I'm tired of being this solemn poet of the masses, the enigma shrouded in a mystery.
quote by Michael Stipe
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Poet's Work
A poet's work is a mystery indeed.
It springs from his mind like a fertile seed.
It's not his place to question its emergence,
But to record and marvel at its resurgence.
Each word, phrase, sentence is predisposed
Like a babe that is born already composed.
It's mission to convey ideas and messages clear
With style and flair never before existing here.
When a poet views release of his finished piece,
Best enjoy as an observer or emotions increase.
How each work is born, like the child at birth
Is shrouded in mystery as is so much on earth.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Work Of A Poet
A poet’s work is a mystery indeed.
It springs from his mind like a fertile seed.
It’s not his place to question its emergence,
But to record and marvel at its resurgence.
Each word, phrase, sentence is predisposed
Like a babe that is born already composed.
It’s mission to convey ideas and messages clear
With style and flair never before existing here.
When a poet views release of his finished piece,
Best enjoy as an observer or emotions increase.
How each work is born, like the child at birth
Is shrouded in mystery as is so much on earth.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Morning Sunshine
This poet is so seductive
This poet is now strange to me
This poet is so bold
This little girl doesn't want to see
The little girl has known this poet
ever since
But the little girl is already
tired of this poet
She just wants to play.
Not any passing minute
She hasn't have
any word of
allegory
metonymy and
simile
Take me away from this poet yet
the little girl must empty first
the words of this poet
Before she is free to play
in the morning sunshine
and go away from this busy poet
Do you think I'm too young to see?
Do you agree?
This poet won't let me
play out in the middle of the rain
This poet won't let me
see the afternoon sway
This poet won't let me
see the morning gay
Let me see the Morning Sunshine
Let me see!
But this poet
Won't let me
I'll just watch t.v
and sing
her poetry
poem by Mary Jesusa Villegas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Enigma
Split!
The earth shakes.
The weather changes,
To bring heartache.
The seasons are overlapping,
And no one can explain.
Accept to say...
A global warming is being displayed.
No comrephension comes of it.
A mystery that is hidden...
Complex and void of understanding.
Comes without invitation and sits.
An enigma to confuse and sustain.
To maintain and delude!
Diluting a mindset conscious.
Afflicting a fear into the mix.
And pulling away from a normalcy,
Once fit to strut...
In denouncements of nonconformists,
Who utter objections to a way of life.
In an enigma they are!
Between an ascent that descends upon them...
A turning point that spins away from 'reason'!
For purposes to clear,
And begin anew.
Whether or not,
Agendas scheduled to address it are made.
This enigma values not the thoughts of man.
Or desires to control on demand.
This is an evolution that visits.
To transfix what was...
With all elements perceived,
Involved.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Marji
Mystery man!
Marji is my name and,
I am on the way with my muse of sweet love;
But the masses around are dividing hurling insults at each other! !
And like the presentation of bags of rice and sugar,
But this mystery man is the very person that i want to meet.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Russia is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.
quote by Winston Churchill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Is The Poet That Can Inspire Once Again?
WHERE IS THE POET THAT CAN INSPIRE ONCE AGAIN?
Where is the poet that can inspire once again?
I have heard them all so many times-
Even the great are only familiar lines -
I wait for something different
From another dimension-
But it is not they who are tired
Or limited-
You can find worlds in them if you reread again-
It is I who have lost my soul for Poetry
And not only for Poetry-
It is I who am old and tired –
There can be no new poet and no new poem and no new poetry
When I have gone to the other side
Where listening and hearing are impossible.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What I Believe (II)
That there is nothing beyond the universe
Except bubbling universes encroaching;
The back of one's head is the front someone's else;
What you and I are is determined by quantum enticement,
An accumulation of space/time/matter that just so happens
To dwell in consciousness right now. Also if love is intruding,
The outcome wil be shrouded in glorious mystery,
Mystery that must be unfolded,
And found to be an unwoven rainbow
That goes on forever, someplace....
poem by Stan Petrovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Something That I Have Always Kept Away From You
i keep this love. It will be a secret.
there is no use for you to know it.
it is there. and will always be there.
this smile, this hug, this kiss, do they
not speak enough? and the years?
and the time melting like a candle
thriving on its own light. is this not
enough for you? you cry. i am asking
for reasons, you say there are not
reasons, these are just tears, and i
wonder: what have i done to deserve
this kind of darkness, the enigma, the
mystery of your silence. i move. i stop.
i look back. there is something that
grows, like cancer, there is this death
what for? do you have to know every
inch of my soul? let us stop this guessing
game. i am tired. let us sleep. there is
no use talking. the stars are gone.
and the moon. i am hearing the silent
whispers of darkness. we are alone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The origin of the Basque language is still a great enigma. Its future is an even greater enigma.
aphorism by Hasier Agirre, translated by Dan Costinaş
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth.
quote by Umberto Eco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But now I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth.
quote by Umberto Eco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shrouded In Mystery
The morning sun, clothed in clouds, is one of God’s striking shrouds,
Just as God’s shrouded in light, impenetrable by the darkest of night,
Unapproachable as He may be, He’s God of the present and Eternity,
Being a God, that we cannot see, He shrouds life, at times in mystery.
At times God moves in our days, for His purpose in mysterious ways,
For God’s shrouded in mystery, while working in lives, of you and me,
As the secret tings belong to God, Who reigns above this earthly sod,
In ways, we could not comprehend, for above us, His ways transcend.
But all things done for me and you, the Good Lord will see us through,
Through every trial that we will face, God will shroud us with His Grace,
And blessings The Lord will bestow, upon us in ways we’d never know,
As The Lord works in mysterious ways, unto our Lord, we lift all praise.
For we are shrouded in the Blood, of God’s Son, sent for us with love.
Sent to The Cross of Mount Calvary, to be a sacrifice, for you and me,
And today that blood, spilt by Him, covers not some, but all of our sin,
For The Savior alone paid the price, so we could be His living sacrifice.
Christ came to earth, to die for us, now we live our life for Christ Jesus,
To serve our Lord in this present time, for a purpose that is truly divine,
And Christ shall remove many shrouds, when we see Him in the clouds,
When Christ returns for you and me, we’ll serve our Lord, for all eternity.
(Copyright ©06/2011)
Kentish Barns New Years Day
This winter scene the misted view
The hedgerow bramble filled
Reveals a distant view of yesterday.
These Kentish barns shrouded
The fog and mist create magic
Transform the view into mystery
That resonates with all that is to come
For this year is new, the pages clean
Who knows what lies ahead?
What mystery waits to be revealed?
For now the day is fog bound
As is the future, not yet begun.
poem by James Tipp
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm Tired
I'm tired of people messing with me
I'm tired of people treating me wrong
I'm tired of people saying I stank
I'm tired of people remembering the past
I'm tired of black people
I'm tired of stupid people
I'm tired of selfish people
I'm tired of being the target all the time
I'm tired of feeling sad
I'm tired of people thinking there better than everybody else
I'm tired of people not appreciating me
I'm tired of being tired
I'm tired of being tired
I'm just tired
poem by Shawanda Polk
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I cannot forecast to you the action of Russia. It is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma: but perhaps there is a key. That key is Russian national interest.
Winston Churchill in Radio speech (1939)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Poet Is Always Beside You
You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Are More Stars Than Poems
There are more stars than poems-
More vast silent worlds
Than small verbal ones-
Masses and masses of mass and fire
Masses and masses of darkness and death-
And against this millions and billions of words and more little words -
More stars than poems
And far too many of both
For human comprehension
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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