I am, of course, none other than blank verse. I don't know where I'm going, yes, quite right; And when I get there (if I ever do) I might not recognise it. So? Your point? Why should I have a destination set? I'm relatively happy as I am, And wouldn't want to be forever aimed Towards some future path or special goal. It's not to do with laziness, as such. It's just that one the whole I'd rather not Be bothered - so I drift contentedly; An underrated way of life, I find. What Poetry Form Are You?

I am free verse, and know the rules, and use them - when they suit me, which admittedly tends not to be the case. Authority, tradition, laws; very much not my sort of thing, I fear. Perhaps, on occasion, I go too far in the opposite direction, and shun the accepted merely because it's accepted, accepting its opposite merely because it isn't; but since it's clearly better that than being normal; well, why not? What Poetry Form Are You?

If they told you I'm mad, then they lied. I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive. I'm the triolet, bursting with pride; If they told you I'm mad, then they lied. No, it isn't obsessive. Now hide All the spoons or I might get convulsive. If they told you I'm mad then they lied. I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive. What Poetry Form Are You?