Barnard Castle Writing Group

I don’t really know how I fell into writing poetry, perhaps it was all influenced from being sat on my Grandma’s knee or pottering round the garden with the old fashioned ‘Ride A Cock Horse’ and ‘Old Tom Tomato’ nursery rhymes many, many years ago (if you know, you know).

I have always loved poetry, not necessarily all poetry, but I seem to be drawn to the rhythm it holds, the cleverly crafted settings in such a small ‘space’ and, of course, the emotional rawness; unwavering love in the face of adversity, heartache, admiration, war, peace, intimacy, and obsession.

Many people balk and are often divided by poetry; the thought of reading, never mind writing, poetry, I suspect imagining the rigid, instructive form of words held in dense, classical texts, taught without context, often taught during school years, resulting in alienation rather than inspiration. Poetry is not meant to be a riddle to solve, it’s a language to experience. Some find themselves spellbound by a few carefully chosen words; others dismiss it as obscure, perhaps elitist, or unnecessarily cryptic. Yet poetry, far from being an archaic or overly complex art form, has the remarkable capacity to move, connect, and endure in ways prose sometimes can’t. Its precision, rhythm, and emotional intensity give it a power that has resonated and continues to resonate through centuries, cultures, and even musical genres. Its longevity is extraordinary; we’re still reading the works of Homer, Sappho, Rumi, Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson, and Sylvia Plath, not just as they wrote but also interpretations, and not just because of their literary merit, but because their ideas still speak to us today.

Long before written language became widespread, poetry was how stories were told, memories preserved, and traditions passed down. The earliest forms of poetry, found in ancient texts such as the Sanskrit Rigveda, were spoken or sung. Rhythm and repetition made them easier to remember, essential for oral cultures.

From Homer’s epics in ancient Greece to classical Chinese poetry, medieval ballads and Irish tales, poetry evolved as a way of shaping thought, capturing moments of beauty or despair, and celebrating both the mundane and the divine. Despite its ancient origins, poetry continues to influence everything from advertising copy to rap lyrics, its adaptability being one of its greatest strengths.

One of the reasons poetry can be as, sometimes more, powerful than prose is its use of structure. Whether through form (like the tight constraints of a sonnet or haiku), sound (rhyme or meter), or shape (visually presented or concrete poetry), a poet can compress complex thoughts into deceptively small spaces.

This compression forces both the writer and the invested reader to slow down, to listen, to consider each word, and reflect on the space between lines. Poetry’s restrictions often create a kind of emotional intensity that prose doesn’t require, or even permit.

A line of poetry can echo in your mind for days. A well-written stanza can say in four lines what might take a novelist four pages.

Add to that, poetry can cover an unfathomable range of subject matter and bring to the page layers upon layers of interpretation, provoked by the writer but also through interpretation of the reader.

A few key types include:

• Lyrical poetry – short, emotional poems, often written in the first person.
• Narrative poetry – storytelling in verse, such as ballads or epics.
• Dramatic poetry – poetry intended to be spoken or performed, like Shakespeare’s plays.
• Haiku & Tanka – traditional Japanese forms focused on nature and brevity.
• Free verse – modern, unconstrained poetry that values natural speech patterns over form.

Each style opens different doors, some cerebral, some emotional, some experimental, and allows the creator full permission to write, interpret and present their subject matter exactly how they want to, as tightly conformed to line or as loosely as a thought of consciousness as is required to flow.

Some of the poetry I write is clear on its subject matter or what I want to convey, other pieces I leave wide open to interpretation and will accept the reader’s version of their digestion, intrigued as to what it has presented, but not precious as to my original muse or stimulus. Poetry doesn’t always aim to explain, and that’s part of its power. It creates room for ambiguity, metaphor, and personal interpretation.

Just like prose, poetry tells a story, an opinion, or a situation just through a different lens, one that has the ability and gives the permission to be more complex in structure, formation, and sometimes with such tight requirements that producing a piece that is satisfactory to both author and reader can be a talent in itself, irrelevant of the aftertaste. While prose may tell you what a character feels, poetry can make you feel it yourself.

That emotional immediacy explains why poetry often surfaces during life’s most intense moments: at funerals, weddings, protests, and periods of grief or transformation. The right poem can comfort, confront, or clarify something unspoken.

It’s no coincidence that many of the greatest songwriters are also deeply poetic. Bob Dylan, awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, blurred the lines between poetry and song. Joni Mitchell, Patti Smith, Sam Fender and Kae Tempest have all been praised as poets in their own right. Lyrics, after all, are poetry set to music. The same metaphors, rhythms, and emotional truths that define great poems are also at the heart of unforgettable songs.

Poetry’s influence continues in spoken word, rap, slam poetry, and performance art. It’s continually evolving, not dying.

Some have suggested to me that writing poetry limits my creative longevity, that I might run out of inspiration if I focus too heavily on it, but, in my opinion, that assumes poetry is a narrow well, when in reality it’s an entire ocean. Poetry isn’t about waiting for grand inspiration to strike; it’s about paying attention – to people; to language; to the smallest moments (a passing glance, a shift in light, a half-heard conversation); to the heart and the head. These things are infinite. Because poetry is a way of seeing the world, not just writing about it, there’s no end point. Every new experience, emotion, or encounter becomes material. In fact, poetry teaches you to live more observantly, and in doing so, expands your creative field, it doesn’t restrict it.

Jo Long