The poet's other readers are the ancient poets, who look upon the freshly written pages from an incorruptible distance. Their poetic forms are permanent, and it is difficult to create new forms which can approach them.
quote by Salvatore Quasimodo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Spirit Of Poetry!
when a spirit of poetry decent,
it came
In a form of dove
When it came
Jesus became first poet under sun
And Almighty God
Was already, first poet over sun?
Using Poetry in poetic foam
Almighty GOD spoke through poetry
And he is a poet himself
Now his poetry is everywhere, and anywhere
We interact with poets
Words are like soil, are everywhere
Brighter that Sun
His poetic lights lead the way
When he likes
He will come
He will be in poetic foam
To Re-arrange poems
Schedule them in a poetic manner
On a judgment, He will met poets first
And secondly meet
Those who haven't written a poem
To Discuss similes, metaphors and personifications
Future of poetry is in heaven
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Defines Meaning In A Poem?
readers impose
meaning on poems
poets especially
more than writers
of other forms
of literature
or journalism
rely on their poems
having slightly
or even greatly
different meanings
to different readers
there is no absolute
interpretation of a poem
but rather levels
and a series
of meanings
if appropriate
the theme form
and content
may be best
expressed in tones
which not
all readers
will accept
or be
comfortable with
humour entertains
and poetry
may reflect
analyze or inform
with insight
individual tastes
differ and we
all have our favourite
poets styles themes
our unifying principle
is an endearing love
appreciation of poetry
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A poets prayer
A poets prayer
~
To the poets lost
please look upon me
as a kindred spirit
guide my words
that I may write well
watch over me at night
help me dream your dreams
teach me about poetry
~
to the poetic spirit
reveal your love to me
show me the beauty of life
in all its many forms
that I may understand
the ways of this world
and that I may convey them
in a verse to others
~
to the poets lost
and the poetic spirit
I ask of you this favour
to guide me in life
in the poetry I write
I ask of you also
to watch over those I love
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Neither is there figurative and non-figurative art. All things appear to us in the shape of forms. Even in metaphysics ideas are expressed by forms, well then think how absurd it would be to think of painting without the imagery of forms. A figure, an object, a circle, are forms; they affect us more or less intensely.
quote by Pablo Picasso
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Lake Poets
You have heard of William Wordsworth he was bard of Cockermouth
And he truly was a great poet if that ever was in doubt
And with Southey and With Coleridge they became known as the lake poets
And they made the Lake District famous and some famous poems they wrote.
Robert Southey was a fine poet he was slave to poetry
And he was for awhile Poet Laureate proves the great poet he must be
And though he is not well known as Coleridge and Wordsworth's is a greater name
He tends to be under rated and deserve a better fame.
And as for Samuel Taylor Coleridge a name verse critics celebrate
His works were born of genius a poetic all time great
The Rhyme Of The Ancient Mariner his masterpiece and some say
Is even greater than the famous elegy of Gray
And as for himself Will Wordsworth his fame seem to grow and grow
He has fifty times as many readers nowadays as he had one hundred years ago
When one talks of poets and poetry Wordsworth's name can't be left out
A testimony to the greatness of the Bard of Cockermouth.
Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth geniuses all three
Their names inscribed in glory and poetic history
They lived in the Lake District that beautiful English country side
And due to the fame of these men the Lake District is known World wide.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poems and Poetry
I sat staring
At my blank writing pad,
With pen in my hand.
It was a poetry workshop,
We were told
To try different structural forms:
Epigram, Sonnets, Limericks,
Lyrics, which could be set to music.
But I admit, I just
Can’t write on demand.
Is it a mental block
Which I can’t unlock?
It becomes difficult
For me to make a start.
As I just write from the heart.
But I don’t argue
These are Classical forms,
Which require skill
To write within the confines
Of prescribed norms:
Meter and syllable count.
It does lift
The work from plebian
And adds spunk
To stimulate readers mind,
As I find
When I read works of Shakespeare
And others of his kind.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Is Written In Red
I am written in red,
I am sliding across the page of life.
I am racing across the lines of language.
I am red.
I write words,
I create lines and sentences,
I am kept in solitude
I am red.
I create paragraphs.
I create signatures.
I know what you're thinking before you speak,
I am red.
I cannot breath because I am enclosed in a capsule.
A capsule that covers the knowledge inside.
All I do is stare at pages,
All I know is pages,
I become apart of the pages,
And the pages become apart of me.
I become apart of english,
I become apart of words,
I am RED.
BY: Takisha Fields
poem by Kiesha fields
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Architecture is the masterly, correct and magnificent play of masses brought together in light. Our eyes are made to see forms in light; light and shade reveal these forms; cubes, cones, spheres, cylinders or pyramids are the great primary forms which light reveals to advantage; the image of these is distinct and tangible within us without ambiguity. It is for this reason that these are beautiful forms, the most beautiful forms. Everybody is agreed to that, the child, the savage and the metaphysician.
Le Corbusier in Vers une architecture (1923)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Post-conceptual Poetics(6)
post-conceptual concept of form- without- forms -and- formlessness- with -forms will reflect the contemporary existence of multi-disciplinary arts.
forms with formlessness is beyond concept
formlessness with forms is beyond concept
Poem about Poetry - Poetic Enlightenment
a poem being written,
head, legs and hands awry
struggle to be placed in
their proper places so
that a smart and recognisable
child can be brought to the world
my master like a woman in labour
tries his utmost to carve a masterpiece
so that each word tells its reason
in his field to cross over the mind of readers
spawn echoes in depth of meanings
and holds on to their heart
i am a poem still being written
words jostle in and out of the space
of a verse, to get things to fall
into a poetic scheme, so that
readers can give their mind
a sublimal lift in their quest
for poetic enlightenment
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Great Poetry?
How could anyone ever truly
Define great poetry?
Factors are so many that contribute
To the way each person does hear-feel-and see.
The season, the day, the very time,
Along with each readers wisdom-knowledge-and mind.
A line read one day
May deeply stir the spirit
While the very next time read
The reader simply just can't 'get-it'.
Besides, who is to judge,
And who is to decide?
Who always speaks truth,
And who pray tell has never lied?
Let the one who has never struggled with emotion and word
Cast the first critical stone,
Let the pure, perfect poet
Read and write completely all alone;
Enshrined by himself
Upon his own empty throne.
After all, it is supposed to be
A bit (or more) of myth and mystery,
A little difficult to decipher, somewhat vague,
Meant to speak, but not brag.
For Goodness sake, it's poetry.
Not prose, not essay, and certainly not the news.
It's forms are many and free,
It's thoughts different and deep,
It's direction everywhere the heart can see,
It's origin, and destination, ineffable...
But to write, one must try, or die... such is the poems strength.
So, let the creator of words create.
With wild and wonderful words to decipher and debate;
And never let the beauty of it all
In trivial criticism suffocate.
What is great poetry though you still inquire?
I should have told you from the start;
(But, then you would not have listened)
Great poetry is always, and only,
Beautiful words written truly
From, and for, the heart.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Pitfalls!
Loving words romantic ones spray
And many succumb to the spell!
Deceived they realise it's false
And lament in poems endless here!
Love is not an easy joke to fool all;
But some have the gift of tongue
Like the heroes of movies often
And sway the preys very easily!
Then many stores in poetic forms
All read and say comments fast!
Popularity of love poets rise high
Making others to aspire so here...!
Sans experience nothing can be done
To say words of truth touching hearts!
But with new forms and techniques
Try their best in vain for a longtime!
Who can stop the moths flying to fire
Carried away by bogus romantic heroes?
Time only can stop such pit falls for them
And bring them to this world sooner sure!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Potential Poetry!
Love has no fear whatsoever in the world;
Poet does all by his love of all matters here;
Poetry is inspiring words of poet for all!
What's not possible by poetry is nothing!
Impossible is expressed in possible words
Making unknown known by poetry only!
Forms and style are poets own creations;
Poetry is ever new in expression of ideas
Inspiring all to be enthusiastic, enlightened!
Love of Nature, life, beauty and love poetry
Explores always deep to express truth new!
Poets are gods of Earth to men to new realm!
Poetry briefly converges all in a nutshell
As powerful as atomic energy in control!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hunting or Fishing?
Hunting or fishing – which is better?
That is what I am thinking about!
In business many hunt for customers;
Some men prefer casting net to catch fish!
Even for poets the position is the same
In poetry websites to catch readers!
Some lay wise traps to catch readers!
I use fishing rod with a needle and bait
To catch readers who can understand!
Whether the rank is high or low it is
Immaterial but the true comment is!
Hunting readers to comment and rank
Or fishing readers to comment and rank
Are not really going to enhance one’s status;
For, voluntary comments are indeed valuable!
Poets are jealous to appreciate others’ merit
But some poets raise the status of others!
So, letters to such poets increase sans end!
This is the status of poetry websites now!
So, it is left to you to hunt or fish or lay trap
As you wish to catch readers for rank, etc.!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lunch With a Poet
I had lunch with a poet, just the other day.
A poet who has written fine and lofty verse,
Conveying his experiences, emotions and his ideas, in
Vivid, imaginative ways, condensed in simple language,
Choosing words for sound and power,
Rather than impressing readers with poetic adulterations.
Almost apologetically, he said he uses 'nickel words'
To write his inner thoughts. It was as if he were at fault,
As though he thought those simple sounds
Had lessened the intent of his poetic worth.
I emphasized how wrong he was, and tried
To make clear, a poet writes in sympathy with his reader,
Overleaping the barriers of understanding by the simplicity
Of his language, and of his words.
To write with words of misty meaning does not make
A mystic.
To write with vulgar words does not lift up the poem
On wings of song, it only floats as high as the poet's
Commonality who, mistaking flatulence for inspiration, becomes
Enmeshed in a literary byproduct of the foulest of excretion and Smells.
My friend failed to intellectually understand,
But spiritually Accepts, as his writings reveal,
That clarity of thought and mind is the poet's
Highest point of the poet's integrity.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetic tips — but read my lips
A piece gets writ not ere ‘tis penned,
Poorly or well, hailed or hollered,
To have tried is not to have sinned.
A good one gets born from no good,
Poorly penned better is than no poem,
Get started, fodder is someone's fond food.
A poet, howso good or great,
Has poor poems writ sans number,
Without one, no'ne can a good one create.
It sure does help— a theme of some heft—
Love always is as is death, destiny,
The canvas vast is; nothing need be left.
And yet beware, heftier a theme,
Deeper does lie the devil in details,
What surfaces from bottom is fine cream.
Let not thine pen every nut, bolt explain,
Go ‘head, say what ye do want to say,
Let readers weigh thine labour's pain.
Poetic forms a mere walking aid is,
But learn to walk with and without,
Discard as shackles— soon ere they seize.
A poet does not pen, paints an image
That walks a mile when words weaken,
And wobble O with years of age.
As poet, thou hast a heart thine own,
And it aches unlike any,
Only heads reap seeds by self sown.
A piece with no title to head,
Much like a nameless lost child is,
Lazily fathered, dies when not yet dead.
A poem needs but a thought, a pen,
A blank paper to paint,
But milieu a good Muse is— eight of ten.
Retire to woods, any a place is good,
Let pursuits creative be heart o'er head,
Create an island of solitude.
Even a limerick, dirty or dull,
A good fun is, as good a try,
Dangerous is a longish lull.
One perfect line in a long spell
Though makes it well worth a while,
It makes the rest stand out as hell.
Kiss not away the worst of thine shame,
Nor keep private demons off the page,
Keep an honest pen within prime frame,
And send thine babes to open world
O to put head and heart to test,
Cage is no place for a free bird.
Poetic lines oft do easy flow,
Putting every pea in a perfect pod,
Slog nor struggle, shame's not too slow.
If not a good one, nor e'er great,
Each can a better poet be,
Heed not thine head; let heart ‘lone let.
No promenade on a paved way,
A poem is new path to explore,
O not for long on it to stay!
poem by Aniruddha Pathak (2011)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Who Has No Readers
THE POET WHO HAS NO READERS
The poet who has no readers
Needs the writing of the poetry
Loves the writing of the poetry
More than any recognition or praise
He may receive for it-
The poet who has no readers
Writes nonetheless,
For he needs and loves to write
Though he not be read or listened to at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Apple by any other Name...
“The apple, reddish plump,
hanging from rooted branch
beckoning to be taken, tasted
to savor deep, sweet, sweet flesh.”
Now these simple words penned
in poetic form take meaning more
as readers ponder the hidden core.
Surely a metaphor they surmise…
Maybe a lady… virginal and all
waiting to be taken in whatever way
or the sinly sin, snake charming bites.
On the mind goes, pondering poets play.
And timid hands keep downward pose
as the poet posts and waits replies
but one lone soul does venture forth
and braves a response to poet’s prose
“I think it is about eating an apple! ”
The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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