i had a lecture on poetry, verse and poetic prose today...
There was this quote that i loved by Percy Byssbe Shelley:

"Poetry awakens and enlarges the mind itself by rendering it the receptacle of a thousand unapprehended combinations of thought. Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar... Poetry is not reason, a power to be exerted according to the determination of the will."

In a short kind of sense, poetry can't be forced... or set with a stringent type of form. It has to ebb and flow with your senses. but ironically, poetry as a genre is the most highly stylised and technical form of language there can ever be.

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Anyway, i found a poem i wrote in Nov 2002... entitled Fallen leaves:

Epigraph

"We are such stuff that dreams are made of"- Shakespeare, The Tempest

Fallen Leaves

Brown and crisp

Dried and weary

Ever once green with flair

Now but dull and bare

Falling just like leaves

Are memories and dreams

Like the tides that ebb and flow

so our lives will hold

Ambition, anticipation

Boldness, bereavement

Courage, commitment

Much is left behind

Much more lies ahead

Reminders of fraility

Possesses, plagues

Consumes us all

-Michelle Lau

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Enjoy!