Anger is genetic disease.
It exists in the wild as an aberration, a mutation.
The great, bull ape grows powerful and develops an angry disposition. He expresses the anger, to his tribe, in conflict with another animal and as is the case always…
always…
he makes a mistake. In the wild nothing makes a mistake and survives. The younger bull, the hunting lioness, the rogue elephant take advantage of those that make mistakes and the result is always…
always…
the same. The bull ape dies. His genes are removed from the pool.

"On Wesley's assertion that originality is nigh impossible I remind you of the virtually infinite combinations of words possible. This quote from a classic Stephen Fry sketch sums it up-

Show vs. Tell

           Since the crib (figuratively speaking) we poets are taught to Show and not Tell.

Being what I consider a natural storyteller (I positively beam when people accuse me of being a really good liar), the difference eluded me for the longest time. It was not until I began work on a truly long piece of poetic storytelling that the contrast became important.

    My name is Wesley Snow and I have been a member of NeoPoet for two years during which it has been my privilege to twice serve on the Administrative Council. I am a workshop leader currently directing Storytelling in Verse and (most important of all from my perspective)…

    I am a mentor.

“The best way to learn is to teach."     Frank Oppenheimer

“Artists and scientists, Frank liked to say, are the official “noticers” of society- those who help us pay attention to things we’ve either never learned to see or have learned to ignore.”     K. C. Cole 

"If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"
Of course it does, but why would anyone care?

Rhythmic… monotonous.
Musical… tedious.
Lyrical… repetitious.
The concept colloquially referred to as “Sing-Song” is a very different thing to different people. Not poets only, for in other spheres of modern culture “Sing-Song” is both blessing and bane. Speak to a pre-school teacher and if there is an opinion at all, it is concerned with the absolute necessity of consistent rhythm while teaching young minds. However, ask the orator or speech coach and those opinions are likely to be notorious if not outright obscene.

    It is raining, but I care nothing for it. The leather collar of my coat I lift against the wind. It is for appearances only. Long it has been since I have felt the cold or heat. Little do I feel of the physical, though what I feel of the spirit is sublime.

    The Mark is cold and pains me.

On April 26 1336 Francesco Petrarca (July 20, 1304- July 19, 1374), his brother and two servants climbed to the top of Mont Ventoux in the south of France. His reason was purely recreational which was something quite unheard of in those days. In a letter to his friend Dionigi di Borgo San Sepolcro he describes his journey in a grand and sweeping manner that focused on the beauty of the scenery. The letter is still quoted in various reference works on the sport of mountaineering. Upon reaching the summit, Petrarca took from his pocket a volume written by his mentor St. Augustine.

Well, ya know?...

"the real issues presented by American poetry in the Eighties will become clearer: the debasement of poetic language; the prolixity of the lyric; the bankruptcy of the confessional mode; the inability to establish a meaningful aesthetic for new poetic narrative and the denial of a musical texture in the contemporary poem. The revival of traditional forms will be seen then as only one response to this troubling situation." (Dana Gioia)