The greater part of critics are parasites, who, if nothing had been written, would find nothing to write.
quote by J.B. Priestley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem I Cannot Write/ Is The Poem Beyond My Own Poetry
THE POEM I CANNOT WRITE/ IS THE POEM BEYOND MY OWN POETRY
The poem I cannot write
Is the poem beyond my own poetry -
It is greater than what I am capable of -
It surprises in ways my awkward phrases cannot
It is complex beyond my simple simplicity
It has an infectious beauty
That demands to be recited again and again -
It lingers in the mind and memory
As a strange new beauty beyond anything done by anyone else before.
The poem I cannot write
Has been written will be written
By those greater than myself-
I have the great blessing
Of being able to read them
But I cannot join them
Despite a lifetime of trying.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Write To Write To Write
I WANT TO WRITE TO WRITE TO WRITE
I write to write to write-
A poem must be more than a straining against Emptiness-
A poem must be more than making a name.
A poem should be food for the heart and soul and mind
It should make us feel the world with new love
It should make us want to live more and more
A poem should make us love life
It should be written for its readers
And not for its poet alone
A poem should make us want to be in this world
In greater beauty and greater love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Can I Do I Do I Do
I have believed
with good reason;
for an observed
justified qualified;
period of time now.
That Those That Can Do!
That Those That Can’t! Just Talk About It...
Those that can
write
produce
create
enrich
this world
with wonder
of vision realized
Those that can’t
are critics...
have you noticed?
Some critics
are really
acidic?
Those that can’t
just talk
talk
talk
talk
about it
what they will do
When they are happy
in the mood
the time
is right
talk talk
but never do
The time is
always now
the time
to do to do
There is that
which is written
to enlighten...
There is that
which is written
to entertain...
Rarely
are they
one
and the
same
Critic
don’t be
at cross
purposes...
Be an artist
of critique
empower
to believe...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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I've always felt that life is a novel, and part of it is written for you, and part of it is written by you. It's up to you to write the ending, ultimately.
quote by Lynn Johnston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Improbale dream for my fellow poets
A hundred years from now may be.
Someone will read my poetry
and wonder how I came to write
my simple thoughts in black and white.
Amused by my naiveté
my complete lack of sophistry
Perhaps in pity they will give,
me credit as a primitive.
Just as some critics do today.
Poke fun at the old fashioned way
in which past poets used to write.
Immortal verse which can delight
their readers of the present day.
Despite what critics have to say.
15-Dec-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For A Certain Critic
Let lowly themes engage my humble pen
Stupidities of critics, not of men.
Be it mine once more the maunderings to trace
Of the expounders' self-directed race
Their wire-drawn fancies, finically fine,
Of diligent vacuity the sign.
Let them in jargon of their trade rehearse
The moral meaning of the random verse
That runs spontaneous from the poet's pen
To be half-blotted by ambitious men
Who hope with his their meaner names to link
By writing o'er it in another ink
The thoughts unreal which they think they think,
Until the mental eye in vain inspects
The hateful palimpsest to find the text.
The lark ascending heavenward, loud and long
Sings to the dawning day his wanton song.
The moaning dove, attentive to the sound,
Its hidden meaning hastens to expound:
Explains its principles, design-in brief,
Pronounces it a parable of grief!
The bee, just pausing ere he daubs his thigh
With pollen from a hollyhock near by,
Declares he never heard in terms so just
The labor problem thoughtfully discussed!
The browsing ass looks up and clears his whistle
To say: 'A monologue upon the thistle!'
Meanwhile the lark, descending, folds his wing
And innocently asks: 'What!-did I sing?'
O literary parasites! who thrive
Upon the fame of better men, derive
Your sustenance by suction, like a leech,
And, for you preach of them, think masters preach,
Who find it half is profit, half delight,
To write about what you could never write,
Consider, pray, how sharp had been the throes
Of famine and discomfiture in those
You write of if they had been critics, too,
And doomed to write of nothing but of you!
Lo! where the gaping crowd throngs yonder tent,
To see the lion resolutely bent!
The prosing showman who the beast displays
Grows rich and richer daily in its praise.
But how if, to attract the curious yeoman,
The lion owned the show and showed the showman?
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Change
As I stand here I ponder greater things
No longer a part of
A part of your lovers dreams
So much for your
Common complications
So much for your
Constant desperation
For whats to come
Its all been written
Down, written down
But I feel that a change is
A change is gonna come
I feel so alive now
And I feel that a change is
A change is gonna come
As I sit here Ill tell you greater things
No longer a part of
A part of someone elses dreams
So much for your
Common escalations
So much for your
Constant fabrications
For whats to come
Its all been written down, down, down
I said for whats to come
For whats to come your way
Its all been written
Down, written down
But I feel that a change is
A change is gonna come I said
I feel so alive now
And I feel that a change is
A change is gonna come
Keep on time
Keep on time
You run along
Keep on child
Keep on child
You move along
Keep on my time now
I run around for you
Keep on time
Keep on time
You run along
Keep on child
Keep on child
You push it on
Keep on my time now
I run around for you
You dont know yet
You dont know yet
You dont know yet
But youll feel it in your soul
You dont know yet
But you feel it in your soul
As I lay here I wanna fall asleep
No longer
No longer a part of your tv screen
A part of your tv dream
I said so much for your
So much for your common complications
So much for your
So much for your constant desperation
For whats to come its all been written
Down, written down
But I feel that a change is
A change is gonna come I said
I feel so alive now
And I feel that a change is
A change is gonna come
song performed by by Candlebox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words to Inspire
Sometimes someones words inspire us
to do things better than we do.
Sometimes we read something,
and the content suggests something
more than what was written down.
We write about what inspired us
and find we’ve gone on to greater things.
(To my good friend Francesca Johnson Who will know what I mean/12 July 2007)
poem by David Harris
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A Canadian Democratic Dictator
A dictator might improve our democratic illusions,
Compel all Canadians to vote and be part of the solution,
Throw out all party agendas for the greater national cause,
Maybe a Charter of Rights just for Canadians just because.
The Charter was not written for us; it was written for them,
Hundreds of millions of very strange looking women and men,
And others who like to march or riot or maybe burn police cars,
Then charged and onto Supreme Court appointments and be stars.
Unfortunately we have all been taught that the Charter is right,
Written in stone so no one can find fault either day or night,
We don’t have binding referendums so it can’t be changed,
If this was Switzerland, the Swiss could have it all rearranged.
Jan 4th,2011
poem by James Bredin
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The Best Poem
when you plant a seed
in the ground, and
water it, work it, weed it
till it grows... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you make a baby,
waiting and planning for birth;
and you raise this child to adulthood
with respect... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you live your life
working honestly, giving
all that you are and can be,
never holding back... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you go to death openly
with no regrets, not clinging
to dreams that were not real,
owning no one... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Myself and the inner mystic music
From my shaky cradle this rare music develops,
Yet no lyrics has written for a sad song.
I get frequent calls and I guess those are from the hell.
They want me to govern there it seems,
But I won't be a President ever as I never been to a war or practiced in a justice court.
I write my own epitaph here; 'This simpleton who sleeps in this abandoned graveyard scribbled half of his life and the manuscript has eaten by parasites.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Poems
I have written poetry
since I was nine years old
and still I find that I must write
as others seek for gold.
And though I find no nuggets
amongst the things I write
still sometimes there's a sparkle
that gives me some delight.
poem by Gillian Commerford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wrote A Poem I Could Not Write
I wrote a poem I could not write-
And then when I tried to write it again
Could not write it again -
Poems written and not written
Words and more words
What do they mean?
Paradoxes and games with words
What do they mean?
If there is Beauty in the language
It is one thing
But words just to hear themselves think,
Why should they mean ‘Remembrance'?
Oh Words oh Questions oh Darkness oh Life-
Let me write myself to the grave
Believing at least
That poems too even when they can be written
Have their small unhidden meanings.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Diary
one day you shall write about a ship
in the middle of the sea
on a dark night
one day you shall write about the man
who was there without any hint
about where he is
and where he is going
you will finish writing about it
and let it stay there
until you close the pages
and declare that this is what life is all about
one day you shall open it again
and write about the man who plunged into
the middle of the sea
to find the message of its depths
whatever happens close your diary for a while
wait until you feel the switch
inside the dark room of your heart
find the sea and find the right hour to plunge just as it was written
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poems I Would Have Written
THE POEMS I WOULD HAVE WRITTEN
The poems I would have written
Never came to me
They’re greater than I ever was
Or I will ever be.
The poems I would have written
Never came to mind
I was too small for them
Beyond what I could find.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strong-Willed
Equine Parasites,
Strong-willed,
Inter-parasites,
And of all ages!
But referred to you was the muse of my love,
And like a married man with three children.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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All The Critics Love U In New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U don't have 2 keep the beat
They'll still think it's neat in New York
U can wear what U want 2
It doesn't matter in New York
U could cut off all your hair
I don't think they'd care in New York
All the critics love U in New York
Why U can play what U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
They won't say that U're naive
If U play what U believe in New York
Purple love-amour is all U're in it 4
But don't show it
The reason that U're cool
Is cuz U're from the old school and they know it
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
All the critics love U
song performed by by Prince from 1999
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's very hard to find critics or a magazine today that will publish material that is genuinely independent and written without any concern about being cut off some distributor's list or not be invited or flown into screenings.
quote by Wim Wenders
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Villanelle For Our Time
From bitter searching of the heart,
Quickened with passion and with pain
We rise to play a greater part.
This is the faith from which we start:
Men shall know commonwealth again
From bitter searching of the heart.
We loved the easy and the smart,
But now, with keener hand and brain,
We rise to play a greater part.
The lesser loyalties depart,
And neither race nor creed remain
From bitter searching of the heart.
Not steering by the venal chart
That tricked the mass for private gain,
We rise to play a greater part.
Reshaping narrow law and art
Whose symbols are the millions slain,
From bitter searching of the heart
We rise to play a greater part.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hyperbolic
The actor!
His greater mentor;
The actress!
Her greator mentor;
With critics and the hyperbolic of things,
But this satirical case is always seen around us.
Trained from oral history,
Trained from oral works,
And like the beauty of love plus the act of peace;
With critics and the hyerbolic of the things around us today,
But, my sweet mind will lead me on always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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