Saturday, February 20, 2010


         So I've been experimenting with more poetry styles and I wrote this poem in one of my favorite styles. This kind of poem is the English version of a Pindaric ode which is named after Pindar, the Greek poet who is credited with inventing the ode. Wouldn't it be awesome to actually invent a type of poetry? Crazy stuff. Anyway, here you go:

It is true, I know a secret that the world should know,
Hidden in pages and behind weathered spines.
                Indeed, I take it wherever I go,
               It is a secret that I cannot confine.
It is a place that is full of friends and, also, of foes
But it is a friend in and of itself.
               Sometimes lovely, sometimes tragic;
                  Full of spies, pirates, and magic.
An array of words strung together and kept on a shelf.

It is true, the words on the page may be a spun tale,
But reality and truth can be so overvalued!
                And daydreaming is entailed
        To be human. And readers do exude
The beautiful ability to find truth in fiction’s details.
For truth can be found in the falsest of places.
       The beauty is, you must find it alone.
             But friends are condoned
To help you find meaning and to follow truth’s traces.

It is true, when the world began, God made words,
And he meant for us to read and write them;--
                    To spin, not blunder!
          To grasp, not to misapprehend!
They were meant to be spoken, written, and heard.
Because, to read is to learn from others' miscues,
                The written word is my escape
                 From life’s jests and japes
And to see the world from different views.


Anonymous said...
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Sidney? said...

Why did you Delete that??!?!?!