Prose Or Poem?

I see Star asked a similar question in her comment on yesterday's post. Must admit, it's one I've often asked myself, and it will probably be interesting to see what answers any of you, my readers, come up with as a result of such a question.

I've already mentioned a correspondence, poetry-writing course I've been working my way through. Among its notes, it advises one to try writing the words down as in an ordinary sentence. If this works, it's probably prose; if not, it's probably a poem. That's the only advice I've ever encountered on the subject. I tend to think, like beauty, it's in the eye of the beholder.

I did say, I was trying to write a 'word picture' with yesterday's lines. They did not simply flow from the pen. I spent quite some time endeavouring to pare down the number of words I used to a bare minimum; to use ones that would give the sharpest image of what I was trying to convey: no unnecessary 'the, and, a,' etc, added at every tiff and turn but serving no real purpose by their inclusion. Although there is no set rhythm, I did bear in mind the lilt of the words I wrote, not something I'm conscious of when setting out to write prose.

In complete contrast, here's a bit of fun that came to be on Sunday afternoon, complete with obligatory rhyme!

Who'd Be A Zookeeper?

Mister McCorkerdale
worked at the zoo.
He loved all the animals -
'cept one - or two.

The first, a white cockatoo
had a strange habit.
He'd hop around Corky's cap,
just like a rabbit.

He'd bounce and he'd jump
while squawking out loud
'Wothcher, old Corky!'
to delight the crowd

who'd paid just to see
this unusual sight.
They'd loudly applaud him
with all of their might.

The second was Ellie,
a young, playful Jumbo,
who thought of McCorkerdale
as a right dumbo.

She'd fill her long trunk
from a pail full of water,
then squirt it at Corky
when she shouldn't aughter!