Introduction to Poetry

Before we begin, we must first realize that poetry is much like a magic spell.

It is composed of verses—the paragraphs of a poem—and lines—the sentences of poetry.

Now, let us return to the idea of poetry as a spell.

Much like magic, poetry is a careful arrangement of words—incantations, chants, quiet conjurations—that do something. At least, in the reality we inhabit.

At its most basic, a poem allows the reader—the target of the spell—to see what the poet wishes them to see.

But what if I simply say: red ball?

Does that not already create an image?

Yes—it does.

In its simplest form, that is poetry.

But poetry is meant to be more. That is why it is akin to magic.

Instead of red ball, I could say:

A spot large enough to swallow the world in crimson.

Tell me—what do you see?

If you still see a red ball, then the spell has worked, and you, the reader, were my intended target.

So why make it longer? Why not just say it plainly?

Because in doing so, you would lose the magic.

Spells are meant to be fun—mysterious, discreet. They may be long or short, direct or indirect. But what makes poetry magic is this:

It gives life to what is ordinary.

A red ball is just a red ball—if you allow it to be.

Or perhaps…

It is what a child, bewitched by crimson hue, sends bouncing across the world.

Now the red ball is no longer still.

It moves.

You do not yet see the child—but you see the motion.

Can you picture it?

The way it rises and falls…

The elasticity as it strikes the ground…

Tell me—what color is the ball?

Magic.

Now you see it.

The red ball is bouncing.