I never wish for critics.
quote by Jasper Johns
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All The Critics Love U In New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U don't have 2 keep the beat
They'll still think it's neat in New York
U can wear what U want 2
It doesn't matter in New York
U could cut off all your hair
I don't think they'd care in New York
All the critics love U in New York
Why U can play what U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
They won't say that U're naive
If U play what U believe in New York
Purple love-amour is all U're in it 4
But don't show it
The reason that U're cool
Is cuz U're from the old school and they know it
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
All the critics love U
song performed by by Prince from 1999
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Critics?
Critics?
They do what they do best...
Undress those who create.
It is easier for them to probe,
Than appreciate.
It is a frustration of sorts,
To be boxed within boundaries.
Not knowing or understanding...
What the force behind creativity means,
Or where it begins...
With perceptions taught and conceived.
They have an awareness of it.
Or so some believe.
Although a conformity upon them visits.
But to comprehend what it is...
And why some have it and they don't,
Really makes them pissed.
Although an 'intelligence'
Once applied can hide this.
Is that why they delight in being critics?
As creators sweat to expand their wits,
Critics enjoy deploying...
A complete misunderstanding of it!
As they assist others like themselves...
Attempting to expand minds of limited demands.
Hoping this attachment,
Delivers to them someone's attention span.
And they get it!
That is why there is so many critics.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Critics
dont look for
critics who treat
your work as an
extension of
themselves
look for critics who
give you a field
for your talent
to grow
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The critic
The status of critics has changed,
The most important critics were those who stood on street
corners
Full of gossip and finger wagging
Or the busty burly matrons whispering over washing lines
These critics were the slanderers
The little vipers who hung by the school gate
Some still do,
This time they sink a pint or two,
In the pub with a couple of pug nose friends
But there is a class of critics
That whitewash your pale white words
Austere and aloof from the proof,
Scrubbed clean and mean,
They murder sentiment
Mock fools without 'a scene'
Redefining the 'new' 'illiterattii, ' who never went to school'
These critics wear brogues.....? ?
Am I being cruel? [or just ironic? ]
The men drink whisky
The women a gin/ vodka and tonic!
Fifty years ago they would 'parade'
In a uniforn of tweed and plaid
Post public school
But some critics just thumbnail through
Half asleep over scripts they render dead/ unread
'They are not amused'
So don't lose any sleep
They have no time you
yvette smith may 2009
poem by Yvette Smith
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Scrutinized For Their Blemishes
It is easy for many to sit back and critique,
With a judging done of those tasks...
Others produce with a doing to complete.
And if some people are prolific,
From experiences live that dictate this...
The critics are quick,
To stampede out from nowhere it seems...
With criticsms prepared,
Not to uplift or encourage...
But instead,
Demean.
But when given the opportunity to highlight their gifts,
Critics often spew excuses...
As those under microscope,
Are scrutinized for their blemishes.
Although,
Even those who enjoy themselves as critics...
Have moments they don't admit but wish,
An attention given to be critiqued...
Would validate a reason to rid their insecurities,
With a purpose in their minds that solidified their existence.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Critics Have Appeared
critics have appeared
in these cyber times
hunting for poems
and passing wise words
on poems they swallow in seconds
and whose comments are like puke;
and whose own gems of poems when you seek
it turns out, they have not published any
at the very poetry portals where they pass such magnificent judgment…
O Ye Critics who hunt for poems
come back another day
when you have poems some of your very own…
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Facts Enacted
Very few 'doers' are without their critics.
And they may be relatives.
Or 'close' friends to suspect.
When one does things that are made public...
No matter who they are,
They will be scrutinized.
And flooded with advice and suggestions to test!
Very few 'doers' are without their critics.
Especially those who have expressed their concerns.
They are the ones often scandalized.
With a receiving of a 'burning'
For their good deeds in return.
And the evidence of that...
Becomes evident,
With the witnessing of those facts enacted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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May I Have Another Helping of Those Delicious Critics, Please?
What do I have to say,
To those who are my critics?
I have been aware of them,
Since I began taking my first steps.
Since my first breath taken...
Was done independently.
I've heard it said,
My lifetime of actions...
By them has been disapproved.
And things I do have been ego led.
It's believed what I do,
Is done to seek attention.
Even those things I do to cleanse,
In privacy...
I care not mention.
We all have talents,
And those gifts that are given.
How I use the ones I have...
Aren't from a critic's invention.
Or maybe because of the creation of 'them'.
Who knows?
Perhaps that's what has them upset.
And if they have time like that to waste...
Don't hesitate in delay to say,
I am just getting started.
And what I've given to them to nibble...
Is just a little taste.
From a baking not completed,
Yet imaginations rate!
They have no idea,
Of who I am!
Or the making of 'me'.
And-what-that-takes!
Since I'm the cooker who does the feeding...
I know who eats!
And those served,
That ate.
Those who choose to regurgitate...
Do it without my decision given to make!
What do I have to say,
To those who are my critics?
I do admire their efforts,
But...
What's there is there for them to digest.
I'm not about to give up my peace,
Or my mind for them to test.
My eyes are clear,
And focused on my progress.
Not on things that I've done.
For purposes to keep manifested,
The days I spent in my youth...
Doing things to shock and stun,
Just for the 'hell' of having devilish fun.
Although I must admit,
There is 'something' about controversy...
That appetites my palate much more than just a bit.
'Excuse me...
I know I shouldn't.
Since I am here by invitation.
But,
May I have another helping of those delicious critics,
Please?
I can not believe they could be this delicious.
What have these critics been mixed with? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Improbale dream for my fellow poets
A hundred years from now may be.
Someone will read my poetry
and wonder how I came to write
my simple thoughts in black and white.
Amused by my naiveté
my complete lack of sophistry
Perhaps in pity they will give,
me credit as a primitive.
Just as some critics do today.
Poke fun at the old fashioned way
in which past poets used to write.
Immortal verse which can delight
their readers of the present day.
Despite what critics have to say.
15-Dec-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Hyperbolic
The actor!
His greater mentor;
The actress!
Her greator mentor;
With critics and the hyperbolic of things,
But this satirical case is always seen around us.
Trained from oral history,
Trained from oral works,
And like the beauty of love plus the act of peace;
With critics and the hyerbolic of the things around us today,
But, my sweet mind will lead me on always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Room for improvement for Leslie
Critics express their point of view.
As they have every right to do
I will give credit where it’s due.
So I consider each review
as of potential benefit
Though I may not agree with it.
It may well be I can profit
by reading what my critics writ.
I treat all critiques just the same
accepting praise accepting blame.
All part and parcel of the game.
Improvement is my only aim.
So please feel free to state your view
You might well teach me something new.
13-Feb-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Artists teach critics what to think. Critics repeat what the artists teach them.
quote by Sol LeWitt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prove Critics Fools
No matter who does what,
Just do.
No matter who does what,
Just do.
No matter who does what,
Just do.
With a doing to be done...
To do.
And...
Deliver to the people to prove,
Critics fools.
Deliver to the people to prove,
Critics fools.
And deliver to the people to prove,
Critics fools.
Just deliver to the people to prove,
Critics fools.
No matter who does what,
Just do.
No matter who does what,
Just do.
No matter who does what,
Just do.
With a doing to be done...
To do.
With a doing to prove critics fools.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Can I Do I Do I Do
I have believed
with good reason;
for an observed
justified qualified;
period of time now.
That Those That Can Do!
That Those That Can’t! Just Talk About It...
Those that can
write
produce
create
enrich
this world
with wonder
of vision realized
Those that can’t
are critics...
have you noticed?
Some critics
are really
acidic?
Those that can’t
just talk
talk
talk
talk
about it
what they will do
When they are happy
in the mood
the time
is right
talk talk
but never do
The time is
always now
the time
to do to do
There is that
which is written
to enlighten...
There is that
which is written
to entertain...
Rarely
are they
one
and the
same
Critic
don’t be
at cross
purposes...
Be an artist
of critique
empower
to believe...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Could Not Possibly Be Done Without Them
A persistent consistency isn't resistent to critique.
No!
Even though this may be believed.
There is a shared interdependency,
That benefits as a gift.
One who has been focused with purpose,
Has become accustomed to this deed.
And determined to use criticsm,
As a sign of something done...
That is appreciated but not by everyone.
And this continues with a seeking of critique one does,
As a method to keep critics feeling instrumental...
To what is needed to achieve what one does to do,
That could not possibly be done without them...
To ignite that inspiration kept and sought,
For a motivation that sparks one's drive to succeed.
'You could have used another line to rhyme with the other.
Why didn't you do it? '
~It's for the critics I exist.
But 'this' I keep them unaware of it.
I like to refer to this done,
As a mutual benefit of applied irritation.~
'But...
Does it work? '
~We've been irritating each other for years.
So I would think that it does.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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How Bad Do You Want This?
How bad do you want this?
And are you willing to sacrifice,
Any and every benefit wished?
How bad do you want this?
And are you willing to sit,
Overwhelmed by critics...
Picking you apart as if you don't exist?
Just how bad do you want this?
Suppose it was revealed behind the scenes,
Sweat streams from those working?
With relentless hours were spent,
Redoing that which was done.
And with no guarantee an attention comes.
Suppose it was revealed behind the scenes,
Abuse is common for everyone.
Would you still be wanting with desire for it?
Just how bad do you want this?
Are you willing to sit through trials and tribulations?
Referred to being considered a misfit...
Stripped and bared?
Would you care?
How bad do you want this?
And are you willing to sit,
Overwhelmed by critics...
Picking you apart as if you don't exist?
Are you willing to crawl,
Until your hands from blisters split?
Then you are more than deserving...
To settle for no more or less than the best.
If what you wish is wanted that bad,
It can be tasted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Critics Outside And Inside
Peers are critics outside and conscience,
The critic inside. We listen to both.
We make efforts to silence both the critics.
When there is a conflict between the two,
Do answer the calls from the conscience
Rather than yield to the peers' pressure.
One thinks of oneself when one spends for food.
One thinks of pears when one spends on clothes.
Love from pity is the call of conscience.
Love for relation is the call of peers.
People go bankrupt from peers' pressure.
A coward is led by peers influence.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Jesus, The Crucified Poet
My pens have nailed me to the tree; red ink pours from my veins...
Though in the distance, fancy free, lost singers voice refrains...
If I had written songs instead, a hero I would be!
If I had known what lay ahead, would I know Calvary?
Yet here I am, now hoisted high, for all the world to scoff!
I asked, Who? What? Where? When? And Why? I couldn't shake them off!
Thus day-by-day and night-by-night I wrote my poems down...
Perchance that others would delight and somehow soothe each frown...
Alas, my critics sought my death, 'What purpose does he serve? '
It seemed they loathed my every breath, 'He has no place on Earth! '
Thus I was hunted like a fox until my final day -
And then they laid me in a box awaiting Judgement Day!
Prophetic poetry won't be slain! Its spirit will live on!
By God, its power will still remain when all my critics are gone...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Lines from
I'd rather have my verses win
A place in common people's hearts,
Who, toiling through the strife and din
Of life's great thoroughfares, and marts,
May read some line my hand has penned;
Some simple verse, not fine, or grand,
But what their hearts can understand
And hold me henceforth as a friend,--
I'd rather win such quiet fame
Than by some fine thought, bolished so
But those of learned minds would know,
Just what the meaning of my song,--
To have the critics sound my name
In high-flown praises, loud and long.
I sing not for the critic's ear,
But for the masses. If they hear
Despite the turmoil, noise, and strife
Some least low note that gladdens life,
I shall be wholly satisfied,
Though critics to the end deride.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Something Practical For Valentine
There sits, atop a cherry tree
a bird that badly needs to pee.
He's eaten cherries to his fill
and now is bloated, feeling ill.
Bird guts turn cherries into wine
for critics here, on Valentine.
And if the critics have the gout
the wine will drive the acid out.
I think that I shall never see
another fancy cherry tree.
Nor any bird, a cherry thief
who, bloated, aches for quick relief.
But the idea of cherry wine
gut-brewed just for my Valentine
is reminiscent of the gout
today is it, and I could shout!
I'm off now to the local shop
to get her present, a new mop.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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