|is for Free verse|
Free verse is just that. Free from the constraints of rhymes, metres and rules and able to fall into whatever shape the poet or poem chooses.
Not a form I write to very often. My poems come into my head with rhymes in situ, and it all stops making any sense if I pluck them out. I struggle with free form.
I try to articulate, roll out flat
snagged scrolls of half-formed poems
long ago brownprints stashed
on the fragile shelves in
the glitterdusty glass lab of time;
people beam into prisms
of this glass world, and I pick up
the degrees of warmth and coolness
that are within range and
have proper names
blue maybe, and opalescent green,
a purplish redhazy love
the greymottled smell of discontent
the angry, spiky ice of violence
that slices hands open when it’s touched;
nothing silkfalls, nothing pebbleplops
into the page, it pants a little,
a slight rise and sink of white
it can wait blank, quiet, patiently breathing
I can wait too, breathing, holding my breath;
words form at their own pace
their body clock does not tick in time
with mine, they dance on a different floor
I can hear their heels tap on wood
muffled slow music beyond the window;
there is nowhere left to hurry to
and hurry back from,so where are you going?
That first week went by pretty fast! A bit hassly - my weekend being Fri/Sat, but things worked out okay.