On Being Poetry

Yet again, this is Keith’s fault. He posts these memes, how can I not take a look? 🙂

If I were a form of poetry, what form of poetry would I be?

I am, of course, none other than blank verse.
I don’t know where I’m going, yes, quite right;
And when I get there (if I ever do)
I might not recognise it. So? Your point?
Why should I have a destination set?
I’m relatively happy as I am,
And wouldn’t want to be forever aimed
Towards some future path or special goal.
It’s not to do with laziness, as such.
It’s just that one the whole I’d rather not
Be bothered – so I drift contentedly;
An underrated way of life, I find.

What Poetry Form Are You?

It then says, “If I were not blank verse, I would be…”

Short, terse, unfriendly,
Yet sometimes quite emotive;
I am the Haiku.

What Poetry Form Are You?

The shocking thing? Like St. Jerome of yesterday, these both seem to fit… :/

Have I hit some sort of universal synchronicity here or something…?

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