Don't be too harsh to these poems until they're typed. I always think typescript lends some sort of certainty: at least, if the things are bad then, they appear to be bad with conviction.
quote by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
If a man fights his way through his doubts to the conviction that Jesus Christ is Lord, he has attained to a certainty that the man who unthinkingly accepts things can never reach.
quote by William Barclay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poems About.
There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.
quote by Vaclav Havel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.
quote by Vaclav Havel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.
Vaclav Havel in Disturbing the Peace (1986)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who Would Be A Poet?
Tell me, who would be a poet?
Just think what it entails...
And we know we'll sometimes blow it,
For every writer fails...
To think, that when we're feeling down,
We write to raise a smile,
But then we often have to frown,
Restricted by some style...
Eight syllables, then six below,
That's how I try to write...
Eight syllables to match the flow
Then six to keep it light...
So pretty soon verse three's arranged
Before the poem's done
And then verse four gets somewhat changed,
But don't tell anyone!
Some names get swapped and switched around,
Some placenames, too, replaced...
And suddenly an ending's found
And that has to be phrased...
My, my, it's like a Mystory Tour!
All jumbled jolly stuff,
With heartfelt tales of sweet amour
And that weird thing called lurv...
For thirty years, I've typed and typed
And typed and typed again...
I've either griped or else I've hyped
And emptied every pen...
The Writing Bug's still bugging me...
And yet how much I owe it!
Except no sweetheart's hugging me!
So who would be a poet! ?
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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More Poems To Come
More poems that do rhyme,
talking about people in the big time.
More poems that tell a story,
about happy things, not gory.
More poems to come on Christinasunrise,
where I will make you realize,
things can brighter and bigger if you fantasize.
For we live in our heads all day,
we should think of funny things to say.
That’s why my Pissed Off poems are really funny,
like “Skunkman Is Afraid Of The Easter Bunny”.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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My poems are stored
My poems are stored
In a funeral box
Kept beside the bed
They go unread
Similar objects are kept
Locked in my heart and head
They go unread
The habitation of my poems
Is bonded red
They go unread
All poems are offerings
To the god that can not read
For poems are only human
Made things
The bees do not care for them
Neither does the birds
Or the trees with better
Things to do then
Take note of them.
poem by David E. Patton
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The Sounds From Symbols....
as i flex my muscles
and raise my hands and
stretch my legs
as you begin to dance
and hum a song
as we make each day
different from the rest of
the days of the world
so must our poems be
so must our lives be
we have decided
when we have typed the first word
upon those symbols
the syllables have given birth
to the much awaited
sound
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Oh The Poems And More Poems
OH THE POEMS AND THE MORE POEMS
Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems I am writing all the time
God has given me this gift
And when I wait in the right way
And when I listen to myself properly
The poems come in ways I could never have thought of or imagined before
They come as mysteries as gifts as surprises
As wonderful to me as perhaps to you their possible readers
Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems God has given me
And the light of this day and so many other days, also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sonnet: Immortal Shall Be My Poems
My poems shall live for Eternity!
God inspires me and I perspire;
Writ them all I have for all posterity;
Outcome my poems from my heart with fire.
I’ll say all the good things, I ought to say;
Paint all the bad things, they ought to refrain;
On earth we must live with care any day;
Life is just one chance and doesn’t come again.
Writ are my thoughts for immortality!
God helps say the right things in right ways;
The art in my poems, the world will see;
I’ll serve God thus for the rest of my days.
My poems will stand the test of all time;
I speak of life and values with much rhyme.
poem by John Celes
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My Weekend
My weekend started with great expectations,
a chat with two very dear friends online,
but after that the weekend settled into a decline,
and went right down the pan as they say.
I had a backlog of poems to type,
then suddenly and without warning,
everything was plunged into darkness
and candlepower became the norm.
You cannot run a computer on candlepower
so my typing came to abrupt end
with only six poems left to type.
Sunday wasn’t much better
as each poem that I typed was a sad one
and it left me feeling the same way.
At least I managed to finish them,
but the sadness remained.
I was glad to see the weekend gone;
hoping that the week ahead
will bring some smiles instead.
17 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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The curse of me & my nation is that we always think things can be bettered by immediate action of some sort, any sort rather than no sort.
quote by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The curse of me and my nation is that we always think things can be bettered by immediate action of some sort, any sort rather than no sort.
Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.
Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Tenderness Is A Privilege Of Few
Name the violence and her sons
A sort of callousness enshrouds us
Harsh words friendly support bitter behaviours
And tenderness is a privilege of few
I can't let you die, I can't, I am sorry
The only thing I may do for you is to allow me not to exist anymore
What I was, the one you knew has to be choked off
Despite my awkward attempt to survive with you
I do recognise that I don't deserve your memory
Stunned by the revelation I wander in despair
Still and frozen my mind learns your thoughts by heart
Is that everything lost?
And then mist in my dreams, your gaze weird moved by compassion
Does it mean that you felt my pain?
Name the violence and her sons
A sort of callousness enshrouds us
Harsh words friendly support bitter behaviours
And tenderness is a privilege of few
I don't fear either the blame or the damnation
The world is mean enough with or without my version of events
I won't be going overboard for trying
I will always fiercely protect my low river
And I'm really pissed off at all these faces in mourning
Being so called reputable is not my priority anymore, if ever it was
People are often sidetracked by appearances
I want to be gentle and decent
I need to be authentically in love with Humanity
I need to care for its destiny, to pray for redemption
Name the violence and her sons
A sort of callousness enshrouds us
Harsh words friendly support bitter behaviours
And tenderness is a privilege of few
poem by Ilaria Boffa
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Lost Moment
Let us sleep without,
thinking of tomorrow.
Tomorrow's certainty of,
things to sort out.
otherwise interests added,
Letters be sent,
again heart beats faster,
certain of uncertainties.
Let us sleep comfortably,
without the whims of tomorrow.
Days go as these have to,
but we go with pain and sorrow.
Accomplishment is our goal,
what have we achieved so far?
Take the life as it is,
and enjoy the moment as it comes!
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Poems About Poems About Poems
Poems about poems about poems-
More poems and more poems and more poems-
Poems poems poems poems poems-
How many poems?
How much poetry
Until there is no poetry at all?
But only 'words' and 'words' and 'words'
Until one goes far away
Where there was never a poem before-
And suddenly hears
“Let there be Light”.
And Poetry perhaps
Is born again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Which Poems Are True and Which Poems Only A Story?
WHICH POEMS ARE TRUE AND WHICH POEMS ONLY A STORY?
Which poems are true
and which poems only a story?
There are poems I have to write
They are the heart of who I am-
And other poems that tell a story my mind makes
And takes me where I do not know I'll ever really be-
There are real poems and there are imaginary poems-
And there are poems-in- between like this one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Peaceful Rebellion
Brainwashed, conditioned to obey
Harsh rules laid down by foolish men.
Who tell you it’s the only way
while you are young and still children.
They have no answer when you ask,
but brush your questions aside
and sternly take you to task.
What is it that they have to hide.
Do they believe the things they teach?
I am quite sure there are a few
But most don’t practice what they preach
Whilst still insisting that you do.
I will not do as they expect.
I will rebel and choose my way.
I think it foolish to accept
as true the things they say.
I think it wise to scrutinise
The myths and legends we are taught.
Attempt to sift the truth from lies
From every source and every sort.
(14-Aug-07)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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