There is no shape for a poem; I cannot tolerate poems that are concretely arranged.
In such way that they take the form of a rhino, a sports car, or the Eiffel Tower; I abhor poems that are concretely arranged.
The thing about words, they have no form, except to work upon a line, not to be changed; they should just be able float and be words that are utilized, not concretely arranged.
Maybe, I would think it alright if it were for a children’s book, or on some souvenir I guess; but I confess, I hate writing poems that are concretely arranged.
I like to play with words, to search for their place in a line of poetry; to reverse the word order, and add similes, metaphors, anthromorophism, assonance, alliteration, and personification.
I like to play with meter, to count the emphasized and unemphasized words with ticks and dashes; I like to make an Italian or an English sonnet, a ballad, a haiku, heroic couplets, blank verse, and every form I do not remember from English in University.
I like to just play with words as if they were chess pieces and I am deciding their every move, but I’ve developed this hate of concrete poetry. It just never works for me.
I do not like, will never like my poems in any form that is the shape of Canada or the United States; no trees or alligators; no martini glasses or bottles of wine; no note cards or pictures of women. I’m not a girl who forms shapes with her poetry; the poetry should speak for itself — and thus not be concretely arranged.