and adversity. However, if just “a lot more of us” considered our actions in this regard… imagine?

___________________________________________________________

Cheers Anni (Cloudthings)

stan, it would be interesting if we all had the same piece of prose, except of course, the one who wrote it, even then, they would have the same task? Precious has a good unusual one. So have the others, we look forward to the result. Ann.

I can't fight myself any longer !! This is how the story is originally suppose to be told but
edited(GAGGED) my writing to do my best at conforming my thoughts for the workshop.
I hope I don't offend anyone by telling the story as I see it but my tongue hurts from biting it
so here I go

Methodically wandering through my day I suddenly
became aware of an uninvited , unknown voice ringing deep within
my head . I thought my sanity COMPLETELY failed me and
led me down the " well beyond functional " path to crazy . I knew
there was no room for yet another formless voice to take residency
inside ME , my "crazies" wouldn't allow that to happen , so further
investigation was deemed necessary . Grabbing my handy - dandy
camera , I rush frantically into the bathroom .

The over-powering urge to look in the mirror sent
frightening thoughts of Bloody Mary racing through my every
thought . Instead of giving in to the consuming pressure to
look , I took a picture of myself . I enjoy snapping candid
shots of life thru my eyes and happen to be the most entertaining
person I know so alot of these pictures are of moi . I brace myself
for what is to come and finally look .

Briefly , a sigh of relief passes across my lips followed by the
horrifying clarity of what my eyes have just seen . Gratefull for
having proof of an outside owner to this faceless voice, I quickly
turn to review what cannot be true . There , wrapped securely
around my neck , is a small blue monkey and he's whispering sweet
hot stinky breath in my face !! EEEWWWW !!! I try to pry it
loose but then it began trying to burrow into my skull through my
ear !! I want to speak to the manager of this establishment to
inform them of their monkey infestation .

Are we to take their exact words and break them in a way as to create a rhythm which creates poetry? or do we just use their prose idea and turn it into poetry/

if nyones still awake and online that could clarify a few things I could
really use the help .. didn't think of it until sitting down to write it lol

Dick knew where it was going to moment the Akita and his young handler arrived at class. He was confident the dog weighed one hundred twenty pounds while the boy, all of twelve years old, wouldn’t tip the scales at ninety. The mother and her son had wanted a Labrador; daddy wanted a “man’s” dog.
What they got was trouble.
And now, just as he had anticipated, Dick was “hanging” the dog. He had no idea how badly hurt the boy was, but he could hear the sirens in the distance. His attention was solely on his personal stamina. He had seen Bill Koehler, his father, do this several times and all of them ended badly. He knew what was required and faced it with the same stubborn determination his famous father always had.
Without a weapon no man could hope to best the dog and in truth, as angry as he was at the parents who let this happen, he had no desire to harm the animal. The tools he had were all he needed, a choke chain, leash and nerve, as the dog tore into his forearms and chest. He focused on his breathing and his rapidly depleting strength. Should he waver and drop the dog before it passed out, Dick would likely die this night.
At last, after what seemed an eternity holding the Akita as high as possible at the end of a leather leash, the dog faltered. It was suffocating, but not fast enough for Dick when suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder and both dog and Dick were lowered to the ground.
The animal would suffer no ill effects and the man would heal in time, but as soon as Dick could hold his arms above his head again “daddy” would learn just what “hanging a mad dog” is all about.

Hi, Cat after working with your prose & reading another, it occurred to me that the piece I wrote was not only too long (as Stan pointed out), but also probably really difficult to work with because it is of a subject that could be very contentious & possibly even difficult for some, so given that Stan asked me to reduce the length of the sentences, I have also penned a piece of prose, far less based on opinion & easier to play with...

I came to the realisation that when offering something up for purposes such as these, it was better to remove elements of possible personal conflict and abrasiveness... This should be much more fun to adapt to poem, I believe one couldn't argue that it is plain prose, but it very easily lends itself to transformation to poetic prose & then poem state.
______________________________________________________________________________

When I sit on a verandah in the autumn afternoon, watching the leaves glow chrimson or saffron bright in the late, rich sunlight, I wonder what it is that makes our hearts echo that glow so deeply?

Sitting in my back room, writing letters to a friend, long absent, playing “artist in residence” in Korea, I gaze out my big window to get lost in the swaying, shifting mass of gum leaves against the sky. Again, mesmerized and somehow fulfilled and inspired by the interplay of tree and weather.

Perched beneath the weathered stumps of old steps leading down from the dunes to the beaches constant, rhythmically shifting waters, I cannot resist the trance-like state that overwhelms my senses, "siren-like", I vaguely consider. In the end, there is no point in knowing why, it is a gift that nature brings us meditation in such a natural way.

Hope this is better
Cheers
Anni

I have a sure test of whether poetry is prose, and vicerversa, and the same test works for poetic prose, just for bits of it, not all of it.

What really intrigues me here is seeing the process in action.

And shutting up the silly argument about poetry vs prose. Some fairly good poetry contains prosaic elements but in the end if there is not a difference there is no reason for the words. Otherwise

adult aeroplane air aircraft
carrier airforce airport album
alphabet apple arm army baby
baby backpack balloon banana bank

is poetry.

Consider the word pluralism, it is a kind of linguistic nihilism, it says everything is ok and not ok. Which is why I took such exception to Ann's long research. We are looking for valid terms we can use.

I'm not quiet clear on the exact reasons of why the FORM of something somebody writes are sounding more important than the words and the story ?

Written word is beautiful for the simplicity of holding enough VALUE to the writer, reader, or whomever may hear about it ... We, as a society-based culture, tend to overly indulge in the debate of agreeing but disagreeing to agree ... Judgement being passed based on the "HOW" instead of the "WHY" is the devastating effect of having too much thought given to "PROPER" ways of doing things ... Why is that ? Is that much importance REALLY given to proper punctuation or proper form ? Understanding the MEANING of what is written would be more appreciated/ appropriate over the pointed-out misgivings of a failed proper education.

from Barbara's prose. Very daunting to me, as anyone who knows me will tell.

I would suggest ruthlessly paring the prose back to it's barest bones and meaning and then writing the poem from scratch.

Too many of them seem to be awfully close to prose versifications of the original.

'A prose writer gets tired of writing prose, and wants to be a poet. So he begins every line with a capital letter, and keeps on writing prose.'
-Samuel McChord Crothers

and
'Poetry has the virtue of being able to say twice as much as prose in half the time, and the drawback, if you do not give it your full attention, of seeming to say half as much in twice the time.'
-Christopher Fry

but the one i like best
'Poetry is a lot of things to a lot of people. Perhaps the characteristic most central to the definition of poetry is its unwillingness to be defined, labelled, or nailed down. ... Don't shackle poetry with definitions. It doesn't like your definitions,because defining poetry is like grasping at the wind - once you catch it, it's no longer wind.'

cheers
xxx

I still haven't heard from all the participants on my piece!

thanks, Cat

I have been under pressure in various areas in my life and dont want
anyone to think i under-appreciate this workshop
I DONT
but i may need to take a few days to get my personal life more in order to
insure my undivided attention to what im doin
this was what i came up with hope u all enjoy