Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them.
quote by Charles Simic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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18 Definitions Of Poetry
1) Poetry is what is Beautiful in words –
2) Poetry is the deepest feeling words can tell
3) Poetry is the soul of each one of us
4) Poetry is the morning light after the longest night
5) Poetry is a dream of dreams in a world that needs dreams to be
beautiful
6) Poetry is the Search for God and the Love of God in all holy writing
7) Poetry is Reality itself when it is doing what it should
8) Poetry is you and me and all of us when we are kind to each other
9) Poetry is more than we can say or know- deeper than the deepest
silence and quieter also
10) Poetry is the place we go to in ourselves when we need to cry out loud
11) Poetry is Love words of love and the first spring of the young lovers first
song
12) Poetry is all we are when our minds are right and strong
13) Poetry is what saves us from all the other words
14) Poetry is what ceases to exist when Cruelty comes
15) Poetry is Love and Blessing and Kindness again
16) Poetry cuts through the icy sea within and sends chills down the spine
17) Poetry is what is recollected in tranquility but also tried and tossed in
tempest on the most difficult seas
18) Poetry is open to more than what it has been It is what others have not yet created and will so long as we are human and in search of the Sublime
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poet Loses His Power For Poetry
A POET LOSES HIS POWER FOR POETRY
A poet loses his power for poetry
He can put down words
But they no longer have poetry in them
Something of the feeling of what real poetry is
is gone.
He strives
He writes again and again
He puts words down in the forms and in the shapes his poems usually take
But he has no poetry in him
He has lost what he is
And all he can do
is strive again and again
Word after word
Silence after silence
To hear within himself again
A voice he does not have.
The poet is writing poetry
And it is not poetry
The poet is dead
And he is pretending to be alive
Is this a poem?
Is he a poet
Is he dead?
Is he alive?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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12
what appears is what it is
that is how simple it is
and how beautiful can it be
a petal of a flower is nothing
but a petal of a flower
falling to the ground on a
windless day
caused by no other than
this pull of gravity
we watch a world unfolding
we only use words because there is a need to write
what beautiful thing we have seen
but there is more to the simplicity of all these things
those that we have seen and felt and
cannot completely tell you
even in the most simple words of our poetry
the experience of beauty is so personal
like how i experience the poetry of the heart
it is like this, no, it is like this... words fail now
(........)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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8
what appears is what it is
that is how simple it is
and how beautiful can it be
a petal of a flower is nothing
but a petal of a flower
falling to the ground on a
windless day
caused by no other than
this pull of gravity
we watch a world unfolding
we only use words because there is a need to write
what beautiful thing we have seen
but there is more to the simplicity of all these things
those that we have seen and felt and
cannot completely tell you
even in the most simple words of our poetry
the experience of beauty is so personal
like how i experience the poetry of the heart
it is like this, no, it is like this... words fail now
(........)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wait To Hear Within The Words Which Will Mean 'Poetry
I WAIT TO HEAR FROM WITHIN THE WORDS WHICH WILL MEAN ‘POETRY’
I wait to hear from within the words which will mean ‘poetry’
I listen to myself
Only these lines come-
Silence is greater than I am
But I must be, mustn’t I?
The world does not know or care-
Universes in the distance burn bright and then die-
The world does not care
It need not care
Who am I?
What is my poetry?
Billions and trillions and zillions of each and everything
Come into being
And then are not-
Like one of them
The silence will too embrace me
And the vast worlds elsewhere go on
In their indifference
Even to themselves.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wait To Hear From Within The Words Which Will Mean 'Poetry
I WAIT TO HEAR FROM WITHIN THE WORDS WHICH WILL MEAN ‘POETRY’
I wait to hear from within the words which will mean ‘poetry’
I listen to myself
Only these lines come-
Silence is greater than I am
But I must be, mustn’t I?
The world does not know or care-
Universes in the distance burn bright and then die-
The world does not care
It need not care
Who am I?
What is my poetry?
Billions and trillions and zillions of each and everything
Come into being
And then are not-
Like one of them
The silence will too embrace me
And the vast worlds elsewhere go on
In their indifference
Even to themselves.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry Is All In One!
Passion for poetry is insatiable!
Poetry gives pleasure nothing can!
Poetry is many subjects under one roof!
Poetry never bores to write and read ever!
Poetry is a compression of many ideas in a nut shell!
Poetry displays power of pen to capture men ever!
Poetry captures as photo castles built in air!
Poetry is spontaneous over flow of ides!
Poetry flows free if extemporary!
Poetry is prolific words sure!
Poetry is a thing of joy!
Poetry is beauty!
Poetry is witty!
Poetry cheers!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Night Passes In A Silenceless Torment
A night passes in a Silenceless Torment
Even the most beautiful songs
Cannot quell the restlessness-
There are times when one is not born for this
Or any other world-
Dissatisfaction restlessness frustration
Cannot yield the best poetry-
Tormented songs repeat themselves
What was once beautiful
Now irritates as relentless noise-
There is the need for a different kind of beauty
A song from within that no external song can give-
I want silence
No other song
Only silence
Silence and more silence
A poetry of silence
Or even a silence without poetry
Silence
The kind of silence in which the torment has ended
Sleep perhaps
Silence silence
Please.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Silence and Language
Silence is our original composition and speech
Languages are the dresses we wear;
What we convey and understand remains the same
Despite the various languages we use;
Words are clothed senses in silence;
Once we decipher, understanding dawns,
Silence, peace and bliss pervade us;
What we experience, mean, understand, conceive,
think, utter, listen, perceive, understand, experience
Through languages and communication are in essence the same.
The manifestations of Silence;
Silence is Divine Mood
Lord's Speech;
Communication with our Self is Silence;
Communication with the rest is
Silence wrapped, by language;
We need Silence and Language
Which are supplementary and complementary
In communication and for realization;
poem by Varanasi Ramabrahmam
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Creativity/ Like My Father On His Deathbed
Poetry is not about words.
Poetry flows
from experiences that hover beyond words,
a shining memory sounding muffled
hidden behind a familiar door.
The words of a poem
are the funeral of my old father,
magnificent, feisty and watchful,
available to the last
through indefinable gestures
and a shining silence
existent somewhere else now
as poetry is, the real poem,
not the heavy coffin of the print.
Poetry pines for it’s lost world,
its hidden home,
like a swan still singing on a plate.
It is homesick, alone, away
from its chosen canyons and
mountain trees around the lake,
vibrant with colour
in memories that glow
for a lifetime.
You know, as I do, poetry is not words,
but is a royal personage,
my father on his deathbed.
poem by Iain Trousdell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An act of poetry
Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry
A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art
Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation
Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:
The pen be our salvation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Young Poet
Poetry was something else
written by others
somewhere else
and came from
somewhere else
but the poetry
which he did not know
called one day
in a language he did not know
so he put down words on paper
and threw the paper away
but the words did not go away
and he did not know what poetry should do
until he wrote the words
which told him
what poetry could do
for only poetry can teach you poetry
*
Gertrude Stein stood behind me while I wrote this.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Have Heard Only My Own Silence Today
I HAVE HEARD ONLY MY OWN SILENCE TODAY
I have heard only my own silence today-
And what I am trying to do now
Is hear my words as poetry-
I wait and listen
I let silence play softly next to me
I lean over and bend my ear-
Nothing is heard-
I am not a poem
And life is not poetry
And all that there is
Vain lines of a vain passing player
Who soon will sing no more.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To arrange words
To arrange words
In some order
Is not the same thing
As the inner poise
That's poetry.
The truth of poetry
Is the truth
Of being.
It's an experience
Of truth.
No ornaments
Survive
A crucible.
Fire reveals
Only molten
Gold.
Says Tuka
We are here
To reveal.
We do not waste
Words.
poem by Sant Tukaram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words of liberation for my nation
Chains of slavery are still over my people.
Notorious minds still over power innocent minds.
What can free the black child, what can free my nation?
I ask in pain and suffering in the dark jail cells,
What can free me from mental slavery?
How to know right from wrong?
How to think free and build a free society?
The solution is in the words of liberation, the words of wisdom.
I write and recite a revolution, my revolution my poetry.
I do n’t need praises or worship but only recognition and understanding of the people to words of liberation, understanding of poetry.
I stand before you to present poetry,
I stand before you to present the words of liberation to my nation.
Poetry that builds, poetry that destroys.
Poetry that destroyed the impious minds of colonists in Rhodesia.
I speak of poetry that built freedom in South Africa.
When I speak of poetry I mean the true meaning of words.
Words of wisdom,
Words of freedom,
Words of liberation,
Words to free my nation.
The words of liberation to my nation
Words of liberation to free my generation
Poetry-poetry-poetry-poetry-poetry.
poem by zimi Nakeni
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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AN ORPHAN PARTING(İ f there were no sins..How would be aware of good things)
ı have got enough of everything
life and living
seen everything I had to see
enough and enough
that is enough
now..time is approaching
it is the era and time of parting
do not acquit me
do not bless me
if you want
do not forgive my wrong doings
sins and offenses
cause ı know and ı feel
in fact who is the one offended
born an orphan
grew an orphan
ı will leave this world an orphan
let them share
what I left behind
and remember me
but my poems
I am parting as an orphan
I want to live a new life
if there is one there
may be there
I will be an orphan
my FATHER the GODMetinb SAHİ N
poem by Metin Sahin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry Is Movement Without Effort
Poetry is movement without effort
Poetry should take you to places far beyond what your eyes can see
Take you to places where you can be free
Poetry is movement without effort
All you have to do is think and feel
and it will move you
and make your experiences real
poetry can cause pictures to form in your mind
speak a thousand verbs, a thousand nouns, or a thousand rhymes
all written for you to experience on a personal level
poetry is a journey
to self discovery
out of a thousand doorways to roads never walked travelled or taken
poetry can cause your eyes and your heart to awaken
remind you of a friend’s love remind you that your never forsaken
because while you live you can experience life to the full
poetry is movement it is a tool
for cataloguing things seen and unseen
for poetry can be the very fabric from which we dream!
poem by Daniel Hooks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Divine Message
(An experience that I went through when
I was only five years old)
All around, everywhere, yellow, yellow, yellow,
The mist from the Earth to sky, the spaces filled;
Neither the moon, nor stars, nothing was visible,
The dominating fear, my blood, my bones chilled.
Alone, alone I was, nothing except me I found,
Silence, silence, serene silence was all around,
Nothingness led to the region of celestial wonder,
One tastes seeing no universe, no sky, no ground.
Then words of golden light appeared, disappeared,
In space but I could not read the divine message;
Still it confounds me when I recall the experience,
And I can not decide which I was led the passage.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Can Write Poetry All Day Long
I CAN WRITE POETRY ALL DAY LONG
I can write Poetry all day long
But what will it give me?
There is just so much others will listen to
If anything?
And what is the value of writing words to myself for myself
Even if I love them
And believe they are real poetry,
And know in my soul
That their music is real?
I can write Poetry all day long
Or think I am writing poetry
When I am not-
Am I writing poetry now?
I feel I am-
Within me there is the song and the sound
There is the music of poetry
But is it real
Or only my self- deception?
Can I write poetry all day long?
Can I write poetry at all?
I am writing poetry now
Or so I tell myself-
But as I write this
The music within
Is already fading
And I hear in myself
The silence of my own lonely sound.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If 1 And 2 Were Equal
If 1 and 2 were equal
we'd have as many hearts as fists
If 1 and 2 were equal
we'd have confused shopping lists
If 1 and 2 were equal
there'd be less phone numbers to dial
If 1 and 2 were equal
noon would surely last a while
If 1 and 2 were equal
there'd be a nose under each eye
If 1 and 2 were equal
you couldn't say no to 'you and I? '
If 1 and 2 were equal
I think I'd be much more happy
'cause if 1 and 2 were equal
I would not be so lonely
poem by John W. McEwers
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