I Wish to Write Better Poetry

Personally I have always considered poetry to be the highest form of writing as it brings many great elements of the art of writing togeth­er, it can twist music and words togeth­er into a common bond and at the same time paint a picture that goes far beyond words alone. The relation­ship between bear and bare is something we all under­stand yet when used appro­pri­ately can aid the rhythmic effect of a poem. When used cleverly can intro­duce humour, happi­ness, sadness, and many other emotions.


World of Intrigue

Poetry provides a whole world of intrigue and wheth­er portray­ing fact or fiction sets off much thought, yet can be very effect­ive at telling the story and to my mind it tells an effect­ive story with optim­al use of words.

Lovers in the park byPnajiotis CC0 Public Domain from PixabayWhen it comes to poetry I am a lover of old, more tradi­tion­al style works, and feel that for a poem to provide the best results it should have rhyming lines, clever word usage, and breaks down into verses. I know there are other (more modern) styles. I recall writing poetry at school, but have no copies from that era. Here is one from a long time ago. One I penned in my early twenties, repeated here, unchanged:

I see lovers in the park
As I go wander­ing by.
They’re all arm in arm
And they make me think of mine,
But she’s so far away.


They are kissing in the dark,
Some things we enjoy
And how I miss your arms,
Hugging me close and tight.
Oh if she were here.


There’s romance in the air
And I just walk on by,
Wishing for your kisses,
So this fear in me can go away
Then we can kiss again.



There were other verses for this piece but they have been lost over time. This was discovered with some of my older manuscripts and started me think­ing about poetry once again. I consider this form of writing to be among the highest used. It can be tough to live up to the stand­ards of the real masters of the art and how to imitate their style. One of my favour­ites starts as follows:

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immor­tal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

This is the opening from “The Tyger” by William Blake and I like the way line 2 reflects line 1 and line 4 reflects line 3, provided the word symmetry is delib­er­ately miss-pronounced to make the “try” segment of the word sound like “eye,” one of the ways the writer uses poetic licence to play with sounds. I also believe it appro­pri­ate that the word symmetry is used because poems are in many ways symmet­ric­al in nature, giving something and reflect­ing at the same time.

Another poem I recall is by William Wordsworth:


I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

A Picture in the Mind

For me this poem paints a picture in the mind that is a view of nature, the sky, hills and valleys, the natur­al life impacted by the wind, close your eyes when listen­ing and you can see the landscapes unfold in front of you, who would think of a cloud as being lonely? Certainly, more of the skills I would like to acquire in order to become a more complete writer, this ability to paint through words is very power­ful.

Picture in the Mind by Geralt CC0 Public Domain from Pixabay

Walt Whitman, on the other hand, witnessed the full fury of the American Civil War seeing battles and seeing the condi­tions in the hospit­als.


How Solemn As One by One
(Washington City, 1865.)

HOW solemn as one by one,
As the ranks return­ing worn and sweaty, as the men file by where stand,
As the faces the masks appear, as I glance at the faces study­ing the masks,
(As I glance upward out of this page study­ing you, dear friend, whoever you are,)
How solemn the thought of my whisper­ing soul to each in the ranks, and to you,
I see behind each mask that wonder a kindred soul,
O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend,
Nor the bayon­et stab what you really are;
The soul! yourself I see, great as any, good as the best,
Waiting secure and content, which the bullet could never kill,
Nor the bayon­et stab, O friend.


Dark, but that is War!

This poem is much darker than other ones I highlighted. Truth is life is both happy and sad, clean and dirty, light and dark, often at the same time or one juxta­posed against the other. War takes the rhyme away. Reality is that poetry covers all aspects of life, the worst of times as well as the best. Whitman also writes in a differ­ent style to the other poets that I mentioned, but he certainly uses words very well.

Which brings me to a portion of my second poem, written a few years ago, the whole work is avail­able by follow­ing the link, but I include the first few verses:


Somewhere out There; Where was that Wrong turn?
1 — Lost Paradise

It is sad to admit,
Somehow things went off track,
What happened to the path of great­ness?
Just now it seems so far away


Must we really convict?
He needs some time on the rack,
Seeing through all roots for weaknesses
And sadly it seems here to stay.


Once was we now restrict
the alley of darkness comes back,
For all to share, is this the meekness
From which we all hide away?


How to get right past it?
The obstacle simply stares right back.
Challenged to the core, this madness?
All we need — to run away


Darker Reaches

Dark Thoughts by Waldkunst CC0 Public Domain from PixabayIn this case I was trying to explore the darker reaches of the mind or soul, sour and harsh moods. Of course, I could not exper­i­ence the same war scenes as Walt Whitman did. I have never been to war and oppose the insti­tu­tion. I simply had my person­al exper­i­ences and imagin­a­tion to draw upon. When it comes to poetry I admit that I’m still learn­ing, which brings me to something I’m currently working on which I have called “Tick to Nothing”:


Tick, then nothing,
Tock, much more nothing.
Time goes slowly by
What happened? The clock has
Stopped or something.


Tick, more nothing,
Tock.What is happen­ing
to time? My oh my.
It shuddered. Who the heck cares?
Bored and needing.


Lick it! Get Moving.”
“Make it get going.”
I’m caught, my oh my
“Day dream­ing.” He muttered, aware’s.

The aim being to describe those moments when time seems to stand still. This is partic­u­larly when it occurs at an ungodly hour of the morning and you cannot get back to sleep. This has far to go, being very much a work in progress, even the last line of the third verse is yet to appear in my mindTick To Nothing has now been published on Two Drops of Ink. I am grate­ful to Scott Biddulph for publish­ing it.

I would love to hear from both readers and writers what they feel about my poetry and perhaps comment about what drives them in poetic terms.



Buy Peter B. Giblett a coffee as a thank you for contrib­ut­ing his thoughts on poetry.



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