A Poetry Presentation

This essay A Poetry Presentation has a total of 2055 words and 23 pages.

A Poetry Presentation

You might not believe it, but I fear poetry. It is even hard for me to fully under-stand. I guess I am just more intimidated by it more than anything. Do not get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy poetry to its fullest extent, I just do not feel that I am good enough writing it (that is what I said about the writing test, but look at me J). So, this project put up a challenge to me.
I feel an appropriate theme in poetry is individuality. Now I do not mean dis-similarity or eccentricity. I do not think that everyone should be a leader or anything in that direction. If that was so, nothing would get done. Besides, not everyone has leader-ship abilities. Conversely, I think people should have similarity, but a unique or individ-ual trait that separates them from others. I feel that this is extremely essential in a per-sonís personality. I know, it seems confusing. That is just like me, I am intimidated by poetry, yet I just have to pick a complex theme.
A lot of poets talk about individuality and how themselves or something in nature, etc., are unique. But what I do not see is the writing of how individuality can very often at times be hurtful and damaging to oneís feelings and ego. When a lot of poets, or authors of any stripe talk about individuality, they talk about their high aspirations of being individual, or how being individual has made them stand out for the good. Just as a mirror has two faces, I feel that goes the same with any issue.
Out of all the poems that I looked at, this was the only one that I found talking about individuality for the worse:


Thereís a race of men that donít fit in,
A race that canít stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.

If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But theyíre always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move

Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
Itís the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope thatís

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