Eugenio Montale

But poets were not considered dangerous and they were advised to exercise self-censorship. At most, poets were requested not to write at all. I took advantage of this negative liberty.

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Good Poets and Bad Poets

Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.

Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.

Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind

Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.

Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.

Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.

Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.

All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.

Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.

Some poets take criticism and don't mind.

Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.

Some poets write poetry to get love.

Some poets love to write poetry.

Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind

Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind

Some poets live only after they die.

Some poets have much to say but can't articulate

Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand

So which one of these am I?

I guess I am all of these and none of these

and no matter what my description

I intend to keep doing what I do:

Write. Right

poem by Lonnie HicksReport problemRelated quotes
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(V – 2010) The Poet’s Nature

Reflecting Nature’s various hues
Poets write colourfully.

Echoing Nature’s innate songs
Poets write musically.

Learning from Nature’s righteous laws
Poets write more sensibly.

Drawing from Nature’s spotless love
Poets write more humanely.

Living with Nature’s poetic life
Poets write living poetry.

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In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.

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I Write Poems For Poets

I WRITE POEMS FOR POETS

I write poems for poets
Our situation as poets-
The longings the feelings
We so need to express-
The love of language-
The hunger for recognition-
The frequent rejection-
The kind word of a reader that moves-

Poems for poets
We as we each are
All so different-
And we as we share
Words and worlds
We hope to have read.

poem by Shalom FreedmanReport problemRelated quotes
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A poor pen

Pen is

Not great...

On the paper...

poet write at

Moon+ sky...

Stars...

Earth and sea...

All are in poets

Hand only

At poets hand...

Poets is think...

Poets dream...

Thats all

pen is very poor

Noock out...

undrestad to try...

Try too under stand....

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0005 Totally Boring Poem

I’m totally bored by:


poems that sound like other poems

poems that try to sound unlike any other poems

poets who never take risks

poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets

poems with 'meaning'

poems with no meaning

poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something

poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time

poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring

poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'

poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'

poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex

poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out

poets that tell you they’ve been dumped

poets who've never known love and being dumped

poets who are ambitious

poets who are unambitious

poets who tell you all about higher things

poets who reject higher things

poets who think life’s just a joke

poets who think life’s no joke

poets who sit on the fence

poets who have no sense of balance

poets who despise 'the middle ground'

poets who talk about technique

poets with no technique

poets who just throw down their thoughts

poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish

poets who list what they like (who cares?)

poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)

poets who write about extreme states

poets who think they’re immune to extreme states

poets who tell you why they’re bored

poets who have opinions

poets who seem to have no opinions at all

poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?

poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word

poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems

poets who don't love poetry passionately

poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'

poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,

how about you?

I suppose you have boring opinions too?

another time perhaps


and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored


well I feel better for that.

how about you?

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There Are A Few Poets

THERE ARE A FEW POETS

There are a few poets
Beyond the poetry you and I know
And are capable of –

There are a few poets
Who seem to write a poetry
Which is Poetry itself,
A Poetry which is everything Poetry should be-

Those poets are somewhere else
On a level far beyond any we can hope to reach-
They are Poetry –

And we we are the little listeners and readers
Who can in awe and praise worship
What we ourselves will forever be incapable of.

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If I Knew What Poets Know

If I knew what poets know,
Would I write a rhyme
Of the buds that never blow
In the summer-time?
Would I sing of golden seeds
Springing up in ironweeds?
And of rain-drops turned to snow,
If I knew what poets know?

Did I know what poets do,
Would I sing a song
Sadder than the pigeon's coo
When the days are long?
Where I found a heart in pain,
I would make it glad again;
And the false should be the true,
Did I know what poets do.

If I knew what poets know,
I would find a theme
Sweeter than the placid flow
Of the fairest dream:
I would sing of love that lives
On the errors it forgives;
And the world would better grow
If I knew what poets know.

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T.S. Eliot

Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.

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We As Poets

We as poets must command a sacred accent over a language of our choice,
We as poets must gift the minds of a failing generation,
We as poets must demand a clear explanation and a fair occupation,
We as poets must dissolve into particles and dust if we have not known enough,
We as poets must destroy the living standards of low quality,
We are to be the poetry of utmost perception and suffering.

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Genuine Appreciation Fails

Poets have no will to appreciate
Non poets have no wit to appreciate.
The poems that I write are to no avail.
Hoping the impossible, I write.

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Poets, Oh! Poets awake awake and face the world!

Life is bright and a pleasure to enjoy!
And above how nice to see the moon light!
Love is without blemishes and bliss in life!
Poets lie; lie more as much as you can!
Always write the positive traits
And suppress the negative, is it your habit
Or consciously do you do, to flinch the reality?
How do you get pleasure living in falsehood?
Life may be bright and but it has darkness inside
Which can't be overlooked, the moon has a spot
Love is a lust tick which sucks blood.
Poets play happy, happy game as much as you can!
But reality is truth, truth is the more reality
Make believe is a fairy tale lies only in the dream
When you awake it breaks in thousand pieces
Poets, oh! Poets awake, awake and face the world,
As it is! It is more beautiful and more truth in it.

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Versatilty

I think that I can claim to be
a poet who is versatile.
I try to write my poetry
in varied form and varied style.

I emulate and imitate
styles of great poets of the past.
To show that I appreciate
poets that time has over cast.

Although long dead their words live on.
A source of inspiration to
poets today.Though they’re long gone
and I give credit where its due.

Although some things I write are new
I cannot trace their origin.
I trust my muse as poets do.
She prods me until I begin.

She tells me there is no such thing
as writers block there cannot be.
A poor excuse for not writing
I’m not allowed to be lazy

That’s something she won’t tolerate
and drags me from my bed to write.
Though I protest the hour is late.
She is insistent that I write.

If she should choose to stay away
I’d seize the opportunity
to simple have a lazy day
Without my conscience pricking me.

11-Mar-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e HoggReport problemRelated quotes
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Heart and Soul

Poets are…
lyricists
For which the music…
Is not yet written

Words that wait
Uncertain fate
For songsmith’s
To be smitten

Poets write
The very heart
Songsmiths write
The soul

It takes the two
To both imbue
And make two parts
…a whole..

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Naked Girl

When Liberty lies bleeding
And the politicians laugh
Its poets who must rescue her
Or write her epitaph.

When Liberty lay naked, scorned
Upon the cobblestones
I gave my coat to be her robe
And brought her to my home

More dead than alive she seemed
I gave her tea to drink
She shivered at the memory
Of how low some people sink.

“My people once were proud and free”
She shook her head in shame.
“But lately they submit like slaves
To politician’s games”

“The State invades your privacy-
You mutely give assent.
What would Patrick Henry say
opposed to such offense? .”

“My treasury is plundered
By thieves the Banksters sent.
As we sink deeper into debt
Our Dollar’s worth three cents.”

“We borrow billions every day
To fight a faceless foe
Engaged in a “forever” war
As my strength erodes”

When Liberty lies bleeding
And the politicians laugh
Its poets who must rescue her
Or write her epitaph.

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I haven't seen the spongy sky a long time

Not because that I am lazy as my doctor advised me to look down always
due to my neck pain.
This nagging Spondylitis gives me trouble on and off.
And I missed lot of my bird friends they fly in the serene sky.
If the transparent sky understand my dialect, excuse me I want to write my biography.
Yet I am scared your friendly clouds take my words away.
The twinkle stars in the night sky like poor poets they sing their sad songs,
And I am sorry my doctor advised me to look down always and I realized that I never get a chance to touch the mysterious stars.

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Poets

Poets write
and when the poem is done
they search for words
to write another one.

Poets write
and when the poem is through
they search for thoughts
to write another two.

Such is the life of a poet.

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On The Goddess Of Poesy

The Goddess of Poesy the Goddess of Song
To the Universal immortals she surely belong
The poets of the World her praises do sing
The gift of poetry to their souls she does bring.

The poets to write poems Goddess Poesy inspire
And of singing her praises they don't seem to tire
The poetry of sorrow the poetry of joy
The poetry of youth of the young girl and boy.

The poetry of youthfulness and of growing old
Of young women in their prime lovely to behold
The beauty of Nature the birds and the bees
The mammals and fishes of land and of seas.

The Goddess of poets of every gender race and creed
For their inspiration to write in her lives her they need
Of love, life and Nature she inspires poets to write
For the lovers of poetry to read and recite.

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Poet 2 Poet

We all have different writing styles, and we
May not all have grace and poise.
But when we do write, it’s all to make some noise.

We want to be recognized by the co-poets
All fair and true.
For writing our poetry is what we all like to do.

So I welcome all my co-poets who take this beautiful ride
And all their dreams and visions, they do find.

We do not only write what comes into our minds
But we write from the heart
And this is where poetry gets its start.

So continue to write all that you see and feel
Because these are human emotions.
That from us, no one can steal.

WELCOME ABOARD THIS TRAIN OF POETRY.

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For All The Poets

FOR ALL THE POETS


This is a poem for all the poets who have no name,
For all those who have written and failed,
And for those who have not written,
And failed.

This is a poem for all the poets who dreamed themselves poets,
And were never, and will be known as poets
To the world.

This a poem for all those
Who after years of effort
Still live in an oblivion
They will die in.

This is a poem for all those
Who whether they have poetry in them or not,
Will never be heard or read,
For what their hearts must tell
Someone else.

This is a poem for all the silent poets
Those who live in silence
And whose silence is eternal
For all those whose only poetry
is the poem they have lived within themselves.

This is a poem for all those who would- be poets
And a poem for those
Who despite their efforts
Did not make their poem known.

This is a poem which may be for you,
And I know is for me
A confession
To make us less alone.

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