Just as the water of a river near its mouth, in its final form, is composed largely of many tributaries, so an idea, in its final form, is composed largely of later additions.
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As Though It Were My Only Son....
there is no such thing as an official poem.
there maybe familiar ones,
most acceptable ones with the pulitzers and nobels and whatevers
but there is only this personal poem that you compose
for no one, or for no other and sometimes not even for yourself
it is a journal, a landmark of your stay,
a feeling that you cannot forget, you record it,
it is only you who knows it well and fully
recognizes it when after a time, when you have forgotten,
it comes to you as a reminder
about someone, about something, about an event
that when you pass away and come back
in whatever form
it becomes a scent of someone, or something and then
you remember exactly
what it was, and then you say, this is the poem that i have once
composed
and i love it, and i remember,
it is my poem,
i have composed it for that reason
and i am proud of it
as though
it were my only son.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Final Farewell
To say our final farewell it happend not that long ago.
Our final farewell, I remember it so clearly.
Our final farewell, I remember your smile.
Our final farewell, I remember how proud you were
that you got promoted.
Our final farewell, happened like any 'goodbye'.
Our final farewell, you seemed happy.
Our final farewell, you seemed to enjoy life.
Our final farewell, you seemed to enjoy everything,
Our final farewell, I remember the conversation.
Our final farewell, sometimes haunts me.
Our final farewell, happened so quick.
Our final farewell, I didn't know that it was going to
be our last.
Our final farewell, happened more then a year ago
Your final farewell, happened on the 15/11/05 as you
took your own life.
poem by Nikki Hamilton
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Headed The Other Way
They were nowhere to be seen,
But now the sight defied analysis;
Picking up the story, we wrote this narrative,
Curling my writing utensil, defying the senses.
It was not overabundant but laughable
To see men in pictured form,
The form of animals and crossbreeds,
Looking at the walls, the facilities
And howling too largely for their size.
Behind them was a bloody walkway,
And then they pounced in that way
To avoid me, as if dogs too frightened
By their masters, picturing me as a planet.
The door showed itself open,
And I headed the other direction.
poem by Naveed Akram
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We know that communication must be hampered, and its form largely determined, by the unconscious but inevitable influence of a transmitting mechanism, whether that be of a merely mechanical or of a physiological character.
quote by Oliver Joseph Lodge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The human species, according to the best theory I can form of it, is composed of two distinct races, the men who borrow and the men who lend.
quote by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The health care industry can play a great role in this by being aware of the fact that these children form perhaps the most neglected group of people in the country, largely because it is hard to find them.
quote by C. Everett Koop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Resonant Dream
The final dream
So resonant and pure
The final dream
Will never be at its end
Its long journey almost o'er
The final dream
Has just begun
To rattle the fate at hand
The final dream
Is as pure as gold
It is perfect and will stand
The final dream
Will never come to a close
Yet it has a happy hand
The final dream
Is a grand dream
That turns the time of sand
The final dream
Is such a dream
That it is now near its end
poem by Alex Fischer
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Don't Tell THe World! (Sonnet)
This Sonnet is in the popular Petrarchan Form
I behold thy love as beautiful thing,
In my wrecked heart, a pleasure garden,
Thy revered love, a blooming Eden.
A daisy tuft seasoned by bright spring,
Surging in moments that defeats waiting,
I behold thy words as a jeweled crown,
On my worn pages of despicable frown.
And thy memory feeds my mind dying,
Daring couple disclose, but don’t you tell,
About memoirs many encased and kept,
Say not thy chronicle, sweet as daisy smell,
Buried, not unseen to thy eyes except
Reveal not, the guarded stash of our love,
Lest a rational world desires to know! ! !
IA NOTE: For those who find the format unfitting to a sonnet!
(Sonnet
only 14 lines long— and has a firmly fixed form. The sonnet works best for expressing strong emotion or intense feeling, firm purpose, or great seriousness. This form works best if you want to focus attention on a single thing—a particular idea, situation, emotion, problem, observation, etc. —the sonnet gets to its point quickly and efficiently, with beauty and charm of form or expression.
The Shakespearean (or English) sonnet and the Petrarchan (or Italian) sonnet are the two most prevalent versions of this form today.
A Shakespearean sonnet or English sonnet is written in one stanza composed of three rhymed quatrains (each making one point in a three-step argument) , followed by a rhyming couplet that summarizes the argument
A Petrarchan sonnet or Italian sonnet is composed of an octet followed by a sestet with a variable rhyme scheme. The octet presents the poem’s theme or problem, while the sestet offers a change or a resolution. In its traditional form, this sonnet never ends in a couplet.
Robert Frost was popular at Petrarchan form of sonnets.
sonnet’s formal requirements (14 lines of iambic pentameter with a specific rhyme scheme) , method (a strong focus on one subject) , and goals (persuasion, surprise, balance) ,
Ref: www.poetry.com/techniques/form of poetic expressions.
Thank You
poem by Seema Aarella
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Brave the storm
Contemptuous clouds were looming largely.
Their overhead disdain exuded warm
phlegmatic drivel on me angrily.
Conspiring gales abet the raging storm
and thunderous claps reverberated
abusive oaths, some four-lettered words -Bang!
And boom! - resumed throughout the tempested
display. Below, I protested-harangued:
' I stand amidst your heavenly vengeance
composed and wet. Your threats of torrent might
impress the faint of heart. And if by chance
you see me tremble -not because of fright.
I shiver because I am cold my friend.
So Rain! Blow! Clap! I'll brave it till the end.'
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Satire I
According to Keats
Thought order best expressed
Is clothed in dramatic form,
Next best in rhyme and song,
And least expressed in prose.
I'm the spokesman for the throng.
Prose is largely what we are.
There's room for a bit of fluff.
Dressed up or down we like our arts
With laughs and frilly stuff.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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Forgiveness is the final form of love.
quote by Reinhold Niebuhr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I always feel that there are no final victories and no final defeats. But it's true that America is in a hole right now. There are a lot of dead fish in the water.
quote by John Sayles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The War
There is a sound of thunder afar,
Storm in the south that darkens the day,
Storm of battle and thunder of war,
Well, if it do not roll our way.
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Be not deaf to the sound that warns!
Be not gull'd by a despot's plea!
Are figs of thistles or grapes of thorns?
How should a despot set men free?
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Let your Reforms for a moment go,
Look to your butts and make good aims.
Better a rotten borough or so,
Than a rotten fleet or a city of flames!
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Form, be ready to do or die!
Form in freedom's name and the Queen's!
True, that we have a faithful ally,
But only the devil knows what he means!
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The River
In my first sleep
I came to the river
And looked down
Through the clear water -
Only in dream
Water so pure,
Laced and undulant
Lines of flow
On its rocky bed
Water of life
Streaming for ever.
A house was there
Beside the river
And I, arrived,
An expected guest
About to explore
Old gardens and libraries -
But the car was waiting
To drive me away.
One last look
Into that bright stream -
Trout there were
And clear on the bottom
Monster form
Of the great crayfish
That crawls to the moon.
On its rocky bed
Living water
In whorls and ripples
Flowing unbended.
There was the car
To drive me away.
We crossed the river
Of living water -
I might not stay,
But must return
By the road too short
To the waiting day.
In my second dream
Pure I was and free
By the rapid stream,
My crystal house the sky,
The pure crystalline sky.
Into the stream I flung
A bottle of clear glass
That twirled and tossed and spun
In the water's race
Flashing the morning sun.
Down that swift river
I saw it borne away,
My empty crystal form,
Exultant saw it caught
Into the current's spin,
The flashing water's run.
poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine
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A Sparrow's Thoughts.... (Number Six)
you can send the lie in the form
of the unemployment check, in the
form of food stamps, in the form
of Medicaid, in the form of new
policies, in the form of charity...
but the truth is you dont give a damn
until you are willing to share all
you have with fairness, until you're
willing to put your shoulders to the
load, until you're willing to get
involved in the work of equality!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The film director, in many instances, has to swallow somebody else's decision about the final form of something. It's so hard as to be intolerable.
quote by Trevor Nunn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We are losers
Was the first battle won by us?
We took the form of human being,
Came into light from darkness,
Struggled, perspired, earned, spent,
Waited for the final call.
And called the life a success.
Certainly a selfish life
we led,
It had never been a successful one,
Did we ever wipe the tears of the poor wretches?
Did we ever try to make the world
A better place to live?
Did we ever follow the guidelines of our conscience?
Did we not breach the Divine Law?
Then why should we call our lives
a success?
We lost the last and the final battle too,
We are losers.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Under His influence
It is advisable and true to fall in line
Not a word to be misunderstood and sidelined
As He lives in true spirit and conduct
We only have to pray for new energy to induct
He shall take every care
You may stay away or anywhere
He will guide you to the final destiny
This is how deals the merciful, o, lord almighty
For all future course we look desperately at Him
Not that we have lost faith in sun and its beam
It is divine light that makes us to go all out
Know more and more and seek what is not thought about
You may have everything under his influence
You must surrender with earnestness at once
He is merciful and largely responsible
For all your well being to make you strong and capable
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Sea-Shore
Every wave from the sea,
Running towards the shore,
As if to stay with it forever.
Returns all rejected,
Only more salty and miserable,
Happy to be so, though.
The sea tries yet again,
In the form of another wave,
A never ending hope of attraction,
And a continuous failure.
The shore not at fault either,
Luring the sea towards itself,
Without knowing the depth,
Or the sparkle of the water.
Couldn’t move an inch,
To walk with the sea forever,
A decision not made by choice.
Does not hold the sea to itself,
Neither does it let go,
Probably that’s what He wanted.
The sea running towards the shore,
Knowing it would be the end,
And sighs in the form of a breeze,
At the thought of the final touch,
Every dropp awaiting the end.
Trying and denying carries on,
Till the sea dries out,
The shore stays where it was,
Beside the grave of its only lover,
As lonely as it could be.
poem by Dhruv Dikshit
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There Is God or No God
When it ends,
The poetry and delicate beauty,
The final sunrise in my fading eyes,
I’ll close the book I’ve composed,
A gorgeous failure left behind
For some other manic depressive to find
Who is seeking solace from a sympathetic spirit.
There is God or no God
But currently there are flowers
Waving in a pleasant field,
And one day, I’ll be a flower petal
Waving charmingly to a young girl,
And when she smiles back,
I’ll be happy in eternity.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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