Poetry Definition Essay

What is Poetry?

Poetry is a form or way of how someone expresses their feelings. Whether is thru writing, singing, free styling. Poetry is a word of Greek origin. It comes from a verb with means “to make, to create”. A poem is “something made or created”. The poet is the creator and language is the material out of which s/he creates his/her work of art. The precise origins of poetry are unknown. It is a very ancient art which was born as an oral form and accompanied by simple music and dance. It expressed what people regarded as meaningful and memorable in their lives: natural disaster, births and deaths, brave actions, dangerous enemies, battles, etc. (https://poetry.wordpress.com/what-is-poetry/) Poetry was often part of religious rites.

It is also true, that you were created for me. I owned your voice. It was shaped and tuned to soothe me. Your arms were molded into a cradle to hold me, to rock me. The scent of your body was the air perfumed for me to breathe. Mother, during those early, dearest days I did not dream that you had a large life which included me, for I had a life which was only you. Time passed steadily and drew us apart. I was unwilling. I feared if I let you go, you would leave me eternally. You smiled at my fears, saying I could not stay in your lap forever. That one day you would have to stand and where would I be? You smiled again. I did not. Without warning you left me, but you returned immediately. You left again and returned, I admit, quickly, but relief did not rest with me easily. You left again, but again returned. You left again, but again returned. Each time you reentered my world you brought assurance. Slowly I gained confidence. You thought you know me, but I did know you, you thought you were watching me, but I did hold you securely in my sight, recording every moment, memorizing your smiles, tracing your frowns. In your absence I rehearsed you, the way you had of singing on a breeze, while a sob lay at the root of your song. The way you posed your head so that the light could caress your face when you put your fingers on my hand and your hand on my arm, I was blessed with a sense of health, of strength and very good fortune. You were always

Where would she be if it was not because of her mother and her mother’s true love to her? Poetry can quite easily be seen as the poor relation of the arts. Collections of poetry sell in remarkably small numbers and almost nobody earns a living from writing the stuff. And yet, the internet seems believed, hundreds of thousands of people seem to writing poetry, and a lot of them are also discussing this most noble of arts in blogs and other online forums. One of the things most often discussed is the fundamental question, "what is poetry anyway?"