I think that there are fiction writers for whom that works well. I could never do it. I feel as if, by the time I see that it's a poem, it's almost written in my head somewhere.
quote by Sharon Olds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Head
My head is 'whirring',
A poem is 'stirring',
Inside my mind
Which is resigned
To producing nothing
Except some 'cussing'.
My head is 'clanging',
A poem is 'hanging',
In mid-air somewhere,
And Oh, I do care
To get it out.
Without a doubt!
My head is 'lifting',
A poem is 'shifting'
About, and ready
To come out steady,
And with some luck,
Will not get 'stuck'!
My head is 'clearing',
A poem is 'nearing'
Completion now,
And now somehow,
I feel a conclusion
Is no longer an 'illusion'.
My head is 'delighting'
A poem is in 'writing',
Clearly written,
And now I am 'smitten'
With composing again.
Can I be 'SANE'! .
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem That Perhaps Never Should Have Been Written
THE POEM THAT PERHAPS NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
Not the poem of yesterday
Nor the poem of tomorrow
But the poem of today-
What gives life meaning now.
Not the poem as it is read
But the poem as it is written.
Not the certain poem
But the poem that does not know
If it truly is a poem.
The poem that gives hope only when it is written-
The lesser poem-
The poem that perhaps never should have been written.
The poem I am writing now,
Perhaps for myself alone
The lesser poem
The poem that perhaps should never have been at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fictional
everything i write comes back to me
like they are real
in flesh and blood and friends write
how come
how is it that we are there in your poems
when they are supposedly
some works of a writer
imaginary and fictional
i have no answer
i write about love and broken hearts
and another friend
emails if i am alright
is there anything she can do to help?
but i say again
this is not me this has nothing to do with me
this is fiction
and she does not believe me
she says,
there you are trying to lie again
when blood runs surging like some pulse
of a dying man wanting to be alive
in your poetry,
i have no answer
the poems are works of fiction
it is not me it is about him and her and them
she shrugs off her shoulders
and reads again about the old church where
she once knelt and prayed
there was this girl who fell in love
and whose heart was
beautifully torn to pieces
she says she is her
the poem is true
and there was this boy
who was with her praying
who, when he became a man
broke her heart
she says it is you it is you
the poem is true,
the poems are true
who will ever believe me now?
i have always lied all along
count it from the first poem
when i said about
it and i said it was
it is
all about nothing and
it will always be about nothing
but fiction, nothing personal, but it can be also painful and lingering.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is My Poem
This is my poem of ______. (date)
This is my poem, written by myself.
This is my first poem never written.
This is my last poem now to be written.
This is the poem I would have written
if I had lived yesterday what I lived today.
This is my poem changing white light
into gold-leaf
and blue into violet.
This is my poem like a heaven twisting
and turning inside of me
all night long.
This is my poem of opening a window
to show what was always inside.
This is my poem encompassing everything
hope can bestow or chance agree with.
This is my poem of open-ended freedom.
This is my poem breathing life into motion.
This is my poem written as I wrote it
a living being.
And this is my poem ending;
but only for today..
poem by Patti Masterman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem Of All The Places I Have Never Been
THE POEM OF ALL THE PLACES I HAVE NEVER BEEN
The poem of all the places I have never been
The poem of all the dreams I have not seen
The poem of others poems written in lines I have never imagined
The poem of the infinite – what-is- not and ‘what- will- never- be
The poem of seas and suns and sounds and Shakespeare’s sonnets,
The poem of words and only words whose sounds do not mean what we feel
The poem of all I would not and cannot write
The poem that is not and never will be in me
The poem I do not write
The poem I am not
The poem lost
The poem which itself is not a poem
The poem of the last contradiction and the first
The poem beyond the poem hidden within the poem
The poem which will never be a poem
The poem which is not
The poem I cannot dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem About The Poem About The Poem
THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written in dream
And forgotten in sleep
Comes back to me slowly now
As if it had been away on a long long journey
And is reluctant to come home-
I write it
But it really writes me
And when I try to make sense of what it means
It tells me its ambiguities
Are more important and interesting
Than my clarity-
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written now
May not be a poem about a poem about a poem at all
But may merely be my own playing with words
Which take the place in my life
Of really living-
A poem about a poem about a poem?
Surely this is a mysterious thing
If it exists at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some major writers have a huge impact, like Ayn Rand, who to my mind is a lousy fiction writer because her writing has no compassion and virtually no humor. She has a philosophical and economical message that she is passing off as fiction, but it really isn't fiction at all.
quote by Theodore Sturgeon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing..
This poem is not about love..
This poem is not about pain..
This poem is not about the things i have learned...
This poem is not for the broken hearted..
This poem is not for the ones seeking help..
This poem is not for the depressed...
This poem is for no one,
Because no one can contain nothing...
This poem is not filled with wisdom..
This poem was not written with love...
This poem was not written for a lover nor a brother...
This poem was nothing special...
Not quite remarkable....
But it is nothing because that what it was...
Nothing and it will never be anything...
poem by Jenna Marie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Can A Poem Be Written
CAN A POEM BE WRITTEN
Can a Poem be written
In Anger Frustration Fear Disappointment?
Can it be written
In Failure?
Can a Poem be written
When no light shines
And the middle of the night is longer
Than life itself?
Can a Poem be written now
When old afraid sad angry foolish failure me
Cannot even dream?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem Versus Prose
You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Enough with your predicates
And your subjects
In this poem you will find
No commas and semicolons
This poem
Is armed with rhythms
Stanzas and shifts
This poem has no end
There are no colons
In this poem
Your prose is replete with nuances
This poem echoes
The plight of the oppressed
And dispossessed
In your prose I find parentheses
This poem speaks of life
Your prose can be edited
Cut this poem and it bleeds
You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Prose has pauses and hyphens
Prose comes to a stop
This poem plugs images
Even in your head
Prose deals with fiction
And nonfiction
This poem can be heard
It can be felt
It speaks of hunger
Of hopelessness
Homelessness
It speaks of a bitter reality
You do not like this poem
poem by Buxton Shippy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunday Morning Call
Here's another sunday morning call
Yer hear yer head-a-banging on the door
Slip your shoes on and then out you crawl
Into a day that couldn't give you more
But what for?
And in your head do you feel
What you're not supposed to feel
And You take what you want
But you won't get it for free
And You need more time
Cos your thoughts and words won't last forever more
But i'm not sure if it ever works out right
But it's ok. It's all right
When yer lonely and you start to hear
The little voices in your head at night
You will only sniff away the tears
So you can dance until the morning light
At what price?
And in your head do you feel
What you're not supposed to feel
And You take what you want
But you won't get it for free
And You need more time
Cos your thoughts and words won't last forever more
But I'm not sure if it ever works out right
But it's ok. It's all right
And in your head do you feel
What you're not supposed to feel
When you take what you want
But You don't get hope for free
And You need more time
Cos your thoughts and words won't last forever more
And I'm not sure if it'll ever
song performed by by Oasis from Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For a Lost Poem
Dedicated to the poem 'Moon Light' that was written a few years back.
For a Lost Poem
A poem written long ago –
disappeared on the face of the earth
as if it never existed – but somewhere
beyond this skyline it did;
where the moon sits, and shines its light –
this poem has been erased from history,
from where it was put into storage.
Oh poem, I feel a loss for you!
Where have you gone? Oh where have you gone?
Moon Light, once many people read,
and praised me for such delicacy,
now she is gone too.
As if death has to come with:
the darkening sky, oh ye poem –
ye selfless poem come back and
let the light shine upon you.
A poem has gone, but where?
poem by Celine Berghmans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm William Shakespeare
I’m born in April,1564 in Stratford-upon-Avon
I’m 100 miles northwest of London
I’m According to the records of Stratford's Holy Trinity Church
I’m baptized on April 26
I’m traditional birth date April 23rd, St. George's day
I’m married Anne Hathaway on November 27,1582
I’m 18; Anne was 26, eight years older than me.
I’m Susanna was born around May 26,1583; twins, Hamnet and Judith, were born around February 2,1585.
I’m likely educated at the grammar school in Stratford from the age of six or seven.
I’m published my first poem, 'Venus and Adonis, ' in 1593. I then wrote 154 poems and 37 plays, and my fame has only increased with time.
I’m recognized as one of the greatest writers of all time, known for works like 'Hamlet, ' 'Much Ado About Nothing, ' 'Romeo and Juliet, ' 'Othello, ' 'The Tempest, ' and many other works.
I’m With the 154 poems and 37 plays of my literary career, my body of works are among the most quoted in literature. I created comedies, histories, tragedies, and poetry. Despite the authorship controversies that have surrounded my works, the name of my continues to be revered by scholars and writers from around the world
I’m William Shakespeare
poem by Valya Madden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Should Not Be Written-When One Is Waiting For A Bus
A POEM SHOULD NOT BE WRITTEN-WHEN ONE IS WAITING FOR A BUS
A poem should not be written
When one is waiting for a bus
And simply trying to pass the time.
It should be written in solitude
After deep reflection
Ripeness as all
The falling fruit-
But this poem
Knows no ‘should’-
Knows only the long desperation
Of the happy holiday day-
Writing the words down quietly-
As if anything and everything I have to say
Is really
The poem I have religiously long waited for.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Will I Have A Poem Tonight?
WILL I HAVE A POEM TONIGHT?
Will I have a poem tonight?
Or will tiredness take me to bed
Without an answer?
Will I be able to find within myself
Some sounds of meaning
Some hint of beauty?
Something deeper than the darkness outside
As real as the longing within?
The poem which is written about the poem which is not
Is the poem which is written about the poem which is
And the poem which is
Is tonight the poem of the night
And the poem of the night tonight
Is the poem this poem is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just to Get You Out and Away
The poem is stuck on my tongue, and is between the gears in my head.
It changes from a love poem then to a deep, dark, and depressing one again.
Well it did match the weather outside.
Why is it that, staring at this piece of blank paper, can’t my poem be on it.
It is a figment! No, a fragmented thought that needs to be complete.
Where’s the inspiration to draw you out?
The elegant and superfluous words need you; they call you.
They call out as did Romeo called out to fair Juliet.
Actually, the poem doesn’t want fancy word play.
Could be, maybe it should be a poem that can rhyme...with time!
Thinking about that, I don’t think so.
This poem is stubborn to bring forth.
Screw you undetermined poem ever changing in my head!
Here I’ll write one for you.
In this, I expel you from clogging my thoughts.
Go now, drift into someone else’s mind.
Stop there concentration until they rid of you.
Written: November 18,2010
poem by Ryan Collins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Do Not Feel Very Poetic Today
I do not feel very poetic today-
And now I make that feeling the ‘subject’ of a poem-
Once Poetry seemed to be confined
To certain more sublime subjects -
But in our time
When every Form seems to expand to take into itself its opposite
Poetry makes itself of the non- poetic also -
There is no subject apparently
Which is non- poetic
Once a poem is written about it-
I do not feel very poetic today
And these plain and unbeautiful lines
This awkward presentation
Is what I am capable of
Poem or not,
I have written it now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Those who say truth is stranger than fiction have wasted their time on poorly written fiction.
quote by Mark Twain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am conscious of trying to stretch the boundaries of non-fiction writing. It's always surprised me how little attention many non-fiction writers pay to the formal aspects of their work.
quote by Alain de Botton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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