In my late teenage years, I developed a real passion for it, and wrote a lot of poetry.

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An act of poetry

Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry

A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art

Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation

Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:

The pen be our salvation.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010


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Poetry Is All In One!

Passion for poetry is insatiable!
Poetry gives pleasure nothing can!
Poetry is many subjects under one roof!
Poetry never bores to write and read ever!
Poetry is a compression of many ideas in a nut shell!
Poetry displays power of pen to capture men ever!
Poetry captures as photo castles built in air!
Poetry is spontaneous over flow of ides!
Poetry flows free if extemporary!
Poetry is prolific words sure!
Poetry is a thing of joy!
Poetry is beauty!
Poetry is witty!
Poetry cheers!

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I Hid Nothing From My Poetry

I HID NOTHING FROM MY POETRY

I hid nothing from my poetry-
I gave it all I had
My deepest feeling of my own life-
I wrote as if telling it to God -

But who needs these feelings?
And is it really poetry?

All my weaknesses and doubts and hesitations and fears
I wrote and write-

My poetry is my signature and says who I am
What it is others must feel and judge-

May God forgive me for my hubris and ambition
Even in writing this.

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The Young Poet

Poetry was something else

written by others

somewhere else

and came from

somewhere else

but the poetry

which he did not know

called one day

in a language he did not know

so he put down words on paper

and threw the paper away

but the words did not go away

and he did not know what poetry should do

until he wrote the words

which told him

what poetry could do

for only poetry can teach you poetry

*

Gertrude Stein stood behind me while I wrote this.

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(W – 2011) Random Musings – 007

Passion breeds poetry
Poetry feeds passion
But mine is dispassionate passion
And passionate dispassion
So I breed nothing
I feed nothing
I remain
Passion, dispassion and poetry
All rolled into one.

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A Definition of Poetry by a 15 yr old

Poetry does not need a meaning or defintion.
Poetry is how the reader reads it,
Poetry is how the poet writes it.
Poetry is real,
Poetry is fake,
Poetry is everything,
Poetry is fate.
Poetry is rythm.
Poetry can ryme.
Poetry is anything, I make it mine.

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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.

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What's the real meaning of Poetry

Poetry, Poetry, Poetry
what is the real meaning of you?
is it the sonnets, the haiku's the imagery
no one will ever know.

Poetry, Poetry, Poetry
I know the real meaning of you
to express my feelings and thoughts on paper
to be able to publish you.

Poetry, Poetry, Poetry
you tell me the meaning of you.

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A Man Became Addicted To Poetry

A MAN BECAME ADDICTED TO POETRY

A man became addicted to poetry-
Wherever he went he read or wrote a few lines-
Poetry became much of what he did-
Poetry and poetry and poetry-
As if that alone could give meaning and pleasure to his life.

A man became addicted to poetry
And so lost at times
What true poetry is –

Now he writes without knowing
Whether he is truly writing
Or merely using the ‘idea and world of poetry’
For his own peace of mind.

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Love Me - Love My Poetry

I once wrote some poetry - the best,
the finest POETRY
My POETRY came with a capital
"P".
My POETRY was distinguished
POETRY, proper, complete line of
Verse POETRY - honorable,
prehistoric, geographical POETRY
Divine, instinctive, even religious
POETRY -
I sent it to the magazines
The very good magazines
The very best magazines -
They returned it to me every time!
I once wrote some inferior POETRY
Low in style, irregular in measure
POETRY
Undignified, trivial, absurd POETRY
inadequate, mischievous, comic
POETRY
Some stuff like this - A CRIME -
I sent it to the magazines
The very good magazines
The very best magazines

They kept it every time!
Now, I ask of you - my question is
fair and brief - I ask
Of you - your ear I pray and beg you
give -
Shall I write intuitive,
comprehensive, reasoning
POETRY
Specific, Godlike, Capitol
committed POETRY
The sort I think will live?
Or shall I write inferior, very bad
POETRY - the kind that soon is
Dead - and send it to the magazines,
the very good, the best magazines
THAT I MAY LIVE INSTEAD!!!

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No More Shame Or Fear

No one who has read in my poetry
The descriptions of human emotion,
So vivid and so exact in details,
Would doubt that I wrote from my experience.

No one who has read in my poetry
The incidences of love and friendships,
So lively and so real in display,
Would doubt that I wrote my biography.

Seasoned and hardened by the rough journey,
I have come at last shame less and fearless
To record the truths in their nakedness,
To be read by the time I’d be no more.

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When Poetry...

when poetry stings
there's someone who smiles
from the cadences of infused passion
to the rhythm of a gyrating emotion

when poetry rings
there's someone who sings
from the rhyme that often burst forth
to the brilliant lights that soulful thought

when poetry peals
there's someone who flutes
the words that hangs on a harp
there's someone playing the music
of the soul...

if poetry be your passion play on
please don't stop
if poetry be your fire
please burn on in desire
if poetry be your height
please rise on go on higher...

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My Passion Found Me

My passion
Found me
Many years ago
And what is my passion?
My passion is poetry

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Just Another One Of Those Poem Thingies...

Well as you can tell,
This is just another one of those poem thingies.

But I ask you,
'What is poetry? I mean,
Do people just write words in wierd orders.'

Well, poetry is an expression,
An opinion, well I guess it could be,
Anything,
From a very 'sensitive' piece of writing
To an essay that you wrote three years ago.

The definition that you find in a dictionary
Has nothing to do with poetry.
It is just a summary,
No an assumsion of what those fools writing the dictionaries
Think it is.

Poetry is whatever you want it to be.
So next time some person who thinks that they're too cool,
And that your so stupid because you like poetry,
Weather it's writing it or just reading it,
Tell them that they write it too,
Weather or not they consider it to be poetry,
It's their opinion and anything,
Can be poetry.

I have a love for poetry,
That can not be described.
I know,
That sounds obsesive.
But I really do love poetry.
I feel like I can say anything and,
It doesn't have to be serious,
I mean it can,
But it is not required.
Nothing is required of you when you write poetry.

It is relaxing,
A chance to step aside from life,
Even if it's just for a few minutes.
I do it for my own enjoyment an relaxation.
Why do you?

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Through The Years

Through the years, there will be laughter and smiles
Pain and sorrow too
But i will be going through it with you

Through the years, there will be road trips and vacations
Excitement and adventure
But the only thing making them enjoyable is because i'll be with you

Through the years there will be love and romance
Dinners and movies
But the only thing keeping the flame lit is our undying passion

Through the years there will be weddings and receptions
Futures and joyous memories too
But I won't forget the time when we said 'I DO'

Through the years there will be new life and happiness
Late nights and early mornings
But as long as we're by each others side, we'll be fine

Through the years there will be scraps and bruises
Band-aids and kisses
But we'll be there to help them up when they fall

Through the years there will be teenage rebellion and loud music
Fights and rough nights
But we said that no matter what happens we'll never leave each other

Through the years there will be sickness and disease
Doctors and medication
But we'll make it

Through the years there will be heartache and tears
Death and grievances
But I will hold your hand and help you through all of lifes fears

Through the years we'll grow gray and old
Our children will have children of their own
But know this, beyond the grave I will always love you

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Teenage love.

Teenage love.
Spending hours on the phone.
Never even thinking about homework.
Staying up late and being late the next morning.
Thinking that nothing else is important.
Having that awkward first time together.
Annoying your friends about how much you like him.

Teenage love.
Thinking it lasts forever.

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I’m sitting outside smoking a joint

I’m sitting outside smoking a joint, right
It is an early Wednesday morning in
Early September in late
St. Louis, right
The sun is at my back, two degrees
Pass an old silver maple tree
The last of the three mulberry threes
Is growing in the alley
I got coffee, cigarettes
Weed and beer to celebrate
Poetry, right
It was September
Of 1968 that I wrote my first poem.
41 years hence I’m still on point
People say of me that I can not
Keep a job, but here’s proof of my
Fortitude. If I seem proud
Of myself it’s because I am
It is an occasion of celebrating me
A poet to my poetry.

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Late In The Afternoon

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON

Late in the afternoon
Late in life
Lyric poetry is still possible.

It is quieter of course
And calmer of course
And its passion is subdued of course
But it is still possible.

Love does not die in old age
It simply sings softer.

Even now towards the end of this happy day
The light has its own sad song.

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When I Look At The Time That I Have Wasted Years Ago

i feel like a frozen glass filled with water in the freezer
when i look back to all the years that i have wasted
doing the things where i can never put my best
because that is what father want me to be
i leave all the traces of what i love in those years
that still ask me where i am
where i live what i have been doing lately

when they heard that i am into law they all laughed
and then sighed
that is not the name that they first know me
they have a word for me
written in the poems that i once wrote
my name was lust and love all bound together
in one piece
my name was written in the cover book of the literature book
in the maiden issues
of the poetry collections of lilia and tita

i look back again and they all raise their hands back
as though to embrace me
back into their bosoms again
they are calling my name

you are poetry.please come back to us.
i know the reason why i am sad.
i have forgotten my real name.

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Two schools of thought.

.

The lady chose to take offence
Although I said she wrote fine prose
She may not know the difference
between poetry and prose

She thought that she wrote poetry
But what she wrote was free form prose.
I offered no apology
It was not my fault that she chose.

Not to learn the basic rules
defining prose and poetry
Two very different writing schools
in which to show your artistry.

The so called experts can’t agree
and coined the term poetic prose.
Though writing cannot possible
be classed as poetry and prose.

If it’s not metered it is prose
no matter how poetical.
But you’re entitled to compose.
Fine prose and call it poetry.

Though I suggest respectfully
you should be proud of writing prose.
As some do most successfully.
But it was poetry I chose

Thursday,11 March 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

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