Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.
quote by Allen Ginsberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Private Poetry
Every poem, Every poetry,
Where are all the poets?
Hiding out, Hiding away.
In the beaches, forests,
In the caves and rooms,
In the islands and temples.
Make their private poetry,
Every now and then,
Here and there,
Over here, Over there.
Somewhere, somewhen,
Someone, somebody,
No one, No body,
Some here, some there.
Somehow, not matter how,
Everywhere, every when,
Every turn, every look,
Every search, every research,
There is a private poet.
Making a private poetry,
Writing private poems,
Writing lovely poems,
Writing profound poetries.
For the world and all
To ponder,
To reflect,
To open our heart,
To hear and listen;
What poets have
To say and write,
In a private poetry,
For the world to read
And treasure.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Potential Poetry!
Love has no fear whatsoever in the world;
Poet does all by his love of all matters here;
Poetry is inspiring words of poet for all!
What's not possible by poetry is nothing!
Impossible is expressed in possible words
Making unknown known by poetry only!
Forms and style are poets own creations;
Poetry is ever new in expression of ideas
Inspiring all to be enthusiastic, enlightened!
Love of Nature, life, beauty and love poetry
Explores always deep to express truth new!
Poets are gods of Earth to men to new realm!
Poetry briefly converges all in a nutshell
As powerful as atomic energy in control!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Party Line
(hello, whos that speaking, please? )
Im on a party line,
Wonderin all the time,
Whos on the other end?
Is she big, is she small?
Is she a she at all?
Whos on my party line?
Wish I had a more direct connection.
This party line was here when I arrived.
And Im not voting in the next election,
If they dont do something about finding out
The person who is on my party line.
Im on a party line.
Im on a party line.
I cant speak without an interception.
This is private, please get off my line.
Please tell me when I can have my privacy.
Id like to meet the girl whos always talking
When Im speaking on my party line.
Wish I had a more direct connection.
This party line was here when I arrived.
And Im not voting in the next election,
If they dont do something about finding out
The person who is on my party line.
Im on a party line,
Wonderin all the time,
Whos on the other end?
Is she big, is she small?
Is she a she at all?
Whos on my party line?
Whos on my party line?
Whos on my party line?
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poetry Of Confession
THE POETRY OF CONFESSION
The poetry of confession -
The poetry of self- indulgence-
The poetry of the ‘wretch con-centered all in self’-
The poetry of moods and feelings-
Of all ideas only as they relate to the poet himself-
The poetry of desperation-
The poetry of need-
The poetry of urgency -
And serving the poet first-
Not enough of the world
Not enough of others- of other perspectives
Not formal and disciplined enough-
The poetry which is not crafted and polished
The poetry in which the need of the poet
Is more central than the quality of the poetry –
The poetry which may be too selfish to be good-
Whose moral failure makes more prominent its aesthetic flaws-
The poetry which is not so good
And not great
But quite banal and commonplace –
A poet can give his life to his poetry
And that still be nothing at all-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Retrieved Poetry
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
But the inspiration keeps coming,
But the memory keeps living.
Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
It dies only if it is not poetry
And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
And nothing more, until that day,
Until we start thinking he is inspired,
Until we stop thinking for the poet;
He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument.
Even as we cut from the same tree,
Even as we speak same universal language,
You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
We can never speak from same mouth.
You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument,
If poetry is dead killed by death,
If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
The corpse should be in our front.
We should know how to bury it.
We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
If poetry is really dead,
There is cause to weep bitterly,
There is cause to think deeply
For the world has been stripped naked.
For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
At the burial we must remain emotionless.
poem by Chime Justice Ndubuisi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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World Party
Well its got nothing to do with anything that is real
You just believe in it and its true
You can sooth like an angel or sigh like a saint
You can dream it and see it through
You will live to see a sea of lights
Sparking on the face of a pearl
Climb your own peak
Find a new streak
Get yourself along to the world party (party!)
Now youve been building for yourself a cool place in the sand
Youre thinking that its mighty fine
Youve got dust in your eyeballs, you got mud in your mouth
But its your head, it aint mine
Ive got a madman of my own to contend with
Cursing in the cave of my skull
Turn the other cheek
Find a new streak
Get yourself along to the world party (party!)
Well I heard a rumour of a golden age
Somewhere back along the line
Maybe I dreamed it in a whisper or
Heard it in a spell
It was something to do with the sign of the times
And the only thing that I remember
Is a summer like a pretty girl
Who shimmers and shines
Moving in time
Shaking to the beat of the heart of the world
Party (party! party! party! party! party! party! party! party! party!)
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ron allowed us to see right away the private piece of a person about to become very public. I suspect we're going to see more of her very private world - Laura's private experience. I'm not sure yet how public she's going to be about the actions she's going to have to take.
quote by Mary McDonnell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Egoism of Poets
We don’t write poetry,
Poetry writes us.
How can we make poetry,
If we are part of poetry.
The world around us is poetry.
Poetry is already defined.
Calling ourselves poets.
Selfishness in every line.
Egoism in every word.
Stealing poetry from the world.
That already exists in every form.
It’s written in every mist,
Every tree, every bliss.
Who are we to write?
Calling ourselves masterminds.
Trapping ourselves in believe
That we are creating something unique
The world at our feet.
Just too full fill our need.
Even this poem is an act
of a selfish deed.
Every letter in ink.
Created through love and sin.
Writing on a paper
But it’s the world’s skin.
Pressing on the surface.
To see blue blood is our purpose.
Thinking poetry is ours.
Poetry devoured
By poets every hour.
Poems all around us.
Turning grey to dust.
Turning brown to rust.
We have captured the most
But there is still so much.
Bleeding away in disaster, poverty
And war.
Ink to us all.
A poet’s only lord.
His only norm, his only home.
His precious and beloved poem.
We should be ashamed.
poem by Nadim Lost Soul
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Not A Poet 2
When I feel I am really a poet
I see my flesh is poetry
My pleasure is poetry
My pains are poetry
My feelings are poetry.
Poetry protects me
Poetry teaches me
How to fight back and win.
Poetry is my freedom
Poetry is my independence
Poetry is my flag
And an anthem
Poetry is my prophet
And a messanger.
But I am not a poet
Do not read me
Burn me into ashes
Let there be a flower
From the ashes.
poem by Devil Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Party All Night
Hang loose
Party
Got my head to the grindstone
I'm trying to act like a fool
My head is a lampshade
They can't find me at school
Well I'm an animal
Yes I'm a cannonball
They say I'm out for blood
One thing I wanna do is
Party all night (Oh-oh!)
Party all night (Oh-oh-oh!)
Party all night (Yeah!)
All night long
Driving right way on the wrong side
A bit too much to drink
Women in the backseat
And they don't know what to think
They say I've lost my head
You'll probably end up dead
But they're too blind to see
What's a party to me, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Is to party all night (Oh-oh!)
Let's party all night (Oh-oh-oh!)
Party all night (Yeah!)
All night long
Uh!
Let's have a good time, good time
C'mon
Everybody's parties
I'm on a one way cruise
Lookin' for trouble
We got nothing to lose
They're on the telephone
They're trying to send me home
We're gonna pull the plug
We've got a new kind of school
Let's party all night
Let's party all night
Party all night
Let's party all night
(Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah)
Let's party all night (Oh!)
(We're party animals, baby)
Let's party all night (Oh-oh-oh!)
(We've got nothing to lose)
Let's party all night
All night long, yeah!
Let's party all night
Let's party boys
song performed by by Quiet Riot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is Time To Write Another Kind Of Poetry
IS TIME TO WRITE ANOTHER KIND OF POETRY
It is time to write another kind of poetry-
To leave behind the self-reflection
The poems on the poet the poem and the poetry -
It is time to rediscover that the world is rich in unsaid dreams
And the poet must see too the beauty of what has been unsaid before
And what has been said many times before -
It is time to write another kind of poetry
And to leave myself as poet subject behind-
I have not yet done this here
But tomorrow and the next day perhaps
There will be other worlds.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Becomes The Poetry
THE POET BECOMES THE POETRY
After years of striving to write Poetry
The Poet becomes the Poetry
No word is not poetry in him
And no silence is not the sound
his own writing makes
Wherever he is
Whatever he does
is Poetry
Mediocre or not
Real or not
Loved or not
Understood or not
The Poet is Poetry
Unable forever to escape
what he Lives.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Privacy Of The Home
there is a party
but i am not going
i choose
staying inside the house
not watching tv
but just thinking and
lying low
listening to the silence
of the four walls, and then
i take the exit
outside i go
into the garden at night
under the trees
the scents of some
flowers pervading
and then i take a seat
on a big stone
and feel the hardness
of the earth
i am soft in the middle
of this garden
i like it
this private dwelling
just the trees and the
flowers
in the middle of the night
when everyone is
gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Was A Time / When Poetry Was The Poet's Only Life
THERE WAS A TIME/ WHEN POETRY WAS THE POET’S ONLY LIFE
There was a time
When Poetry was the Poet’s only life-
All that was in his experience
Had its meaning
Only as Poetry.
But when he began to understand
‘Poetry’ had primarily become a ‘means’
For his own Greed and Ego.
Poetry was lost.
But as he was a Poet in his soul,
He and his life too were also lost.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Who Thinks Only Of Poetry
THE POET WHO THINKS ONLY OF POETRY
The poet who thinks only of poetry
And for whom Poetry is all of life
May be a poet for poets,
But makes the world of Poetry
Smaller than it should be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chamber
I lost myself last night, I lost myself in you,
Your world is a chamber,
I walk into your room, I wish this was my tomb,
You're pure,
burning slowly, she's sleeping softly
Your mind is a stranger,
If this is comfort, a mutual feeling,
I'm falling, myself,
In love and love,
Tell me why I am lying here with you
Just moving swinzy, but I am burning
It's dark but it's still so bright,
You kiss me softly, I stop and lips touch
I'm falling myself
In love and love,
(every night)
I'm never there for you,
Tell me why I am lying here with you every night,
I'll never know the truth,
Tell me why I am lying here with you every night,
I thought that you were gone, but you're still a part of me
Your spirit still holds on, playing cards with me
Emotions in this truck, made for if you dream,
I left my options stuck, still be thinking of you and me.
Why I am lying here with you
Why I am lying here with you
I'm never there for us,
Tell me why I am lying here with you every night,
I'll never know the truth,
Tell me why I am lying here with you every night,
I'm never there for you,
Tell me why I am lying here with you every night,
I'll never know the truth,
Why?
song performed by by Inme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry and Poet
Poetry is poet's inner world,
Churnings of Self in distinct words;
Poetry is not black and white,
Grey, nuances of diverse hues
In kaleidoscopic word-networks
That capture all formless clouds
In the deep sky of the poet's world.
Poetry is poet's outer world,
His expressions in proper norms;
Bare thoughts, his rogue fights within
Dressed well for the popular nod;
Poet's world, a messy snake-pit,
A burrow of rats, snakes, insects,
Fighting to spring in riotous words,
Filter'd for world in elegant words.
Poetry is never a judgement,
Sheer whispers from heart to heart
Beyond what words do transport;
Words in lilt and dance, poetry,
Links they bond, cadence they ring,
Makes a poetry, a true poetry,
A mirror of poet's inner turmoils,
His hopes and strengths in right words,
Indecisions he suffer, his deeper Self.
Poetry is release from inner cauldron,
Steams from within in guise of words,
Quiet flames of the inner hearth
That flared for long finding a vent;
Poetry, a relief, a joy of sharing,
Sharing the Self with the world outside,
Back to the source from where all came;
Poet is the priest, poetry, his hymns,
Offered to the world for peace and grace.
Poetry sprouts from the morass of soul
And grows out of poet like pipal tree
And outstays him;
Fleeting is poet, but not his poems,
Poetry is the poet universalised;
It sucks his thoughts, sucks his force,
Spreads outwards to enrich the world
And leaves the poet richer and strong
Like fire and good deeds always are,
How much you share, so richer you are.
poem by Praveen Kumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Men are generally more honest in their private than in their public capacity, and will go greater lengths to serve a party, than when their own private interest is alone concerned. Honour is a great check upon mankind: But where a considerable body of men act together, this check is, in a great measure, removed; since a man is sure to be approved of by his own party, for what promotes the common interest; and he soon learns to despise the clamours of adversaries.
quote by David Hume
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Good Time Party
Orbison/dees
Come on now, have some fun
Good time party
Livin lovin everyone
Good time party time
Grab that girl and hold her tight
Good time party
Dont you know tonights the night?
Good time party time
Have a good time party
Dance the night away
Have a good time party
Its time to laugh and play
Good time party
Good time party
Its good time party time
Everybody come along, good time party
Time for women, wine and song
Good time party time
Have a good time party, dance the night away
Have a good time party, its time to laugh and play
Good time party, good time party
Everybody come along
Good time party
Time for women, wine and song
Good time party time
Good time party, good time party,
Its good time party time
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Go on thinking that you don't need to be read and you'll find that it may become quite true: no one will feel the need tom read it because it is written for yourself alone; and the public won't feel any impulse to gate crash such a private party.
quote by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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