Why I Love Poetry

   This week as a class we were asked to raise our hands if we didn't like poetry, and to my surprise almost everyone raised their hand. People stated reasons such as the difficulty of finding meaning within strands of words that don't seem to fit in, the plethora of literary devices and terms that come with learning poetry, and many more, but I for one disagree. I think that the fact that it's so hard to decode a poem makes the final message all the more influential and worthy to us, and the fact that there is no one message makes poetry so much more fitted and personal to every one of us. I love the fact that you can put a lesson worth a million words into a mismatch of 3 stanzas, I love how every time you read a poem you notice something new and intriguing, and most of all I love how poetry is like a puzzle, where it may be frustrating to piece together, but when you do you have something to look back on for years to come.

How I feel when I write poetry

  Now I don't like when poetry is written in Shakespearian English because then I have no idea what's going on, but otherwise I feel that it's quite enjoyable. Writing poems can be a little hard at first too, but after a while I feel that the words come together in a good enough way that someone could try to analyze it, but that too is why writing poetry shouldn't be to stressful. People will find meaning where you might not even see it, and that's the beauty of writing.

And while we're at it, here's a bad poem I wrote my Freshman year in Mrs. Feldkamp's class:)

The Imprisoned Piano 

 

Hands gliding along the everlasting white and black, 

Keys imprisoned to their spot. 

They are to play one tune only when touched, 

A prisoner they are to the wood around them 

However old or young they stay strong through it all, 

Imprisoned to their spot. 

 

Hands play the notes in which the eye can see, 

Fingers moving like birds fluttering their wings 

Notes can be mean when one first meets them, 

But like most things the eye warms up to them and they become a companion 

Notes imprisoned behind bars 

In which is the staff where all music is found. 

 

The keys and notes come together, 

Hands pushing and pulling against them 

Fighting to get the music right 

But with pain comes joy 

Others come around to listen and clap. 

All the pain and tears then become worth it  

For hand, notes and key 

Yet imprisoned they still are. 

Till next time,

Melodi Yilmaz💕