En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The bad poet is a toady mimicking nature.

quote by Edward Dahlberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Toady

For the historical record I report the scheming,
It has liberated me, for the staff at work are accumulating.
The tardy work suppressed our feelings,
There were bookings and beginnings.
The toady is occurring to our sense
As we obviously begin with the consequence.
I report the scheme the toady endeavours,
I am actually happy with the actors.
A beggar of work is this toady,
He needs to be sacked for everyone absurdly.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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! '

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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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.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Arguably John Clare

In the English language the greatest poet of Nature is arguably John Clare
Many of his bird and animal and insect poems are gems beyond compare
Yet he died in Northampton mental asylum where he had lived for many years
He penned such marvellous poetry though his life was full of tears.

His Nature poems of the nineteenth century are relevant to today
The Badger and The Landrail, The Fox and Clock a Clay
The Pettichap, The Cuckoo and The Thrush's Nest
When Writing about Nature Clare was at his best.

In death the poor shepherd poet from Helpston has come into his own
His poems poetic classics around the World are known
The greatest Nature poet of England as many would agree
A poet for the ages from a life of poverty.

As a boy amongst Nature in the fields of Helpston he knew of happiness
But sad to think one like him in life did not know of success
With any English Nature poet he favourably does compare
The legendary one of Helpston the reamarkable John Clare.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Poems Of John Clare

For years in Northampton mental asylum he battled his ghosts of despair
His Nation's finest poet of Nature the marvellous wordsmith John Clare
So many of his poems are relevant today
The one who loved Nature with words had a way.

The Helpston he grew up in not a cultural place
And though in that old Village his was a known face
They little realized the fame to them he'd bring
That poetry lovers World wide his praises would sing.

Without him less people of Helpston would know
The great poet of Nature of centuries ago
He died in Northampton mental asylum in dire poverty
Yet is there one greater Nature poet than he?

His flora and fauna poems have passed scrutiny's test
And as a Nature poet he was surely the best
Into the soul of Nature it seemed he could see
And his verses have outlived his mortality.

He never did enjoy his literary renown
And he died in the asylum in Northampton Town
But he was a true poet and his type are so rare
And old Helpston lives on in the poems of John Clare.

poem by Francis Duggan
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I Am Not A Nature Poet

I AM NOT A NATURE POET

I am not a Nature poet,
And the trees and the skies I see
Are more than my eyes can name
And my mind can write.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Nature And Poet

Nature is the diet of a poet,
from natural beauty
poet derives immense pleasure,
drinks the nectar from the flowing down
Himalayan hilly stream, fulfils the long cherished
desire, translates into reality
the sweet lovely dream;
The tiny brook dazzles with the morn’s Sun beam.
Oh Lord Siva! Ye reside on ‘Kailash Mountain’;
Beside Ye flows down the magnificent
alluring mysterious
transparent water of the fountain.
Devotees pray thee for a bliss;
from the ‘Abode of peace’
Ye fulfil their desire and wish;
they sleep in the lap of Nature,
receive Nature’s kiss.
Poet is a worshipper, preacher
in the temple of Nature;
With indomitable enthusiasm
pens verses with tranquillity,
serenity, sanctity, being pure.
Man comes and goes;
poet’s verses remain for ever;
As a brook flows down eternally
in the lap of Nature.
Poet’s poem dazzles in golden letters
on the pages of history;
Depicts the Eternal Truth of Earth,
the beauty of Nature,
and the mystery.

poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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The Poet Fears Failure

The poet fears failure
& so she says
"Hold on pen--
what if the critics
hate me?"
& with that question
she blots out more lines
than any critic could.

The critic is only doing his job:
keeping the poet lonely.
He barks
like a dog at the door
when the master comes home.

It's in his doggy nature.
If he didn't know the poet
for the boss,
he wouldn't bark so loud.

& the poet?
It's in her nature
to fear failure
but not to let that fear
blot out

her lines.

poem by Erica Jong
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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.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Poet and Chivalry

Poet, an industry not of mankind
An era that poet’s in awe to partake a rite
Poetry belongs to the ancient tribe
An era that poet’s dissolute and roaming
Poetry ascribes to nature and wildness
An era that poet a jester praised in comic to entertain the king
Poetry is the plaything of an empire
The era that poet yields to the media, pursuing fame and fortune
Poetry is a consuming product

Poet holds in awe since the heaven and earth are vast
Poet’s degenerated because of his nature
Poet’s comical because ironical the self derision
Poet capitulates because of human’s weakness

Although poet hasn’t always been an industry of mankind
Its luster would shine upon the darkness that poet ever survived
Lighting a light in darkness of history and showing its courage
Lighting a light in darkness of future and proving its foresight
Compromised the life
But allows not to compromise of poetry
The spirit and vitality of a chivalry is the case

Poet, still not an industry of mankind
Today
The chivalry has sealed his sword and pen
The page of poetry gradually stained and spotted yellow
The sharp sword conceals a smoked silver flash

poem by DePen Chang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Be Glad That A Poet Isn't Credible, Lost In His Own Words

a poet is never taken
seriously
for he is one who can never
change this world
and you, on a magnanimity of
intentions, and
desirable deeds,
make the sign that you can
remove walls,
destroy barriers, bury the dead
resurrect them
like Christ, you who can stop
this world even
from revolving,
the power that be,
i am glad that i am just a poet
and i can sit in one corner
and sing like
a mocking bird
mimicking all of you in your
greatness
i am glad no one believes me
for if i were believable
so many
should have died in vain
so many should have
found no meaning
so many, so many more important than
what they think themselves to be
should have hated
the dust
their indifference to
mockery
of the truth
their own grief
a mirror
a destruction of all plates of this earth
all fire, tongues
all teeth

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Natural Genius!

Inspiration from Nature makes me free
And free flow of words become fine poem!
Peacock dances out of zeal seeing rain clouds;
Nightingale sings enjoying Nature in fulfilment!

Nature is friend, philosopher and guide for all!
This truth animal, men and natural beings know!
Eye, ear, nose, tongue and feeling if sensitive
Lessons of Nature open heart to do all in love!

Ape and men learn from others to do all ever
As where intellect is strong instinct is weak!
If instinct, intellect and intuition are high sure
One will be super being creative as God or poet!

Engrossed in Nature's influence all comes naturally
For the genius doing great feat as singer, poet and all!

poem by Ramesh T A
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Innocent Beauty Vavroovahana Patra

Innocent beauty lives below the mountain;
Enjoys the beauty of the fountain.
Magnifies the beauty of Nature;
With sweet conversation contents poet’s desire.

Innocent Beauty is a beautiful flower;
In the lap of Nature is a lovely creature.
Her innocence provides inspiration;
She is a cosy rosy Beauty in the lap of Creation.

A little sweet conversation delights the poet day and night;
He is inspired to depict verses with delight.
Derives peace and pleasure;
Derives peace from the lap of Nature.

Beauty passes on the path delightfully;
Poet depicts poems gaily.
Enchants enjoying the Beauty;
She is a Brook of Gaiety.

Vernal Sun beam provides gay;
Beauteous looks the vernal day.
People enchant delightfully;
Poet surrenders on Mother’s feet gaily.

poem by Vavroovahana Patra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Artificial Things (Sextuple Senryu)

Artificial breaths,
Like mimicking feelings of
Love with empty souls,

Artificial love,
Like sex mimics of drugged, raped
Girls, being in chains,

Artificial sex,
Like mimicking life in the
Dolls for making love,

Artificial life,
Like raping dead women to
Sate sadistic needs,

Artificial need,
Like rape mimics during sex
For excitation

And excitations,
Like artificial breaths for
Necrophiliacs.

poem by Marieta Maglas
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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.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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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

poem by Mary Jesusa Villegas
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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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Thirteen Lines

A brain peered through stoic eyes;
Yet all it saw was rendered into
Flawed interpretation –
No honoured contemplation of a
Gluon, muon, quark of any flavour;
Nor a vision or conception of its world
Within a universe anthropic in its physical laws,
Inside a boundless multiverse.
All it gleaned and modelled
Bore parochialism well beyond belief! –
Delusional perhaps.
Survival only matters here on planet Earth –
Evolution saw to that.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

na ture nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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