Sigmund Freud

Everywhere I go I find that a poet has been there before me.

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Before a Poetry Reading

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '

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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.

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This Poet Is Always Beside You

You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.

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Poet is free

Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.

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Goodbye Poet! ! ! !

Very sad when a Poet close your book
leave his pen and left us
So we say: There goes, Aphrodite, Apollo, Hades
find your ethereal Muse and make peaces with God

Because
The Poet goes different

He goes taking all of us with him
He goes but leaving your scrolls, hymns
His Ilíadas, Odisseias
For ever and Never

Because
The Poet let us different

He dare to be absent without a motive
confront dead and write the more beautiful Poem
Poet's heart now beats alone!

So go Poet
Go, because you are different

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The Poet

The poet can only utter the word fine
The poet has to bear the sorrow and the sin.

The poet can only say I am happy
The poet can only say I feel no aches no pain
The poet can only say I am not in loss
The poet can only say I am in the side of only gain.

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Morning Sunshine

This poet is so seductive
This poet is now strange to me
This poet is so bold
This little girl doesn't want to see

The little girl has known this poet
ever since
But the little girl is already
tired of this poet
She just wants to play.
Not any passing minute
She hasn't have
any word of
allegory
metonymy and
simile
Take me away from this poet yet
the little girl must empty first
the words of this poet
Before she is free to play
in the morning sunshine
and go away from this busy poet

Do you think I'm too young to see?
Do you agree?

This poet won't let me
play out in the middle of the rain
This poet won't let me
see the afternoon sway
This poet won't let me
see the morning gay
Let me see the Morning Sunshine
Let me see!
But this poet
Won't let me

I'll just watch t.v
and sing
her poetry

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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..
.

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The Poet Who No Longer Believes In Himself

THE POET WHO NO LONGER BELIEVES IN HIMSELF

The poet who no longer believes in himself
And writes on anyway-
The poet who is too weak to stop writing-
The poet who has died as a poet,
Before he has as a person-
The poet who may never have lived as a poet-
The old old old schnook,
Still trying to write a poem
And believing he has done it once again.

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I May Not Have Been A Great Poet

I MAY NOT HAVE BEEN A GREAT POET

I may not have been a great poet
Or even a good poet
Or even the poet I wanted to be.
But I am the poet I could be
The poet I am.
And may God have mercy on my soul,
And on all those I love.

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Puzzle

Do not bury the poet
The poet bury himself.
The poet is his soul
It is seen ti poet only.

The poet see the time
And time see the poet.
Ask not the poet repeat
Another sun flash light
And you puzzled.

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I Am No Poet

A poet... oh i am? , says I,
Perhaps it's what you think
Just mixed up words of life I cry
Like someone on the brink

Mere words assembled in a row
From thoughts a few of many
labelled then a poet so
Though none worth but a penny

I speak as though my mind should find
My head in quite a spin
With rhymes and verse a peace I find
That life could ne'er begin

That label sticks and holds me back
A form I have to follow
A fear of literary attack
Can leave my words quite hollow

So cast me not as just a poet
Sense that i am fighting
I'm more than that and you should know it
That's why i keep writing..

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A Poem To A Poets!

the poet see crooked
and talk weird too
like a drunk
perdition in his insane!

No one can understand a Poet
Just you and me, like poet we are

The poet say 'Dr. Jivago'?
It means like a movie? No
it means my love for you! ! !

Or he asks yourself, Am I Evil?
No, he does not evil
I am in silence, affirm the poet! ! !
In silence never he will be

BONG, kick the can! ! !
WAR
AAA
RAW
in silence he is!

Trapped in a tower
a terrible place
just for one second to rest
like almost all of us

He said' I gone'
but gone like no one
gone with strenght
strange and revolutionary Poet!

No one can understand a Poet
Just you and me, like poet we are! ! !

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The Poet And The Lonely Lady

one summer a poet writes about
true love
and happiness
and this lonely lady
chances upon the lines of this poet

and she has tasted the sweetness
of happiness that love can bring

she loves every word in the poem
feels the ecstasy of every line
and every night
she says she cannot sleep
thinking, feeling,
wanting to be lost and be held in
his arms

she decides to love
the poet
ultimately
she travels to the place stated in his address
hoping to see him
so she will finally know
his love that touches her
in the bottom
of her heart

only to find out
it is sad
that the address does not exist
and the poet does not live there
and does not even
exist
perhaps only in the imagination
of those who want to love
and be loved

she is so sad she jumps into
a conclusion that love is a
lie
that the poet is a
liar

since then, she stops reading the poems
of that poet
(or any other poet)
who never dies
because he for once never ever lived
in the first place

except the poem
perhaps
which to date still convinces lonely ladies to live and believe
to love and be loved

that which defines
what love is
where love is found

and find it somehow in the arms of one
who is real, like it is alive, like it is true
to the one beside her
who touches her
with his
warm hands
who melts
her in his eyes

because
even unwritten by any poet

this love is still so beautiful....

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Poet Is A Poet/Wherever He Goes

A POET IS A POET/ WHEREVER HE GOES

A poet is a poet
Wherever he goes
He can stop and sit on a bench anywhere
And write a poem
The poems come from without often
But what is within is the poetry-

Like a dream like a fire like a small light
That never goes out
A poet sits anywhere and writes his dream-

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Poet, O Poet

Let not the dog out
The poet cried.

Poet, poet, O poet
Imagine, imagine and imagine
Your imagination is our wealth
Your imagination is our health
Imagine, imagine and imagine
Create things on your own
In your own world my dear poet
That is not known and that is owned.

Let not the dog out
The poet cried.

Poet, poet, O poet
We have no control over anything
We have no control over the land
That is dreamy.
It is only you O poet
Who can control us from that land
Where nothing to be shame
Where no body is there to blame
Where there is only fame and fame.

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The Poet Finds....

The poet finds whatever the moon could not see,
The poet finds whatever the earth does not know,
The poet finds whatever the sun could not see,
The poet finds whatever others do not know,
The poet finds whatever the stars could not see,
So why do the heathen rage and the people plot vanity? !
For she who is pregnant is closer to us,
And the hart pants after streams of water.
Your tears have been your food night and day,
And like your inner self in the lan dof your muse;
But the poet finds whatever the sun could not see.

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Poet

POET
He is a poet
When his thoughts survey
What distressed millions flay

He is a poet
When his works slay
Every social evil sway

He is a poet
When his words relay
What virtuous people say

He is a poet
When his expressions lay
Portraits on brains’ gray

Sathya….

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The novelist and the poet

the difference between
the poet and the novelist

the former invites you
straight into his world
a canvas that takes
words for paint
humour for techniques
realism for images

the novelist
on the other hand
flatters you with
his intelligence
but takes the liberty
to hide behind
each of his creation/character
hard it would be to
find the man in
the maze of his words
you would gain more
hunting for him in town

the novelist is a
calculative trader
seizing any idea that could
help him sell his words

the humble poet though has
to sniff out his real self, his own god-instilled rhythm,
to let us share his adventures, colours, dreams

the novelist craft words for money
the poet craft words - to find himself and shares it with those -
who wish to find their own selves

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World view

Come to poet
And enjoy life.
Come to poet
And see beauty.
Come to poet
And know truth.
Come to poet
And have patience.
No non-sense can
Disturb you
And you have
At your hand
World view.

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