If I were assigned poems I suppose I'd write more of them but it is entirely voluntary and for the most part ignored in the market sense of the word so the language to me is most intimate, most important, most sublime and most satisfying when it gets done.
quote by Thomas Lynch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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 Freedman
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Poems About.
There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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I don't write poems
I don't write poems,
I drink them like wine,
I become tipsy
with each coming line.
I don't write poems,
I breathe them like air,
I become so happy
when each one I share.
I don't write poems,
I live with them;
they prolong my years,
they are as true as I am.
I don't write poems,
I weave into verses
sadness, joy, tears,
prayers, love, curses…
My poems talk and sing,
Sense of living they bring.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
26th of April,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Physical Poetry
The physics of poetry
is best explained in a mind experiment
in the construction of this very poem.
As I write the question becomes
what is the word-next and its origins?
Now what word-next can be
is a question of probabilities;
since if I choose rhyme as my scheme
and since the words which will rhyme are finite
and not infinite
the only question then becomes
which one of these will I choose.
Now if I choose a word-next outside
rhyming
then I risk not making poetic sense
since writing a gibberish word,
or one not related to the whole,
would be judged word-next nonsense.
Now we ask who or what in the brain
is making these two decisions
is it me or is it something mysterious;
is it drawing upon the past and memory
or from an instantaneous present
or even perhaps from my future?
Or is it just random choices I make
without even understanding them?
But suppose it is something we call
consciousness which exists
in the brain-cloud of cells which
can with millions of possibilities
produce a entirely new idea
which by definition
can come to exist
like language itself
and produce something never before said;
and now is being compiled in the brain
in this very instant and brought into existence.
That is humans have with language
the ability to create sentences
which have never before existed,
spoken or written because some languages have
enough words in them to make these permutations
near infinite and hence new ideas possible therewith.
Suppose the same is true of the human mind
and human senses make possible from this
this exercise we call
the idea.
So beyond the physical aspects of the brain
there must be a non-physical aspect we call
consciousness, the spiritual, or whatever
word we choose as its name.
Now the other half of the transaction
is even more amazing:
I just made up a new idea
never been expressed before
and can talk to you about it
and given enough clues
it becomes something you understand
and you yourself can write
a poem about.
This must be trans-consciousness
which is now a double miracle
nobody understands.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Soap
you wish i were true
to every word i wrote in my poems
like sadness
that i must be sad when my poems
talk about sadness
like separation and disgust and pain
that i must suffer
with the poems i write that i must have despair
and pain too
and disgust
for every word of disgust written in every word
in every line
how cruel of you
how cruel of truth
how can i justify my death when i speak only of death
and in the very poem
where i write the word
death
there is soap
there is this box of untruths in pandora and when i open it
they must spread and you may refuse to believe
me again
but it would be very cruel of you
to make these poems
all these poems be my life my only life
and lived
and day by day lived in accordance with the
mouths of these poems
empathy
is the word, it is like i am putting my feet in another person's
shoes
then i write, and i could have written about this word: happiness
joy, bliss
ecstasy, light, and amazing glory
i choose not to,
i think, i have too much of it, and i do not share it for now
there is no necessity
and i cannot really help
with so much loneliness and sadness out there
with them i stretch my hands to hold them and feel them
and they all become
myself. it is not soap then, and there are no bubbles in the skies
there is no child playing amazed by the bubbles that burst and by the
bubbles that
are so abundant.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So Many People Have No Poem
SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE NO POEM
So many people have no poem.
No one writes of them and for them,
And perhaps it is not important to most of them.
But for the few who need and want a poem
And cannot write a poem of their own
Shouldn’t there be someone to write for them?
I have tried to write for a few
But not that well either.
Who will write for them?
Who will listen for them?
God Maker of all Poems and Silences,
You Alone can save us,
The makers of poems
And those who are only listeners.
God You Alone-Write their names for them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Have Read Many Poems I Know I Never Could Have Written
I have read many poems I know I never could have written
Poems whose language was far richer and more remarkable than mine
Poems that saw as I cannot see and sounded as I cannot sound
Poems of magnificent music and many hidden meanings
I have read many poems greater than those I could ever write
And have been humbled and saddened and inspired by them
Out there somewhere else
There have been real poets
And I in my own little lines
Love and respect them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Woman And Poetry
writing poems together
with that woman is so much fun
i write mine, (i am much better than that woman)
i ask her to read my poems she obliges with her spectacles
as she opens her mouth to syllabicate
i gulp some saliva to my mouth
this woman is terrible
she makes me giggle
i have her word for word i have her metaphor per metaphor
there is no time to discuss
i like her to undress this time
i'll take the magic of her word
this time i will open my mouth
this time i will read all of her
i will not discuss i will not understand
i will just feel these metaphors
this mouth this tongue this body
this most important poetry
this love this lust this moment
after we have written
our poems together.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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We Need New Poems
WE NEED NEW POEMS
We need new Poems-
So many great Poems
Have already been written.
Perhaps the Greatest poems
Have already been written.
But we need new poems.
We need our Poems
We need the poems only we can write
We need the poems we must write.
We need new poems
My poems
Your poems
Our poems.
We need new poems.
Let us write them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I don't
Many people write
For their true emotions to unravel
Out of depression, angst, spite
But I can’t
I don’t write poems when I’m sad
They write from their experiences
When he left me
When they died
Bringing tears, causing cries
But I can’t
I don’t write when I’m sad
The tears dutifully stain my cheek
And roll on and on
Through and through
Down
Down
Down
But I can’t
And I don’t write poems when I’m sad
And all the anger and sadness
Thrust inside of me
Just bursting to get out
Screaming
Pleading
Begging to get out
But they can’t
Because I don’t write poems when I’m sad
And I don’t know what to do
How to express my pain
And woe, and the feeling
It drains me, and it shows
But there’s nothing I can do
Because I don’t ever write poetry when I’m sad
Who stands with me?
True poets write in meter.
Not because they think it’s neater
but because the flow is sweeter
When their words are read aloud
as they perform before the crowd.
Their poems pass the acid test.
Prose writers do not choose to rhyme.
They see it as a waste of time.
Although their word choice is sublime.
Without meter it is prose,
not poetry as they suppose.
Their definition I contest.
Poetic prose it’s plain to see.
Can not be classed as poetry.
I can accept you disagree.
I know I have a biased view
I think I am entitled to
Decide which one I like the best.
I choose meter every time
Preferably with lines that rhyme.
I find such poetry sublime.
Though I enjoy well written prose.
Each to his own I must suppose
So write the way that suits you best.
I am old fashioned I admit
and not one whit ashamed of it.
I do not find rules inhibit.
Free expression of my views
They merely mean I have to choose
the words that will express them best
Free form, free verse, poetic prose.
Are methods other writers chose
as being fit for their purpose.
To rebel against fixed form.
Which was regarded as the norm.
Just to be different from the rest.
But fashions change and now free form
Must be regarded as the norm.
I see no reason to conform.
I choose to write my poetry
In the old way that pleases me.
A lonely voice raised in protest.
The wheel of fate will slowly turn
Metered poetry will return
and well deserved plaudits earn.
I hope I live to see the day.
when classic poets can display.
That fixed forms can outshine the rest.
Monday,06 December 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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What do I believe As an American I believe in generosity, in liberty, in the rights of man. These are social and political faiths that are part of me, as they are, I suppose, part of all of us. Such beliefs are easy to express. But part of me too is my relation to all life, my religion. And this is not so easy to talk about. Religious experience is highly intimate and, for me, ready words are not at hand.
quote by Adlai Ewing Stevenson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Only Dreams I Have In Writing Now Are Poems
THE ONLY DREAMS I HAVE IN WRITING NOW ARE POEMS
The only dreams I have in writing now are poems
Poems and more poems-
I write them in the morning and in the evening
At all times of day
Whenever I can make them come to me
They calm me and make me rest
They bring a sense that I am still alive
They justify me an amuse me
They give me hope
The only dreams I have now are poems
And poems keep me alive
As long as they can.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poems are part of me
Poems are part of me, until
I become part of them.
I have to write, what I hear, see and feel.
When poems are written, the world shall stop
and listen to what was said,
as a poet, I hope it's not a flop.
When ever I die, the poem will live on,
always read, always praised,
long after I'm gone.
Poetic Intrigues
just leave these
intrigues
the morning
is beautiful
and there are
many other
poems to write
did i tell you
that they still
beg to be written?
did i tel you
that time is too
short of the haggle?
did i tell you
that these poems
cannot wait and
that if you let them
wait
they simply go
away without
any word?
write another one
and if someone
wants to own your
creations
let that be
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Passion to Write
I love to write
thats just me
writing helps me
let everything inside be free
i have a wild imagination
and a sense of humor too
that sometimes get released
and make my poems untrue
but it doesnt matter if my poems are fake
theyre what you want them to be and what you rate
and to everyone now you know why i write
its the passion that turns me on and the pen and paper at sight.
(6-23-09)
poem by London Turner
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You are afraid
To write in English is your burden
You fear the grammar of the white man
You are afraid of its intricacies
why?
because your heart is not?
don't mind it, you simply want to share with full respect
to use their language
you could have used your own and be smooth with its facilities
but you also want to be a part of this world
to think american to speak english
who know if
He finds your poem good
Enough if
He feels the beating in your heart that
There is a flow
Of gladness
In your own way of being a part of this humanity that
There is joy
In your outlook that
You have a certain projection
About love sickness death redemption life
who knows?
Honestly
Now go
Write the language where you are
At home
Write the meaning of your riddles
At your convenience
Do not be afraid of English or Indian
Strictures
do not be afraid to commit mistakes
do not be afraid to go to prison
You will speak your language
You will sing your own song
you have been in this prison
for how long?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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All I Can Do Is Write Poems
ALL I CAN DO IS WRITE POEMS
All I can do is write poems
I have nothing else to say-
Only what Poetry alone can give
The expression of the soul
The deepest feeling we have
Whatever is in us and hurts the most
And needs most to be said.
All I can do in pain is write poems
But when the gladness comes?
When the happiness returns?
I will try too to to find words
For what is unsayable.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Found My Niche
i found my niche
and it is the place of my brothers whose tongues
are as forked as mine
whose words are as sharp as mine and we understand
how to say them
and we say them as we understand them
from the roots
to the stem of our awakenings
some bottles of wine will do
in this little niche
this country of my people
where i am one
of those counted to make a stand
and speak
there will be singing and touching of hearts
through the poems that we compose
and read with each other
there will be this sense of ourselves
back to our own arms
this sense of home
where each of us
are so alive.
we keep the poems in our own language now.
and if you wish, you must learn what each word means.
come, come, you are invited.
leave your slippers
before you enter. There is this burning bush in the middle
of our presence.
it is burning. it is burning.
we are in the midst of this worshipping.
come, come, come, stranger.
there is no reason for fear here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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