Douk said:
Zarokima said:
Douk said:
Zarokima said:
Douk said:
to show you how easy poetry is, I will type a poem off the top of my head
There once was kid named Lee
who knew nothing about art theory
every scribble she made
got her a good grade
while my best mark was a C
To be fair, you also chose a limerick.
I think the different types of poetry only control the rhyming. I could tell the same 'story' with a ABAB rhyme scheme or other. Limericks are usually funny so I thought it would fit in this situation.
Well, I was just pointing out that limericks are one of the simplest forms of poetry. Writing a sonnet with proper meter would be more difficult, and an epic would rival a novel if you keep meter and rhyme through the whole thing.
I accept your challenge. I'll edit this post with the new and improved poem.
A girl named Lee, came up to me
she wanted to see what I made.
I told her it was a work of art
which will give me the highest grade.
She didn't understand. She said, "listen man,
art isn't about how good it looks.
You have to put your feelings within the canvas
its not clear and blunt like a book."
I thought about it, just for a bit.
I knew skill was more important.
I told her that it was just nonsense.
She sighed for I didn't know what she meant.
On the judging day, she came up to say,
"I've finished my painting, come see."
All I could see were scribbles and dots,
but to my surprise she got a B.
It was my turn to shine, and about time.
I showed the teacher my beauty.
She said, "this doesn't make me feel anything
I'm afraid I'll have to give you a D."
How about:
Ever since the dadaists,
The cubists and the futurists,
unleashed upon the planet earth
art of no intrinsic worth,
art teachers in the public schools
have treated art as though the fools
believed it of no great import
that students now should hold the fort
and gain the skills the masters earned
to bring forth what within them burned,
though many years they had to toil
before it showed up in their oils.
And here today in class I sit
next to this non-artistic git
her name is Lee, and as I swear
her head is full of naught but air.
For years I have worked at my craft
working on it as a raft
to take me from this lonely land
of canvas untouched by skilled hand.
But Lee through all this working time
has simply doodled on the spine
of books that could have taught her how
to draw what, in the here and now
she cannot get out of her head.
Now what she draws, with talent dead
are simply scribbles of the sort
that Jackson Pollock once brought forth,
while mine are done with greatest care
as though Leonardo himself were there
but always when we get our grades
the teacher haughtily explains
that Lee has shown her inner self
but mine's a picture for a shelf
to be forgotten in the week
because a camera better speaks
to the sort that wants to see
this sort of wonderful beauty.
And what grades do we get in class,
from this teacher (such an ass)?
Lee gains as the teacher's pet,
a grade that I could never get
a perfect "A", woohoo, yippee...
the best I ever get's a "C"!