Stephen Fry

101: Chapter 1

Eight months ago, I wrote down my clever ideas to read an instructional book on poetry, to complete the exercises, to write down my results, and to discuss my thoughts and the process at large. I said that I hoped the plan wouldn’t fall through after an hour, and I succeeded in that plan in that it took merely the time to click publish before that clever idea fell through.

Still, regardless of reasoning, I have found my way back to this project. Let’s see if I can’t write a couple of pieces before it all turns to custard once again…

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101: Prelude

I have a confession to make. In fact, I have a few confessions to make. See, I’ve been writing poetry for around ten years. Before that, I wrote lyrics. Before that, I tittered down things now and again, grand ideas in my mind for the next great story, and surprisingly legible scribbles of unsurprisingly childish notions. Regardless, I’ve been fascinated with writing for as long as I can remember. I still have hope that one day I might not be half bad.

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Perspective: ‘To A Prize Bird’ BY MARIANNE MOORE

You suit me well, for you can make me laugh,
nor are you blinded by the chaff
that every wind sends spinning from the rick.

You know to think, and what you think you speak
with much of Samson’s pride and bleak
finality, and none dare bid you stop.

Pride sits you well, so strut, colossal bird.
No barnyard makes you look absurd;
your brazen claws are staunch against defeat.

By Marianne Moore

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