One travels so as to learn once more how to marvel at life in the way a child does. And blessed be the poet, the artist who knows how to keep alive his sense of wonder.
quote by Ella Maillart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
A Poet Is Blessed In Old Age
A POET IS BLESSED IN OLD AGE
A poet is blessed in old age
He can write a few lines
And feel he is alive
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Conversation
Chorus:
Conversation with the child who once believed in you
How does one explain to him what it is you do
He says daddy daddy please tell me its not true
What all the people are saying....saying about you
There comes a time when one must face the life that you have led
That is a hard thing to do when lies is all that has been said
And the blameless eyes of an innocent youth
Is begging for you to tell the truth
Its such a hard way to learn....hard way to learn
This moment of truth will hurt for life
Dont need to tell you that aint right
Come now little boy dont you cry
cause the child in you is still alive
Chorus
There comes a time in this childs life when the boy becomes a man
So many things from his past he now can understand
Like all the times when dad would leave and be gone for so long
And he thought everything was all right
And he thought everything was all right
This moment of truth will hurt for life
Dont need to tell you that aint right
Come now little boy dont you cry
cause the child in you is still alive
This moment of truth will hurt for life
Dont need to tell you that aint right
Come now little boy dont you cry
cause the child in you is still alive
Such a hard way to learn......(repeat)
song performed by by Eagle Eye Cherry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Just a Poet
I am just a poet.
A philosopher of sorts.
One who cohorts with others...
With common ideals as if at sport.
I am just a poet.
Observing those in an environment.
Trying to make sense of activities done.
And why some are done without consciousness.
I am just a poet.
Blessed to have what I do as a gift!
And living each moment to understand more of life.
As I share this point of view through the poems I write.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Blessed child,
Blessed child,
Blessed child,
You will live to see Eternity,
Either way,
There is the blessed in your love,
Let it reign,
Maybe you are blessed than any other,
You will not die blessed child,
You will live to see Heaven in your heart,
Either way you are a blessed child,
I can see it in your eye's,
That you are far much blessed.
poem by Maxpoet Beauty
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When a Child Has Been Told
When a child has been told
Never shed a tear
The small child can only
Every bow their head in fear
And hope and pray they
Don't come back to silence them
They often live in fear
They learn not to cry
When a child has been told
Keep a secret
For if they do they will be punished
For telling lies
They bow their head in fear
Hoping they will not
Come back and take their life
They learn not to speak
When a child has been told
Close your eyes
All they can do is tremble
As the touch of evil hands
Slowly destroys their soul
Never to burn again
They learn not to care
When a child has been told
No one really care's
They sit alone and ponder
Will anyone believe?
If I just spoke
If I just shed a tear
Will anyone really care?
They learn not to feel
All I ask of you now
Is let them speak
Let them cry
Because it means they are alive
poem by Kaila George
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Sonnet -Indelible Art?
How far an artist takes his art forward?
If labour hard is continued for long,
It dedication has not disappeared,
And Pride has not polluted his art’s song.
One's art improves if Will of God is there;
If Luck and Pluck come timely to his aid;
If vices poison not his mind to err;
And love enters his art when it is made.
For art lives longer than the artist's age;
And brings alive the beauty it derived;
All life, the artist must truly manage;
To perfect works of art in which he’d strived.
Such art alone will stand the test of time,
For it has made the Artist's life sublime.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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An artist is an artist only because of his exquisite sense of beauty, a sense which shows him intoxicating pleasures, but which at the same time implies and contains an equally exquisite sense of all deformities and all disproportion.
quote by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poet For The Lord Night and Day
I'm a poet for the Lord
Who created all I love.
A blind man riding a fast horse
Fulfilled by my Father above.
God has blessed me 480 times
With stories I could never compose on my own.
Love, war, faith and the answers of life
Are the seeds of His poems I've sown.
I'm the most over blessed man I've met
I should have been dead a thousand times.
But God sees to it I stay alive
To disciple His goodness to hearts and minds.
Some get up and preach a good sermon
Others stand up and sing a divine song.
I step forth with heart and soul
And deliver God's words of right and wrong.
NIGHT AND DAY
Give thanks to Jesus every night and day
He has allowed you to succeed, love and serve.
Share with others your blessings and joys
Of the delights of life you may not deserve.
God loves anyone who yearns to become better
And prays to Him to alter and conform.
We make our mistakes and learn from our heartbreaks
As by pain and sorrow we transform.
All the heroes of God's Bible just like us
Had to learn their lessons the hard way.
We still study their stories and compare their outcomes
Every time we read His Word and pray.
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.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The mother and the artist
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of wonderfully emollient freshness; every
unfurling instant of impregnably magnificent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of spellbindingly undefeated innocence; every
unfurling instant of symbiotically pristine existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of timelessly unconquerable truth; every unfurling
instant of bounteously magnanimous existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unfathomably unfettered creativity; every
unfurling instant of timelessly burgeoning existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of royally triumphant resplendence; every
unfurling instant of unconquerably majestic existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of eternally exhilarating vivaciousness; every
unfurling instant of redolently insuperable existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbelievably ameliorating optimism; every
unfurling instant of marvelously benign existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of brilliantly liberated camaraderie; every
unfurling instant of iridescently inscrutable existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unshakably virgin righteousness; every
unfurling instant of beautifully untainted existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of uninhibitedly heavenly frolic; every unfurling
instant of tantalizingly sensuous existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of compassionately humanitarian friendship; every
unfurling instant of magically mitigating existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of miraculously everlasting freshness; every
unfurling instant of invincibly coalescing existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of pricelessly ubiquitous oneness; every unfurling
instant of robustly blessed existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbreakably Omnipotent desire; every unfurling
instant of victoriously effulgent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unceasingly reinvigorating fantasy; every
unfurling minute of poignantly charismatic existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of insurmountably intrepid enchantment; every
unfurling minute of rhapsodically unhindered existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Omnisciently tranquil serenity; every unfurling
instant of endlessly bestowing existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of perpetually fragrant breath; every unfurling
instant of Omnipresently benevolent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Immortally ardent love; every unfurling instant
of limitlessly fructifying existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fantastically alleviating poetry; every
unfurling instant of boundlessly splendid existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fabulously effervescent tanginess; every
unfurling instant of spiritually uplifting existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unlimitedly enlightening Sunshine; every
unfurling instant of infallibly luminescent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of immaculately godly melody; every unfurling
instant of amiably melanging existence,
Because. And Only Because. A Mother is; has and shall for times immemorial
remain the Greatest Sculptor of every organism on this astoundingly
multiplying Universe; A Mother is the Greatest Artist….
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Run And Dance And Play
'The mission of poetry is to create among people
the possibility of wonder, admiration, mystery,
the sense that life is marvelous...
To make life a marvel-that is the role of poetry.'
- OCTAVIO PAZ
she finally admits that she likes octavio
but she does not understand him, and i quip
that if that is the case, you must stop reading him, he is killing you
and your initial desire to be in love with poetry
isn't it that the mission of poetry is to create this marvel?
this admiration? this feeling that life is marvelous?
that there is still this wonderful feeling left inside us
despite the odds?
if octavio makes you wonder about more wonders
continue reading the magnificence of his lines
marvel, marvel, marvel
but if he does not achieve that purpose in you
try reading back those nursery rhymes
those that make you feel better and make you
go back to the niceties of your childhood
run and play and dance and sing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Learn
when broken
learn
when happy
learn
when bored
learn
when you float and does not know what to do
learn just the same
when filled with idealism
learn
when fed with what you cannot swallow
learn again
when the times get rough and you want to kill yourself
learn, learn, learn
you still have many things to learn
faces of life
bodies of life
learn, learn, learn everything
do not surrender
for in truth, you do not do what you only want
you will also do what you are told to do
no questions asked
or you will be left out
or you will be not a part of the picture
this life
learn, learn, learn, always learn
do not surrender
live, learn, live, learn
you will soon do all that others will tell you
learn, learn and learn again
and sooner you will have learned everything
and then do what you want to do
with firm conviction
you know now what is right
and that is what you will do,
now without even being told
you have become yourself
but still learn, learn, and learn again
because
you might be wrong,
try thinking some more, learn
relearn, learn, learn, learn, forevermore....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Traveller
Reply to Rudyard Kipling’s ‘He travels the fastest who travels alone.’
Who travels alone with his eye on the heights,
Though he laughs in the day time oft weeps on the nights;
For courage goes down at the set of the sun,
When the toil of the journey is all borne by one.
He speeds but to grief though full gaily he ride
Who travels alone without love at his side.
Who travels alone without lover of friend
But hurries from nothing, to naught at the end.
Though great be his winnings and high be his goal,
He is bankrupt in wisdom and beggared in soul.
Life’s one gift of value to him is denied
Who travels alone without love at his side.
It is easy enough in this world to make haste
If one live for that purpose – but think of the waste;
For life is a poem to leisurely read,
And the joy of the journey lies not in its speed.
Oh! vain his achievement and petty his pride
Who travels alone without love at his side.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Song: Child's Play
Are accidents - reflections,
Of the chaotic quantum world;
Do the stars that rule the heavens,
Raise cosmic flags, unfurled?
Is love a constellation,
In the vacuum pack of cold;
A joyous distillation,
A yeast alive in mould?
It's child's play. It is child's play.
It has no creed but come what may.
We write the screed, it's all display:
On bended knee, for luck we pray.
It's child's play. A wild child's play.
We take no heed, but remain unswayed.
It's child's play. It is child's play.
When we learn that greed, is here to stay.
Is the background irradiation,
More a subset of decay;
Not dog-eat-dog predation,
But chance as child's play?
So that's OK. That's what we say.
When the meme of hate, sells well, it pays!
It's child's play. It is child's play,
When our dreams deflate, in a listless haze.
So that's OK. That's what we say.
We lean on fate, like a brand new day.
It's child's play. It is child's play,
When we learn too late, what's been swept away!
poem by Dave SmithWhite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Is It To Be Alive?
What is it to be alive?
To stand in the early morning Jerusalem cold
And remember the same kind of cold
My father of blessed memory also sensed on the road down from the junk shop
In Lansingburgh New York so many many years ago?
What is to be alive
And sense the morning brightness and freshness
And to know in five or ten or who knows how many years
Someone else will sense this elsewhere?
What is to not be alive?
And perhaps never know this special kind of morning freshness and brightness again?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The life of a Poet
The poet listens
the poet hears
he writes down
all his fears.
He observes things
that others don't
going to places
that others won't.
Inspired by simple things
like a sound or smell
the poet has lots
of stories to tell.
Even when asleep
his mind isn't at rest
in fact this is the time
it's at it's creative best.
The poet can be a restless soul
his life reflected on the page
some verse can be sweet and mild
then full of anger and rage.
The poet can be mysterious
and write in a strange way
he will say Black is White
and that night is day.
The poet is an artist
but instead of paint it's the word
painters want their work to be seen
but poets just need to be heard.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Embers
As I sense the here and now,
I can’t help but marvel how
This moment rose like an ember,
Once extinguished, few remember.
Though the warmth from its glow
Lives here and now if we know
That in this life all-to-fast
We must sense embers while they last.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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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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Able To See Yourself Reflected
To those who have never,
Come to experience...
A losing of their child's life.
Or know what it is like,
To grieve and suffer through...
This feeling known that never leaves.
It is not a headache that comes and goes away.
The feeling of the image can not be numbed.
And those who say...
'It will be okay.' It never is... okay!
To those who have never,
Come to experience...
A losing of their child's life.
Or know what it is like,
Feel blessed you have not yet...
Endured that process.
Be blessed to have children,
Who can come to pluck your last nerve.
Feel blessed you are able to see yourself reflected.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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