But at the beginning it was clear to me that concrete poetry was peculiarly suited for using in public settings. This was my idea, but of course I never really much got the chance to do it.
quote by Ian Hamilton Finlay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Well, probably I was fed up with concrete poetry. There was a lot of bad concrete poetry and besides, it was confused with visual poetry which was completely different.
quote by Ian Hamilton Finlay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The staple of our Australian colonies, but more particularly of New South Wales, the climate and the soil of which are peculiarly suited to its production, - is fine wool.
quote by Charles Sturt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Idea
An Idea can change the world, how many
things can be done from an idea, every piece
of object was an idea, sense the beginning of
time idea was the first thought created in the
mind, an idea is what surround’s every being.
But an idea is still only an idea and it can't be
felt, you cannot touch an idea or kiss it, or hold it,
ideas do not bleed or feel pain or love, an idea
cannot be seen or heard, its created in our thoughts,
but then again an idea can become real. An idea
can be what ever you which it to be, an idea can
be destructive, an idea can be brilliant, I've seen
people get killed in the name of ideas, ideas,
we walk around with a little
light bulb blinking in our thoughts, ideas.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Concrete poets continue to turn out beautiful things, but to me they're more visual than oral, and they almost really belong on the wall rather than in a book. I haven't the least idea of where poetry is going.
quote by James Laughlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This concrete city
infects the sky...turning it
into concrete too.
Concrete sun and concrete rain.
Concrete humans... cry...real tears
tanka by Dónall Dempsey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dont Write Poetry!
i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...
no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For there is a sound reasoning upon all flowers. For flowers are peculiarly the poetry of Christ.
quote by Christopher Smart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Play In A Garden of Words (The Problem With Poetry, or, Harvesting the Pea Patch)
I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry
& thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily,
Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance,
Even a plethora, of p’s:
Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky,
Pertinent and impertinent, too
It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud
Poetry pretends, preaches, points out,
Points to, and down, and under
Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace
Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale
Poetry is practical, prudent, is pregnant,
Gives pause
Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful
Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful
Poetry’s a mosaic portrayal, a
Painted portraiture, perfect, profane
Prosaic, it is not,
Preposterous, it is
It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical
Peripatetic and perennial,
Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile
Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible
Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres
Sometimes perplexing, never perishable,
It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries
Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster
Presumptuously posing,
Priapic and prudish
It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage
In place of deep purple prose
A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock,
Poetry promulgates poems!
Poetry, dear poet, exists
Poetry, dear poet, persists
Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies
Poetry can never desist
poem by Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Newt correctly assumes that the American public is beginning to look down the road and at least distinguish the landmarks on either side and know where it wants go. We have a chance to lead it there.
quote by Pete du Pont
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unsuited
Unsuited!
From you that's what I use to believe.
I wasn't suited,
To be near you or your company.
Unsuited!
But then
Neither are you 'now' for me.
Everything today that's claimed,
Will re-arrange to make a change!
Unsuited!
From you that's what I use to believe.
I wasn't suited,
To be near you or your company.
Unsuited!
But then
Today you're not suited for me.
If one waits around,
What appears will change.
And those noses in the air,
Will one day sniff a shame.
With a misery to come,
Like a mental stinging pain.
From their heads to their toes,
And this will show...
When they tumble from their gains,
And everybody knows.
Everything today that's claimed,
Will re-arrange to make a change!
Uh,
I wasn't suited
To be or breathe,
In your company.
Unsuited!
The feeling your eyes,
Laid on me.
I was not suited.
But then
Neither are you 'now',
For me.
I wasn't suited.
But then
Neither are you 'now',
For me.
Can you compute it?
The air I wish to breathe is pretentious free!
Can you compute it?
I wasn't suited when you booted me.
And now
The air I wish to breathe is free.
I wasn't suited when you booted me.
But then,
Neither are you now,
For me.
I wasn't suited when you booted me.
But then
Today you are unsuited,
For me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Obvious Glares
You proclaim others' flaws...
In public settings
As if to do that,
Diminishes your own blemishes.
You should refrain from doing that.
Since it may decrease what you perceive as adulation...
From the obvious glares of those,
Who seem not too amused by fools!
And they do not laugh 'with' you at all!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry On The Chin
You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.
You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.
You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Place To Sit
Smoochers and snoggers, and resting joggers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Ramblers and walkers, and street hawkers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Mini’s and Roller’s, and lady strollers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Old folk and young folk, and dogs with no folk
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Market traders and cavers, and money savers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Children that play who meet everyday
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Students and teachers, and lay preachers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Loose women and boys the ‘for sale’ toys
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Addicts and dealers, and police squealers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Dogs out for a pee who can’t find a tree
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Drunks in the night who like to fight
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Spray painters and doodlers, and bench abusers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Vandals and hooligans, and booted ruffians
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Demolishers and breakers, and obliterators
never stopped until they destroyed this concrete bench.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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2 People Inbetween Live With It For Now
everything crack away at the concrete
no, i'm not concrete
away with myself
inside this portrait
4 lives intertwine
with a brush as every finger
my own idea
give up my will
and up and away
disperse into space
smile a mile
glad to see you
glad to be by you
when i think too much
i can't say so
cross the line into feels
try and not notice the racket
but does the noise will me to be
in the coming year will it just be you
i wish it too
i think of it just you
poem by Thomas Bbb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.
poem by Eric Graham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Plastic Concrete
Plastic & concrete, baby
These are the facts of life
I m a nightmare child
Stuck on my own knife
I m glad my mother loved me
I m sick & paranoid
The hotel generater
Hums into the void
Of plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete, baby
I gotta learn to slow down
Somethin new from chemistry
Is jackin my brain around
I have got the plastic
And I have got the stone
Out there in the suburbs
I learned to be alone
In plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete sandwich
You d like to eat me, but
Later you ll reiect me
I m too much to bite off
The salad on my outside
Is made of suicide
The guy who squirts my mayonnaise
Is on a one-way ride
In plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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