Poets Of Many Types
Indeed they are so many types of poets, and of the poets I would not say anyone is more important then the other.
For the readers each have their desired tastes.
So they're most certainly should beware upon opening the page.
Cause dangers do lurk, some quite perverse.
While others seem to insult either the heart or mind.
The poet didn't write it for you specifically in mind.
But instead just to describe his feelings at the time.
Whether be with his eyes in sight, his nose in smell, his fingers in touch, his ears in sound, and some would say his mind and heart with emotions.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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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 Hicks
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Why People Become Poets Poets Dreams
have you ever wondered why people become poets?
poets have been around since the beginning of time
and they have been mostly men, speaking of their loves, life
and emotions.
famous love stories, plays, movies, all seen thru a poets eyes.
just as the centuries have gone by and everything in life has changed
so have the poets.
there is now as many and if not more female poets
than male poets. why? because they are more sensitive to emotions
and are not afraid to show or speak of it, unlike men who want to
show the 'MACHO MAN IMAGE'
poets see life thru different eyes for different situations
and write about it in so many forms, and see the light and
the darkness in everything, including the good and bad.
it may be just one word, or a line, or verse
that enters their mind to start creating
what will become a poem,
what is the poets dream that you will create?
a love story, a sad story, one of fear or hate, or passion
one of beauty, or war.
so many things to choose from- but it doesn’t matter
what you may choose, you must take the first step.
just as reading this is the first step to start on your way to writing poetry
and opening up your mind and soul.
touching other people and receiving comments
and feedback on your writings will help you to improve
on your weak areas.
some people do it because they are looking for fortune and fame
while others want to communicate with others, and others
just to see their names on something other than
a bill being paid.
poem by Louis Rams
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My Poet Time Travelers
I thought of it all day and well into the night
That for you a poem I would write.
What words can you use to describe a person
You’ve never seen.
Then a realization came into my mind
I’ve been writing them for a very long time.
Every time we write about GOD and his begotten son
The words flow freely and never left undone.
So it matters not if it is sight unseen
We write about everything- it’s a poets dream.
Poets go into worlds never traveled before
Seeking all that GOD has made
And come back with knowledge that they’ve gained.
Into the realms of mystery, love, excitement and fear
So that with you these words they could share.
They see the realities of today
The dreams of yesterdays
The future of tomorrows
And the pains and sorrows.
They are the time travelers of the mind
Their eyes are open - they are not blind.
So when you read what they write
It’s because of this time travelers insight.
So to my time traveling co-poets, this I must say
I am proud to have traveled this road with you
Into the minds of man, and writing
The stories that they all understand.
poem by Louis Rams
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The life of a Poet
The poet listens
the poet hears
he writes down
all his fears.
He observes things
that others don't
going to places
that others won't.
Inspired by simple things
like a sound or smell
the poet has lots
of stories to tell.
Even when asleep
his mind isn't at rest
in fact this is the time
it's at it's creative best.
The poet can be a restless soul
his life reflected on the page
some verse can be sweet and mild
then full of anger and rage.
The poet can be mysterious
and write in a strange way
he will say Black is White
and that night is day.
The poet is an artist
but instead of paint it's the word
painters want their work to be seen
but poets just need to be heard.
poem by Kevin Halls
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A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
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Who to blame for writers block?
Risen up from his cold dark tomb
the malevolent poet is alive again
his evil master has given him power
to confuse poets and bring them pain.
He's invisible to the poets eye
and he doesn't make a sound
his mission is to bring writers block
to all poets everywhere around.
The unaware poet stares at a blank screen
unable to create one single verse
the satanic force takes over his mind
his thoughts go from bad to worse.
The romantic poet thinks about death
his thoughts no longer on love and light
he wants to write about misery and war
and things that go bump in the night.
So the next time you can't write a poem
and your sitting there full of despair
you now know it's not you who's at fault
but it's the evil poet and he's over there!
poem by Kevin Halls
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A Wish
I'd like to write - like grown-up poets do:
with similes that span the universe,
that sparkle, crackle, dazzle, woo the mind;
and touch the heart with tender, swoony verse...
I'd like to write - like grown-up poets do:
in literature that's all the better for
those soaring, parabolic parables
and paradigms, and rhymes, and metaphor...
I'd like to write - like no-one else has done:
forget the rules and precedents; let fly
to heights undreamt of yet, new mindscape won..
And yet, perhaps, the world's served better by
small lamps of words amidst the cold night winds
of chance and change; cupped in a poet's hands.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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So Many Poets
so many poets
so many poems
all popping up like mushrooms after the lightning and thunder
no one comes to see
no one comes to say the mushrooms are not so white not so good
so many poems
so many poets
the readers are few, the readers are lesser
but what can you do?
what do you expect?
well, i am just writing my diary, and i am the reader who reads it myself
to ease this pain,
to let myself know that with all my unrequited loves, i still dare to write
and exist.
and i don't really care.
so many poets
look at these poems
they all look and sound the same
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You are the poet
Poet is a journalist
Watches the feelings
Watches the emotions
Watches the world
Watches the light and
Watches the dark
He thinks everywhere
Others can’t imagine
-o-
Chasing the thoughts
Searching the words
Forming the sentences
To give the expression
To put the life in it
-o-
Poet is like a cook
Collecting good ingredients
Cooking the feelings to
Present in better way
-o-
Poet is like a soldier
Fighting in the war and
Fighting with the self
Feeling the pain and
Bleeding the emotions
Making room for self
To express the story
To save the people
-o-
Poet is like mother
Cooking the soft food
Feeding smoothly
Treating the readers like his own kids
Reader’s happiness is poet’s happiness
If you can’t praise, no problem
But don’t forget to acknowledge
-o-
Poet is the center of universe
Editors, Music directors,
Composers, singers, musicians,
Media everybody is rotating around
-o-
Poet writes to quench intellectuals
Poet writes to entertain good listeners
Poet writes to move hearts
Poet writes for a cause
Poet write for entertainment
Poets write to express themselves
Poets write to share their feelings
-o-
When time is running
Poem is the history
In present it reflects the story
Poem gives the hope in future
-o-
Poet is the planter
Plants seeds into your hearts
Make sure that it sprouts
Brings the thoughts into actions
-o-
Poet is the director behind your actions
Poet is the motivator behind your feelings
Poet is the coach who puts you on track
Poet is person whom your heart likes
-o-
Poet is the soldier when he uses poem as bullet
Poet is the coach when his poem moves your heart
Poet is the love, when he gives poem as flower
Poet is the parent, when he consoles you in your troubles
Poet is the healer who heals souls
Poet enters different roles
To justify the poem and to justify the people
-o-
Poem is the form of literature
We can find in holy books
Poem is the feelings
Poem touches the hearts
-o-
Sun can be seen in day
Moon can be seen in night
But poem is there day and night
Poem is powerful than nature
Poem don’t have life and death
Just it flows from heart to heart
Poet is the instrument
In the hands of the poem
-o-
If you drink a cup of alcohol
It may stay there just for hours
If you read a good poem
Nobody knows how long it gives the kick
-o-
When you have time, read a good poem
When you have time, write some poetry
When you have time, share a poem
-o-
You will be the poet, when you read a poem
You will be the poet, when you put on paper
You can be the poet to change your self
You can be the poet to change the world
You must be a poet, to enjoy this life
Waiting for you, to listen to your poem
-o-
poem by Bhavani Polimetla
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In Between Breaths I Take
You are not specifically on my mind,
When I write.
Nor are you far away,
From impressions that seem to linger.
You have been a part of my life for too long.
And you sit among my favorite experiences.
With the image of your face...
Clinging as a craving,
I could not or would not ever replace.
But you are not specifically on my mind,
When I write.
And I do make attempts,
To do that 'all' the time!
Convinced the act of it,
Keeps me disciplined...
And making good use,
Of that time!
Nor are you far away,
From impressions that seem to linger.
Your eyes.
Your voice.
And the soothness of it,
That haunts the emptiness of my heart.
The only time you seem to be there constantly...
Is when I am not writing at all.
Or sleeping!
Or eating!
Or in between breaths I take!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The poet's page
Like a band of beggars
Revealing to each other
Where to find the bread
Is the poets page
An open line
Where poets reveal what's
Inside their heads
A platform of
Artistic exchange
Where an accompany of poets
Express what should be said,
As the
Words seems to take on life
For they are poet read
Poets can feel one anothers pain
As well as relates to each
others shame
Emphasizing on a topic is
A poet's personal lane
Poets dvides the spoil
As they expand, due to
sharing their gain
This is partly my analogy
Of a poet's fame
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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Envy Of Other Poets Greater And More Honored Than Me
ENVY OF OTHER POETS GREATER AND MORE HONORED THAN ME
Envy of other poets greater and more honored than me
Only shows how petty and foolish and unwisely ambitious I am-
Each is what he or she is,
And each is only one-
And no one is anyone else-
And better are many, and worse are many-
A poet should write his own lines
And mind his own business-
And take pleasure in the poetry of others
When it gives that.
A poet need not compare and measure himself
But rather simply be what he is.
Write the poems
Leave the honors and the praises to someone else.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Heart And Minf Fight
My mind says,
Stay in the room
My heart says,
See the universe
My mind says,
She has only a body
My heart says,
She has a beautiful soul
My mind says,
Get the degree
My heart says,
Get the knowledge
My mind says,
Kill the neighbor
My heart says,
Love the neighbor
My mind says,
Plunder the entire world
My heart says,
Give to the world
My mind says,
God is not here
My heart says,
God is here
My mind says,
Rule on the earth
My heart says,
Live equal on the earth
My mind says,
Invent new weapons
My heart says,
Keep the peace
My mind says,
He is a small man
My heart says,
He is a big man
My mind says
He is ignorant
My heart says,
He is wise
My mind says,
Live for money
My heart says,
Live in love
My mind says,
He heart you
My heart says,
Forget his mistake
My mind says,
Don’t agree with his opinion
My heart says,
I respect his opinion
My mind says,
You are great poet
My heart says,
You are nothing
poem by Aroon George
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Mind vs. Heart
Mind: It's too early
Heart: The timing's right
Mind: Do you really want to ruin your freindship?
Heart: I'll take a chance
Mind: You don'y really love him that much
Heart: I love him enough
Mind: He's too old for you
Heart: Time matters not compared to love
Mind: You haven't known each other very long
Heart: It was love at first write
Mind: Are you prepared to let yourself get your heart broken...again?
Heart: ....He's worth the pain
Mind: Are you ready?
Heart: Yes...Are you?
poem by Courtney Wills
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Whatever Comes To Mind
Singers sing
their love songs,
poets write
romantic poetry,
but I just sit and write
whatever comes to mind.
I don’t write
to any classification
or any given theme.
All I do is sit and write
whatever comes to mind.
I have no chosen subject,
nor any chosen form.
I just sit and write
whatever comes to mind.
25 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Woken From My Sleep
I awoke in the early hours,
between one and half past four.
My poet head was back again,
and I wrote like never before.
Page after page was covered,
paper was strewn everywhere.
Even though I felt exhausted
my mind didn't seem to care.
I thought my head had finished
and so returned to my bed,
but when I touched the pillow
sentences again filled my head.
I went back into the spare room
and penned as fast as I could.
My bed pulled after each poem
so I returned like all poets should.
In the end my mind became weary,
it repeated line after line.
Counting sheep was very similar,
it was definitely sleeping time.
poem by Orlando Belo
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My Alphabet Poem
day is hot
sittng on my swivel chair
trying to chase
wild ideas
to describe what i feel
yet i cannot
fsthom what is within
i stared on the mute keyboard
that seems to look at me
with blind eyes
i saw the W and the I
and i thought of something wild..
wild dreams perhaps?
or weird nights when
angels chased demons
floating on black clouds
my mind set no way so i look at the T
and the H and i thought
of thine shall i wrote about her?
but my memries of her lost charms
seems to fade into morning disaster
so it was no deal
and i looked at the M and the E
and i thought of Me but then
what shall i write about myself
when i do not even know the real me.
and i gaze at the L and of the O
and i said maybe i can write
about love but then my heart is hollow
deep within my emotions
were all bottled up
thrown in deep labyrinth
there is no way i can do it
and then there was the P and i had the C
should i write about peace? but then
there is a great war brewing
between my mind and my heart
it is so hard to make desicions when
your mind refuse the decisions of the heart
and the heart do not folow
what the mind says it got to be
and yes i lokked at the? ? ?
and so will i question God or man?
the answers are not within
the hearts minds and souls of
uncaring man and
God sees the truth but waith until when?
when stars never shines
and flowers never bloom
and yeah i glance at the....
and i thought of the end
of the endless life on crazy
but beautiful world
and i said let me end this weird poem
created by the weird mind
of a weird poet like me
less i bored you till the end....
......
....
...
i am done with my alphabet poem
poem by Villiamor Calventas
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Tunnel Vision
I have been advised of having tunnel vision...
You know when you are near blind as a bat?
Worried and in fear-for my eyes my dear?
Nah, my nose works and i'm sure i smell a rat**! ;
Thank God for my nose and my ears...
Never mind my limited sight...
A highly developed instinct also carries me-
Through the blackest of darkest night! ;
It gives me much sought after information...
Of long ago sequesterd plans and schemes...**
I've been told that i am sixth sense old...
That my information is formed in my dreams;
So never mind my tunnel vision sweetheart-
My nose and my ears do just fine...
Coupled with the sixth sense instinct God gave to me...
For miles i can smell my enemies sign**;
May 14,2010
**Smoke From The Attic (as usual)
The Phantom IS Back.
poem by Theodora Onken
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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.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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