He was certainly in a confused state. I used to go and visit him in Callan Park. They were really - to me they were the best poets those two writing in those days but it wasn't very encouraging because, well, they weren't getting far were they?
quote by Robert Adamson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Louisa
Louisa, make it a point to visit Ghana;
For the nature is there for you to admire.
Of the Bobiri Forest and Betterfly Sanctuary to visit,
Of the Wechiau Hippo Sanctuary to visit,
Of the Xavi Bird Watching Sanctuary to visit,
Of the Kakum National Park to visit,
Of the Aburi Botanical Gardens to visit,
Of the Bui National Park to visit,
Of the Ankasa Nature Park to visit,
Of the Bonsu Arboretum Park to visit,
Of the Digya National Park to visit,
And to sit under a broom tree with us;
Like a reed shaking in the water of love.
Louisa, make a trip to Ghana and see this lovely place;
For the nature is there for you to admire.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Confused
I am confused with love and fear.
I am confused with the taste of my tear.
I am confused of where I'll go.
I am confused of what I'll know.
I am confused of whos my family.
I am confused of what makes me happy.
I am confused by what I do.
I am confused of what's true.
I am confused by your touch.
I am confused oh so much.
poem by Jean Pullman
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Many What If’s And More
What if Cinderella wasn’t a princess
But the advertiser of a new flavored jellybean
What if Snow White wasn’t pretty
But the ugliest hag ever seen
What if soccer wasn’t a game
But a new kind of disease
What if an oven isn’t used for warming food
But to make them freeze
What if tom wasn’t a cartoon
But a new mechanical device
That help cats in catching mice
Get very quick and wise
What if Jerry wasn’t a mouse
But another name for cherry
What if a mountain wasn’t mountain
But a new kind of berry
What if shoes weren’t used on feet
But to help us see
What if I wasn’t myself
I wonder who’d write this instead of me!
poem by Risha Ahmed
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When I wasn't breathing
When I wasn’t blissfully snoring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
cistern of stupendously rhapsodic and gloriously majestic Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t unsurpassably fantasizing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
garden of ingeniously magical and miraculously mitigating Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t superbly adventuring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
an
ocean of bountifully resplendent and timelessly undefeated Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t scrumptiously relishing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
playground of optimistically enlightening and unbelievably royal
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t limitlessly triumphing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cascade of beautifully panoramic and effulgently liberating Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t pricelessly smiling; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
lantern of unendingly vibrant and inscrutably tantalizing Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t gloriously partying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
paradise of eternally vivacious and pristinely redolent Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t unassailably inspiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
festoon of incredulously ameliorating and perpetually compassionate
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t magnanimously feasting; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cocoon of symbiotically philanthropic and ubiquitously coalescing
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t ebulliently fornicating; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
mist of wonderfully reinvigorating and blessedly burgeoning Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t flirtatiously winking; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
swirl of brilliantly untainted and Omnipotently ecstatic Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t mellifluously singing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
heaven of iridescently innovative and spectacularly celestial Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t synergistically relaxing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
pearl of unconquerably seductive and unprecedentedly enamoring Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t amiably conversing; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
palette of majestically invincible and Omnipresently procreating
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t holistically earning; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
canvas of inimitably untamed and fragrantly altruistic Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t unceasingly exultating; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
tunnel of mystically replenishing and perennially enthralling Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t devoutly praying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
meadow
of vividly glorifying and fearlessly jubilant Immortal Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t ardently dancing; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
rainbow
of poignantly marvelous and unshakably subliming Immortal Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t unstoppably admiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
mirror of truthfully Omnipresent and inherently revealing Immortal Love
Poetry,
And when I wasn’t quintessentially breathing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a cosmos of unbreakably everlasting and universally bonding
Immortal
Love Poetry….
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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The Language Poets are writing only about language itself. The Ashbery poets are writing only about poetry itself. That seems to me a kind of dead end.
quote by Robert Morgan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I've tried writing. Two days later I'd go visit it and say, Jesus Christ, who wrote this crap?
quote by Dennis Farina
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Novel writing should never be confused with journalism. Unfortunately, in the case of Primary Colors, a fair number of journalists confused.
So when people go to the park this summer, they are not going to have the same quality of a visit. There is not going to be a ranger out on the trail to tell them about the important cultural and historic areas within the Olympic National Park.
quote by Norm Dicks
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Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Happy Dog 3
I’m a happy dog at the park
I yelp and woof and bark
Along with the sound
Us dogs run around
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
You may think me off the mark
But I’m not by mistake
In the mud by the lake
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I hunt like a big hairy shark
When the bunnies trail
Puts a spring in my tail
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m glad that some bright spark
Brought a ball to throw
Now off I go
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’ll be wagging well into the dark
Enjoy fresh air and fun
Is my tip everyone
I’m a happy dog at the park
poem by Flying Lemming
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The 'Poem A Day' Project ~ Day 257
I’m a happy dog at the park
I yelp and woof and bark
Along with the sound
Us dogs run around
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
You may think me off the mark
But I’m not by mistake
In the mud by the lake
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I hunt like a big hairy shark
When the bunnies trail
Puts a spring in my tail
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m glad that some bright spark
Brought a ball to throw
Now off I go
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’ll be wagging well into the dark
Enjoy fresh air and fun
Is my tip everyone
I’m a happy dog at the park
poem by Flying Lemming
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Her Confusion.
The little words, the simple moments, how they bothered.
A family that wasn’t prejudice let out the many slips.
The words that cut the confused kids mind.
That allowed the slices on the skin.
Trying to understand, trying to stay hidden.
Her little secret, her deep wounds,
Words that they let slip, unknowingly affecting.
Quietly hiding her truths away, pretending the boys were cute.
Closing her eyes to the awkward,
Letting the words go on.
She wiped her tears in the bathroom, hid the torn flesh.
Went about her long days, keeping her secret,
As the school days passed, the pills swallowed kept back the pain,
The little words, the little slips,
Digging into a confused kid’s brain
poem by KenZ Lauren
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In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.
quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Visit Me
Visit me at the Washingron Park in Chicago and,
You may probably meet President Obama around;
For the love of his muse is for the whole world.
To cherish a rich cultural heritage and values,
And to learn to live harmoniously with one another on this earth;
Because most of the introverts are attentive to the extroverts and vice versa,
And like the strong-willed and hard working people around the world to get along with you.
Visit me and learn from my muse,
For this park is like my home;
And it is very likely that you may meet President Obama as well.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Rebirth
I was alone,
rusting in heaven...
blinded by illusions of love.
bound with chains of hope.
I was asleep,
dreaming aloud...
encouraging myself to breathe.
reaching for the control within.
I was recollecting,
running in circles...
trying to prove myself to the world.
working to gain the ultimate trust.
I was defining,
turning towards undefined light...
confused by how confused I was.
bamboozled by the complicated signs.
Now I'm inside the shell,
emptying my feelings...
starting to decapitate my sight.
imagining the realms of life.
poem by Pamuditha Zen Anjana
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There are some fine books and essays about that. Lewis Hyde has written about alcoholism and poets and the role that society gives its writers - encouraging them to die.
quote by Sharon Olds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Not The Poet's Poet But Perhaps The Would- Be- Poet's Would-Be Poet
I AM NOT THE POET’S POET BUT PERHAPS THE WOULD- BE- POETS WOULD – BE –POET
I am not the poet’s poet-
The one poets of name and fame admire-
But perhaps the would- be- poets would be – poet-
Who tries to be a poet
And tries to understand what it means
To love poetry and live by writing it
Even when the world does not recognize me..
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poet 2 Poet
We all have different writing styles, and we
May not all have grace and poise.
But when we do write, it’s all to make some noise.
We want to be recognized by the co-poets
All fair and true.
For writing our poetry is what we all like to do.
So I welcome all my co-poets who take this beautiful ride
And all their dreams and visions, they do find.
We do not only write what comes into our minds
But we write from the heart
And this is where poetry gets its start.
So continue to write all that you see and feel
Because these are human emotions.
That from us, no one can steal.
WELCOME ABOARD THIS TRAIN OF POETRY.
poem by Louis Rams
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Private Poetry
Every poem, Every poetry,
Where are all the poets?
Hiding out, Hiding away.
In the beaches, forests,
In the caves and rooms,
In the islands and temples.
Make their private poetry,
Every now and then,
Here and there,
Over here, Over there.
Somewhere, somewhen,
Someone, somebody,
No one, No body,
Some here, some there.
Somehow, not matter how,
Everywhere, every when,
Every turn, every look,
Every search, every research,
There is a private poet.
Making a private poetry,
Writing private poems,
Writing lovely poems,
Writing profound poetries.
For the world and all
To ponder,
To reflect,
To open our heart,
To hear and listen;
What poets have
To say and write,
In a private poetry,
For the world to read
And treasure.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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No Football
When we first met we didn't,
it wasn't on the menu.
Of course it had me curious
I gave it much attention.
In April we indulged,
we were so very proud,
bouncing on the sofa
we did it in the lounge!
Later, in July
there was a time, I think
when we hit all the high notes
a few times by the sink.
In Autumn he got lazy
all this just had him spent
so I baked him pastries
and he ate those instead.
New Year was so merry
we drunk all Daddy's Sherry
I think perhaps we did it,
I wasn't really with it.
Last time was the best
and lasted quite a while
it was in Central Park
We had a bloomin' lark.
These days we just don't,
he's got so fat and heavy,
except for when we're bored
and no football's on the telly.
poem by Ruth Walters
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