Experimental poetry

New forms of literature prefer to break the rules than adhere to old rules.
Experimental writing has been much more fun to read and write compared to old writing forms and techniques.
However, experimental poetry isn't as much a success as experimental writing (reader response-wise, in my opinion) - not because it lacks artistic expression or context or even esthetique value but perhaps because the conventional form of writing verse and prose is a lot more popular than contemporary ones.

Anyways, here is one that I find quite interesting.
I hope you can draw inspiration from these poems.
All the best!

in the stumps of old trees where the rain gathers and the/trapped

leaves and the beak, and the laced weasel’s eyes, there are/holes the

length of a man’s arm, and at the bottom a sodden bible/written in the

language of rooks. But do not put your hand down/to see, because

in the stumps of old trees where the hearts have rotted out there

are holes the length of a man’s arm where the weasels are/trapped

and the letters of the rook language are laced on the/sodden leaves,

and at the bottom there is a man’s arm. But do/not put your hand

down to see, because

in the stumps of old trees where the hearts have rotted out/there

are deep holes and dank pools where the rain gathers, and/if you

ever put your hand down to see, you can wipe it in the/sharp grass

till it bleeds, but you’ll never want to eat with/it again.

In the stump of the old tree, where the heart has rotted

out,/there is a hole the length of a man’s arm, and a dank pool at

the/bottom of it where the rain gathers, and the old leaves turn

into/lacy skeletons. But do not put your hand down to see, because

in the stumps of old trees, where the hearts have rotted

out,/there are holes the length of a man’s arm, and dank pools at

the/bottom where the rain gathers and old leaves turn to lace, and

the/beak of a dead bird gapes like a trap. But do not put your/hand

down to see, because

in the stumps of old trees with rotten hearts, where the

rain/gathers and the laced leaves and the dead bird like a trap,

there/are holes the length of a man’s arm, and in every crevice of

the/rotten wood grow weasel’s eyes like molluscs, their lids

open/and shut with the tide. But do not put your hand down to see,

because

‘Poem:“In the stump of the old tree . . .” ’ (Davies 1964, pp. 227–8)

 

How was this poem? Did you enjoy it?

I liked it very much for its form.

Notice the repetition. It enhances the feel of decay in the poem and the sense of inescapability and unavoidability.

The unending verses is draggy and adds to that sense of unescapable feeling.

What else did you notice?

Here is another poem. This form is very interesting. You read it sideways, horizontally, zig-zag like and it still carries meaning.



 ~ ‘90s market’ (Lyons 1996)