There's not a good poet I know who has not at the beck and call of his memory a vast quantity of poetry that composes his mental library.

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The Poetry Of Confession

THE POETRY OF CONFESSION

The poetry of confession -
The poetry of self- indulgence-
The poetry of the ‘wretch con-centered all in self’-
The poetry of moods and feelings-
Of all ideas only as they relate to the poet himself-
The poetry of desperation-
The poetry of need-
The poetry of urgency -
And serving the poet first-

Not enough of the world
Not enough of others- of other perspectives
Not formal and disciplined enough-

The poetry which is not crafted and polished
The poetry in which the need of the poet
Is more central than the quality of the poetry –

The poetry which may be too selfish to be good-
Whose moral failure makes more prominent its aesthetic flaws-

The poetry which is not so good
And not great
But quite banal and commonplace –

A poet can give his life to his poetry
And that still be nothing at all-

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I Am Not A Poet 2

When I feel I am really a poet
I see my flesh is poetry
My pleasure is poetry
My pains are poetry
My feelings are poetry.

Poetry protects me
Poetry teaches me
How to fight back and win.

Poetry is my freedom
Poetry is my independence
Poetry is my flag
And an anthem
Poetry is my prophet
And a messanger.

But I am not a poet
Do not read me
Burn me into ashes
Let there be a flower
From the ashes.

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Being A Poet

being a poet
is not an ambition

it is ironic
that i do poetry and

yet i do not want
to be called a poet

nor be identified with
any movement in poetry

nor take the challenge and opportunity
of being crowned by laurel leaves

and be dragged on the stage of
an island of light focusing my head and body

and they shall all clap and say
this is the poet, this is our poet

not in the figment of my imagination
not an ambition not a profession not a career in the field of literature
to be a poet on a certain degree

you see, i live in a crowded universe
i am a fish in the sea of people

and i, never imagine once in my whole life
that i will be swimming so meaninglessly in the corridors

of this vast ocean of men and mice and snakes
and goats and pigs and eagles

poetry is what i do but i am not a poet
this poet, that poet
their poet

the reason is here inside my heart
this is my place &
this is my only chance to be alone

to be myself to be human again for out there
i, we, you have become pillars
and dams.and walls and continental shelves

it is only here in this spot
that i become my island

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Open Book's Monologue Part 5: Welcome To The Library!

Welcome to the library! come one come all
Welcome to the library! come with your brethren on this wall
Welcome to the library! come all you books tattered or new
Welcome to the library! come tired and overdue

Yes welcome to the library the place where you're most mundane
Yes welcome to the library the place where you're to endure most pain
Yes welcome to the library where you'll sit unwanted
Yes welcome to the library where you'll sit haunted
Yes welcome to the library where everyone's just like you
Yes welcome to the library where we're all books too!
Yes welcome to the library where you can take comfort
Yes welcome to the library where In the fact you're no longer unique
Yes welcome to the library You're just pen marks ink

Departing the library? I think not, even if you get out we'll bring you back
Departing the library? Here you rot, but we'll dust you to ease your passing
Departing the library? Don't make me laugh, here you're black and white
Departing the library? Nobody argues on your behalf, look more amassing

Welcome to the library! A place of keeping and safety
Welcome to the library! Take your place you'll like it, just wait and see
Welcome to the library! New books don't mind the old they're disillusioned
Welcome to the library! You've sold your soul... but it's too late for you

so WELCOME

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Touchdowns and Fumbles

My poetry teacher tells me he isn’t a poet
He just writes poetry
I tell him I want to transfer out immediately
He shouldn’t be teaching
I mean anyone can write poetry
And if you say you write it good but aren’t a poet
Than you’re an arrogant prick
Give me a poet to learn from
Good or not, they still stand by their writing
While people who write poetry are weak.
Standing behind what people believe is good
And tossing away what people don’t like
A football player takes it all with him.
Touchdowns and fumbles, passes and interceptions
While couches talk about years when they
Were the best, but forget about all the others.
I can’t learn from a poetry writer
I need to know the mistakes and shortcomings
Or else history is damned to repeat itself in me
Give me a poet any day.

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Retrieved Poetry

Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
          Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
          Some have said.
          But the inspiration keeps coming,
          But the memory keeps living.
          Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
          It dies only if it is not poetry
          And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
          Some have said.
          Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
          And nothing more, until that day,
          Until we start thinking he is inspired,
          Until we stop thinking for the poet;
          He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
          So goes the argument.
          Even as we cut from the same tree,
          Even as we speak same universal language,
          You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
          We can never speak from same mouth.
          You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
          So goes the argument,
          If poetry is dead killed by death,
          If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
          The corpse should be in our front.
          We should know how to bury it.
          We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
          If poetry is really dead,
          There is cause to weep bitterly,
          There is cause to think deeply
          For the world has been stripped naked.
          For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
          At the burial we must remain emotionless.

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The Poet Becomes The Poetry

THE POET BECOMES THE POETRY

After years of striving to write Poetry
The Poet becomes the Poetry
No word is not poetry in him
And no silence is not the sound
his own writing makes

Wherever he is
Whatever he does
is Poetry
Mediocre or not
Real or not
Loved or not
Understood or not
The Poet is Poetry
Unable forever to escape
what he Lives.

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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

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Action Poetry Revisited 2012

(A) I revisited my poem 'action poetry written in 1987' and was published in my anthology of a collection of over-20-year poems entitled 'WORDS AND TREE' published by Myat Pwint Publishing House in 2005 in Yangon, Myanmar.

----------------------

(B) action poetry: he is dancing.
he is riding a horse.
he is driving a car.
He is speaking a language.
He is walking.
He is pressing a button of a video camera.
he is doing not knowing that he is doing an action.
he is learning karate.
he is navigating a ship.
He is doing things which others ask him to do.
He is building a house.
He is buying and selling.
he is teaching.
(Oh! ! The whole world is packed with a variety of colourful actions! ! ! !)
But
He has never seen his own mental operations. mental compositions, mental compositions and mental deconstructions.

Translation from Myanmar language by Nyein Way
------------------------
(C) rewritten &retrospected by poet nyein way in 2012
------------------------
Poet Nyein Way

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A Movement Calls Poetry

a cry calls poetry;
a movement brings forth poetry;
an anguish, a pleasure
a response, a conditioning
bring forth poetry;
craving, disgust
forward movement, and recoil
a mental formation
a delight, an irritation call forth poetry:
and poetry becomes mere froth
on the coffee-cup of living

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A Poet Of Our Time

He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.

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A Poet Of Our

He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.

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A Poet Loses His Power For Poetry

A POET LOSES HIS POWER FOR POETRY

A poet loses his power for poetry
He can put down words
But they no longer have poetry in them
Something of the feeling of what real poetry is
is gone.
He strives
He writes again and again
He puts words down in the forms and in the shapes his poems usually take
But he has no poetry in him
He has lost what he is
And all he can do
is strive again and again
Word after word
Silence after silence
To hear within himself again
A voice he does not have.

The poet is writing poetry
And it is not poetry
The poet is dead
And he is pretending to be alive
Is this a poem?
Is he a poet
Is he dead?
Is he alive?

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Useless Reminiscing

There are those who identify with quantity.
To fill a necessary space...
Determined
To let dust with an emptiness,
And silkened within a cobweb traced.

In cobelligerence it seems,
But not in protest.
Nor in the uniting of values.
A storm that isn't but 'is' inside that brews.
Like the eyes of someone in a portrait,
That follows you and every move!

The substance of the quantity,
Fails to provide a quality missed.
And the dust seems to sit...
As if that had been the purpose of it.
To soothe a mental disturbance.
Proving a self control can exist!
But to who?

To collect one's thoughts.
Until the memory finds a meaning.
And a perfect time to explore...
Useless reminiscing.
That's all it is...
If one does this alone!

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Alfred North Whitehead

Through and through the world is infested with quantity. To talk sense is to talk quantities. It is no use saying the nation is large - how large? It is no use saying that radium is scarce - how scarce? You can not evade quantity. You may fly to poetry and music and quantity and number will face you in your rhythms and your octaves.

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A Definition of Poetry by a 15 yr old

Poetry does not need a meaning or defintion.
Poetry is how the reader reads it,
Poetry is how the poet writes it.
Poetry is real,
Poetry is fake,
Poetry is everything,
Poetry is fate.
Poetry is rythm.
Poetry can ryme.
Poetry is anything, I make it mine.

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A Poet Became His Own Poetry

A POET BECAME HIS OWN POETRY

A poet became his own poetry
And all he could be
Was lines and lines and lines
Inside and outside
Lines and more lines
Off- rhymes
Finding a phrase
A metaphor
Hearing listening
To sounds
His own mind made.

A poet became his own poetry
And went into the long sleep
Of being only what he wrote.
No one can know how
Reading these lines now
The poet and the poetry live
without themselves.

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On A Famed Poet

Forgive me if his greatness I cannot seem to note
His poems never rhyme but he is a famed poet
By literary experts considered to be knowledgeable and wise
And for his poems he has won many a prize.

Though poetry is not very popular today
The poet of the poetry lovers the experts do say
In University literary magazines students his verses read
And they all agree he's a fine poet indeed.

Of poets and poetry I must confess so little I know
My favourites old rhymers from ages ago
On the poetry I do not like most experts agree
That it is well written and quite good poetry.

Forgive me if the worth in his verse I can't see
His non rhyming poetry does nothing for me
Of reading blank verse I do quickly grow tired
My truth is by such stuff I do not feel inspired.

The experts on his poetry great interest show
And his stature as a poet only seems to grow
Of him great things are written and great things we hear
And good luck to him on his literary career.

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What Does Poetry Mean To Me

What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from a poem
Good poetry is a rhapsody
That makes my spirit roam

What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from an ode
Good poetry is the world to me
It is the mother lode

What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from a verse
Good poetry makes my soul soar free
And lifts the darkest curse

What does poetry mean to me
A sorry sonofabitch
Good poetry grabs me by the balls
And makes my life seem rich

What does poetry mean to me
An ageing U3Aer
Good poetry takes me back to youth
To when I was a player

What does poetry mean to me
A frustrated would-be bard
Good poetry trips not off my pen
It’s far too blooming hard

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Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.

Poetry...Poetry...

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