poetry |ˈpōətrē; ˈpōitrē|
noun
literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm; poems collectively or as a genre of literature : he is chiefly famous for his love poetry.
Something that is poetic tells a story. Whether it be through a painting, a song, or even a poem itself. A poem is a choice, it can be anything you shape it to be. The decision comes from you as you are the author.
I think poetry allows us to broaden our creativity and channel all of it in to a piece of writing. Poetry really has no boundaries, there are no rules in poetry. It gives me a sense of freedom and the ability to express what I feel.
I think poetry allows us to broaden our creativity and channel all of it in to a piece of writing. Poetry really has no boundaries, there are no rules in poetry. It gives me a sense of freedom and the ability to express what I feel.
Analysing poems can be useful. When I was in Grade 3 and 4, our English curriculum was heavily focused on poetry. We were taught to analyse poems and break apart the rhythms in to A/B/C patterns, a bit like deconstructing a song. We were also taught to make inferences and look between the lines to deeper understand the message and theme of poems. I think that it can be useful to do this as in the future, analysing skills can help with anything. What can be tedious is the fact that if you get a really in-depth, sophisticated poem, it might be hard and stressful to find the meaning.
This is one of my favourite poems. I first read it in Grade 4 and the message to it is really deep and connected with me.
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.





