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Poem about Poetry - I know how God writes his poem
i know how god writes his poem
it is in the delicate, artistic and
defining lines of every flower
petals, pistil, stamen, pollens,
fragrant and scents that fill the air
i know how god writes his poem
it is in the ray of the sun
that reveals their metaphors
and rhymes in the rain
an arc over the clear blue sky
i know how god writes his poem
it is in your eyes, two lakes of honey
that sail me into your warm saccharine world
dilating and constricting to let them
speak more volume to my my lovelorn heart
i know how god writes his poem
it is in the dazzling lines of the sea
that shows the sky how many ways
it can define and redefine itself
it is in the breeze that pulls off a dancer
twirling towards me in every direction
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is A Time When Tired And Weak
THERE IS A TIME WHEN TIRED AND WEAK
There is a time when tired and weak
An old man can barely think
But writes nonetheless
A few small lines
To remind himself
That he still has a mind-
There is a time when tired and weak
An old man can barely speak
But writes nonetheless
A few small lines
To prove to himself
That he still is alive-
There is a time when tired and weak
And old man can barely dream
But writes nonetheless
A few small lines
To make himself believe
He still has time
There will be a time when tired and weak
An old man will be unable to read-
He will not write a few small lines
He will sit and wait
For the end of his life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Must
She writes as if there’s not much time.
She writes to pain, to happiness,
She writes to every remote detailed thought.
She writes to the departed,
to the extant,
to poverty,
to wealth.
She writes to mourn, and grief.
She writes to the wind, the rain,
forest, the desert, and mountains.
She writes to her pouring tears,
to her grateful moments,
She writes because really what she has is time.
She has no little ones to feed, or bathe,
nor a husband to make happy. To write is
to escape- to her. Time is not a problem, time
is just a killing system, she needs to kill in many words.
She writes as if there’s not much time.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Happy New Year To You 2011
Kee writes to you,
My dearest,
Happy new year for you to be blessed,
you writes the best
really blessed if writes from the heart....
You penned few lines on my our book
The harvest of god and prayer words on dreams
Somewhere, you keep my heart and its burns
a kiss of your words....
To see no further than ……
And now our psalm
And a smell of fiery word in this poem
your writes little is the best....
I love our greatness in its charm..
happy new year to you dearest
Sincerely wish you happy new year,
you loves our poems on god
Kee thampi
poem by Thampi KEE
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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“great Souls Live In Crooked Bodies”
Judge not, measure not,
The greatness of a soul;
By how one looks outside
By how one speaks or acts
By home where they reside
Instead observe how you react
Should you feel shame for them
or pity should arise,
It’s that your mind is closed,
Heart wearing a disguise
Crooked faces, crooked smiles
Fool those like you and me
Crooked limbs on crooked forms
Create ill will, poorly we then see
We must offer love to one another,
For that crooked man you scorn
As God would have it is your brother
Heaven-Sent and Earth-Born
poem by Ray Lucero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Happy Words To Love 2011
Kee writes to you,
My dearest,
Happy new year for you to be blessed,
you writes the best
really blessed if writes from the heart....
You penned few lines on my our book
The harvest of god and prayer words on dreams
Somewhere, you keep my heart and its burns
a kiss of your words....
To see no further than ……
And now our psalm
And a smell of fiery word in this poem
your writes little is the best....
I love our greatness in its charm..
happy new year to you dearest
Sincerely wish happy to all, loves the fiery words in our poems
Kee thampi
poem by Thampi KEE
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Crooked Smile (song)
With your deep brown eyes
and your crooked smile
you swept me away for
quite a while when you smiled
a crooked smile
Then you came and
asked for a chance
but all I said was
How bout a dance
and then you smiled
A crooked smile
(Chorus)
Now your gone
and I'm missing you
and my broken Heart
wont be in two
when you smile
a crooked smile
Years have passed
and tears have too
but all I know
is I love you
and your smile
your crooked smile
Yesterday when you
got off the plane
you ran to my side
cuz I stood at your gate
and then you smiled
a croooked smile
You pulled me close
and said hello
but I could see
you were being mellow
til you smiled
a crooked smile
(Chorus)
now your here
and I'm loving you
and my broken heart
won't be in two
when you smile
a crooked smile
Moments passed
and memories made
And I know there ain't a better day
then when you smile
a crooked smile
Oh when you smile
my heart goes wild
poem by Jasmine Thompson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crooked
Crooked.
There is nothing straight about it.
There is nothing in the eyes,
Or the face that projects...
An honesty that's been sewned,
For an expected harvest
That reaps up rot instead of respect.
Crooked.
Like snakes with coiled tails.
Thieves bewitched like these,
Should not be speaking to appease...
With such ease.
Crooked are the hoodwinkers' comments.
And what they have done...
Should land everyone of them in jail!
Tastefully displayed...
And yet crooked are the beasts that lead.
Living in shells and crawling to prevail,
Like escargot when 'cooked'...
Are nothing more than scavenger low life snails!
Feeding on and releasing junk,
Are the crooked!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Poet Without A Poem/ Empty and Desperate
A POET WITHOUT A POEM
A poet without a poem
Empty and desperate
Forces a few lines
As way of reviving himself.
The lines lead to other lines
A poem begins to come.
The poet hears his hope as he writes
And then when there is a poem
He just rests happily
Knowing he is alive again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reflections 101
he writes not because
he wants to be read and
be understood
got him wrong really
he writes because he likes
to live
life writes upon himself
and so he writes upon life too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Ageing Poem
A simple poem I wanted to write
The words were so clear in my mind
But my fingers were numb and sore
Lift a pencil they can't at all
Before a few lines write I could
With my signpen wrestle I should
I tried to read my scribbles
And asked my self how did I fare
The words I saw were all in blur
And were in badly crooked lines
I have but lost my metering
And all my lines did hardly rhyme
My next poems shall not be written
And in my thought will just remain
Be unrecited as they may
Till in my mind they fade away
poem by Pacific Hernandez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem of the Ageing
A simple poem I wanted to write
The words were so clear in my mind
But my fingers were numb and sore
Lift a pencil they can't at all
Before a few lines write I could
With my signpen wrestle I should
I tried to read what I've written
And asked my self how did I fare
The words I saw were all in blur
And were in badly crooked lines
I have but lost my metering
And all my lines did hardly rhyme
My next poems shall not be written
And in my thought will just remain
Be unrecited as they may
Till in my mind they fade away
poem by Pacific Hernandez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Book Of Suleika - The Loving One Again
WRITES he in Neski,
Faithfully speaks he;
Writes he in Tali,
Joy to give, seeks he:
Writes he in either,
Good!--for he loves!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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And then the paper is dirty
You start with a clean sheet of paper
Write some words, scribble, draw some lines
Some curves, sharp lines, tangent to bold
Lines, and rough sketches of faces and
Bodies, thin lines that get crooked from
End to end of this limited space,
You doodle, you get wild with so
Many lines unimaginable, senseless,
The paper finally looks dirty,
And you do not like it, you crumple
It and throw it in a waste basket,
You get another clean sheet,
And this time, you think what is
It really that you want to make
Out of this new clean sheet of paper.
You think, you ponder, and you need
More time this time not to waste
This clean, glossy sheet of paper.
I think you are doing well with your life.
You see you are supposed to be careful
Every word is delicate and every paper
Is actually accounted.
Never mind guilt, set it aside for a while.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Old Man Tries/ To Memorize A Few Lines
AN OLD MAN TRIES/ TO MEMORIZE A FEW LINES
An old man tries,
To memorize a few lines-
His mind is slower than it was.
Inside,
Where the old poems lie-
He writes and rewrites them.
But he knows,
His poems now are not what they were,
And he is not what he was
And the world isn’t either.
Dark days are coming
And with them Darker nights
May we have the strength
To survive them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Exhortation On Some Lines....
something is missing in your lines.
i regret to tell you that.
it does not speak well of yourself
or the world
or any moment, it is like a desert and all we have is space and
a horizon
there is even no wind to blow the sands away
i do not expect rain in the desert
but i could have seen a camel or a line of trucks or a
caravan
or even a Bedouin riding on his black horse with a scimitar
here i am again
in my worst self trying to tell you what to do so that you can be what you are
your lines are straight and too clean and that make them appear
dishonest
people love crooked lines and those that move in free directions
lines that are cold like the wind
and yet vibrant at night
not really dead, but simply grieving in silence for the loss of
someone so loved and missed.
i do not want you to change your lines, they are yours to
show,
i may be unfair wishing that your lines may be like mine
but mine are too sad and always sounding like a lover abandoned.
the beautiful lines are not clean.
they are imbued with our errors, erasures, blasting in our faces
like explosives
where shattered as we are on the fields of our disasters
only in a few seconds
we become silent spaces again.
mine are sad, and lonely and abandoned.
they are the only ones i have now, and so i must be compelled to
have them and love them
just the way they are.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I learn the lines that JK Rowling or whoever writes them, and say them.
quote by Michael Gambon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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