With the prose poem, there’s no formal rhyme or metrical pattern, and there are no limits on the line beyond the column margin. It looks like prose. It isn’t. Try your hand at a prose poem. Your words will have to do all the work: be even pickier than usual.
My three-year-old granddaughter is coming for an overnight. Had to get this written and posted quickly. Thanks for the prompt, Miz Q. Not sure I have the hang of writing a prose poem.
Effects of Global Warming
Snowy morn in late April, alarmed robin, famed harbinger of spring, chirps his frustration atop whitely furred lilac hedge, sings his little heart out. No fool, he knows there should be rolling green lawns and trumpeting daffodils popping up instead of thick, cold blanket hiding delectably plump worms and berries. He remembers balmy winter days lounging beneath warm Florida sun.
6 comments:
Poor sweet robin. A wonderful tribute to the robin exists in these words that illuminate global warming. Clever work. Enjoy your time with your granddaughter!
Warm Florida sun sounds good to me too!
Warm Florida sun sounds good to me too!
I like your bird view. Our weather was flip flopping and I was surprised to see a mother duck crossing our street mid week with about 8-10 chicks following. Ducks must have though spring came early...
Hope you get your roses soon.
I like your little robin, Marianne. And thanks for your generous words this morning,
Elizabeth
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2013/04/20/a-found-prose-poem/
Global warming has surely turned things lopsided, Marianne. I like this story of the robin.
Pamela
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