The poet speaks to all men of that other life of theirs that they have smothered and forgotten.
quote by Edith Sitwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As for the usefulness of poetry, its uses are many. It is the deification of reality. It should make our days holy to us. The poet should speak to all men, for a moment, of that other life of theirs that they have smothered and forgotten.
quote by Edith Sitwell
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: the Master Poet
’Tis God who inspires in me fire!
He is the Master-Sculptor and Poet!
I play a melody with strings well-set;
God-kindled heart of mine becomes a lyre.
Every poet speaks to God in his mind,
In ways so strange that both can understand;
The Poet is a singer in his band;
To God’s tenets, his songs will always bind,
With time, he communicates very fast;
The Poet takes up every word of His;
And so the poems get very well cast;
As if God gave the poet’s mind- bliss.
To thee belongs my poems, O my Lord!
They are made great byThy divine accord.
3-3-2000
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The crazy Poet!
The crazy Poet
did a crazy poem
when I asked the hours to him
he replied that his watch
was not right!
It had a headache
And his time was converted into 22 tears hours
I, no longer understand anything,
said to him
- Why Poet speaks the language unrepaired -
Forget the hours Poet, and their rhymes?
He said, Ah! , galvanize, crystallize and agonize
And I ask you again
And your love?
And Him to me: Broken, breaking
and enveloping
Now, try understand a Poet! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Thus speaks the star
Thus speaks the star
Leave them asleep
Thus speaks the star
Buried the past
Thus speaks the star
Go for fresh start
Thus speaks the star
Life is our and our
Thus speaks the star
Be optimistic and go far.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The God speaks
Macbeth speaks; Hamlet speaks.
We say Shakespeare speaks.
Krishna speaks to Arjuna.
We don’t say Vyasar speaks.
21.11.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Keep On Trucking
His faith is true
And his talent ten fold
In every poem
He speaks the truth
His honesty grand
His devotion so sweet
I think his wife
Is very lucky indeed
He speaks his mind
To what he has seen
On life's rocky roads
Aint that supreme
The man makes
You laugh
Till your sides split
What a great way to go
With a smile on your face
So one word to thee
A poet of the world
Keep on trucking
With your poets and songs
poem by Kaila George
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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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I Haven't Forgotten
I haven't forgotten when I meet you first!
I haven't forgotten when I greet you last!
I haven't forgotten your pretty face!
I haven't forgotten your smile and grace!
I haven't forgotten how we started chatting!
I haven't forgotten when we started dating!
I haven't forgotten our last walk together!
I haven't forgotten how I became a loser!
I haven't forgotten how it became too late!
I haven't forgotten when I understood fate!
I haven't forgotten that summer's northwester!
I haven't forgotten and won't forget ever!
poem by Asif Andalib
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A Poet's Life
A Poet's life is:
A whole day of inspiration,
Coupled with a lot of observation,
A poet is not right,
And not wrong,
They have foresight and don't prolong,
A poet is neutral at all times,
They are the past, present and future,
Possess knowledge of culture,
And in a way is a teacher,
So there you have it,
All summed up as one,
A Poet's Life. My work here is done!
Waiting For Them to Come to Life
I agree with you.
However...
What is recognized that 'should' happen,
At this hour...
Had been just as recognizable,
In those hours past.
And that 'urgency' has been smothered,
By a coating of denial.
Sautéed in BS.
And trimmed with a taste to bait delusions.
For the purposes to maintain our appetites,
Kept in sweetened ignorance.
It is recommended we establish patience,
For those hypnotized by incompetency.
And on all levels,
Allow a degrading that has taken place...
To consume any decency that is left.
Now we live in the midst of dwindling stages,
Of pretensions meant!
And waiting for them to come to life.
With the utmost expected tolerance.
Because we are who we say we are.
And not what it is that is reflected.
Since those images we refuse to accept.
And we bet against their existence.
Inspired by:
J.B Poet
Atlanta
'Thank you J.B Poet.
Keep your 'spirit' honest.
And your 'vision' fresh with expectation.'
~LSP~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Driven From The Seat
His life is a lie.
Smothered under alibis.
Tied he is to connected delusions!
Only his breathing...
Is not worth debate or denied!
Everything else should be of concern.
As he is driven from the seat,
Of every illusion he yearns!
Kept nourished he is,
To feed an ego burning...
That has marred a scarred reality.
And nothing of this he has learned...
For him to expect a respect not earned!
His life is a lie.
Smothered under alibis.
Tied he is to connected delusions!
And a dangerous mind like his,
Continues to leave behind misery!
And tears to those believing...
Anything he says he is!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It is true that the poet does not directly address his neighbors; but he does address a great congress of persons who dwell at the back of his mind, a congress of all those who have taught him and whom he has admired; that constitute his ideal audience and his better self. To this congress the poet speaks not of peculiar and personal things, but of what in himself is most common, most anonymous, most fundamental, most true of all men. And he speaks not in private grunts and mutterings but in the public language of the dictionary, of literary tradition, and of the street. Writing poetry is talking to oneself; yet it is a mode of talking to oneself in which the self disappears; and the products something that, though it may not be for everybody, is about everybody.
quote by Richard Wilbur
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Again
I am here as
one sweet zero
nothing stops
a hollow heart.
Nothing stops
an empty table
But the unspoken
wish to fight.
Let me fall
when I am hearing
songs unwilling
to use voice.
Muted songs
of love to keep me
too far from
the open doors.
Long ago
unloaded faults
came the time
to let them go.
Please unlock
those smiles for me.
at sad hearts
I'd like to knock.
Came unlocked
the other worlds
I begun to hear
them singing
End of paint
a soothing silence.
Laughing tricks
searched for my bad luck
bringing me where
I've been found.
On the muddy bloody
rough path
Miles of life will
slide unfair.
Forcing run
My feet are speeding
Here I am
I'll catch the train.
Smothered into life.
Again.
Smothered into life
Again.
poem by Elena Sandu
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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