The Servitude Of Words
Muted words linger in limbo
imprisoned between many leaves
bound together in the darkness
of a poet's tried thesaurus.
Their alphabetic existence
is but an endless servitude
whose individual meanings
chosen and together sequenced
for the glory of the poet.
The many verses read aloud
gives each utile word a voice
and continues till completion.
Then darkness returns once again
as the reference book is closed.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Related quotes
Some Silence, Some Words
Today somewhere a mirror broke
And a music of end splashed in the pages of time,
Someone lost his meanings in the broken mirror..
And an unending silence flowed
Many things happen silently, , ,
How the silent weeping of the lost meaning wander in the depth of the night, , ,
I unveil the sea of darkness...i find only silence
And the music of the end keeps on splashing around
Life is all about some silence and some words…
Far away a poet was looking for words, .
And a poem was seeking for its understanding, ,
for the heart where words dwell with meanings, ,
As long as they both were away everything was all right...
And when they met, , ,
the poet lamented on the end of words of the poem, , ,
and the poem on the unending silence of the poet, , , , ,
poems are not about understanding....
poet is not about words, , , ,
This Poet Is Always Beside You
You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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To God Give The Glory (Monchielle)
To God give the glory
Is a treasure to read
Christina R. Jussaume
Is great poet indeed
Her poems vanish gloom
To God give the glory
Her love for Christ is pure
It reflects thru poems
Her words are wise and kind
Uplifts the soul is true
To God give the glory
I'm glad I got a copy
You'll enjoy what you see
She writes witty and nice
Happy her book I read
To God give the glory
Poet tells some funny jokes
She writes of God and life
Of Christ and all she knows
Poet shares loves and strife
November 25,2009
Author's note:
'To God Give The Glory' is a wonderful
and very uplifting poetry book written by
the great poetess Christina R. Jussaume
poem by Dorian Petersen Potter
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Poet
Darkness,
behind the cloak.
Random words spewed
Subconscience thought,
so obscure their meaning
'Why would anyone want
to be a fuckin' poet? '
I ask.
Eerie blackness
within a wretched,
reckless soul
reveals the heart of men
but you,
eyes open, don't blink
'Why would anyone want
to be a fuckin' poet? '
I ask.
The day of light
when darkness passes
Brilliant stars
hide beyond the heavens.
But all you know is hell
'Why would anyone want
to be a fuckin' poet? '
I ask.
Be anything...,
a janitor,
a carpenter,
an accountant,
a fry cook.
Never become a poet.
Stay numb. It's easier.
Unless you want to feel.
Than be prepared for
internal turmoil.
Turmoil, most common
men could never bare.
'Why would anyone want
to be a fuckin' poet? '
I ask.
God knows, I'm not one.
They're all fuckin' sissy's.
Everyone knows that.
T. Labbe`
Poet is free
Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Morning Sunshine
This poet is so seductive
This poet is now strange to me
This poet is so bold
This little girl doesn't want to see
The little girl has known this poet
ever since
But the little girl is already
tired of this poet
She just wants to play.
Not any passing minute
She hasn't have
any word of
allegory
metonymy and
simile
Take me away from this poet yet
the little girl must empty first
the words of this poet
Before she is free to play
in the morning sunshine
and go away from this busy poet
Do you think I'm too young to see?
Do you agree?
This poet won't let me
play out in the middle of the rain
This poet won't let me
see the afternoon sway
This poet won't let me
see the morning gay
Let me see the Morning Sunshine
Let me see!
But this poet
Won't let me
I'll just watch t.v
and sing
her poetry
poem by Mary Jesusa Villegas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Journey Of A Poet
A journey begins with
A thought in our mind
Words are chosen and formed.
Lines of poem
Well Written with meanings
With words of emotions and expressions
A poet starts with
An inspiration of mind,
An aspiration in soul mind
With reflection
On our life experience
We start to
Compose some
Wonderful poetry
Expressing our innermost thoughts
With deep contemplation
To put them in poetry words
A journey begins when
A poet takes his imagination
To a place where
No one ever dream or imagine before.
A poet's journey ends by
Writing another lovely poem
And deep reflection
A poet remains
As a poet
When he or she
Continue to
Write and Share
lovely poems with the world.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Hope
an angel a bridge
of heart
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
a light
of humanity tree
The Rivers of a Poet
The Rivers of the Poet
The verses of the poet
vary from the rivers
though they also flow
while circulating inside
until materializing
in words and verses
that others can see.
The poet’s soul communions
with the exterior world
and flows like the rivers
with each inspiration.
The rivers of the poet
do dry inside of him
as he writes,
but it is forever
that they flow in written form
upon the sheets of paper.
That is how
the rivers of the poet
leave and manage to stay
until another river
appears and flows
with another inspiration.
poem by Juan Antonio Rodriguez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet and Chivalry
Poet, an industry not of mankind
An era that poet’s in awe to partake a rite
Poetry belongs to the ancient tribe
An era that poet’s dissolute and roaming
Poetry ascribes to nature and wildness
An era that poet a jester praised in comic to entertain the king
Poetry is the plaything of an empire
The era that poet yields to the media, pursuing fame and fortune
Poetry is a consuming product
Poet holds in awe since the heaven and earth are vast
Poet’s degenerated because of his nature
Poet’s comical because ironical the self derision
Poet capitulates because of human’s weakness
Although poet hasn’t always been an industry of mankind
Its luster would shine upon the darkness that poet ever survived
Lighting a light in darkness of history and showing its courage
Lighting a light in darkness of future and proving its foresight
Compromised the life
But allows not to compromise of poetry
The spirit and vitality of a chivalry is the case
Poet, still not an industry of mankind
Today
The chivalry has sealed his sword and pen
The page of poetry gradually stained and spotted yellow
The sharp sword conceals a smoked silver flash
poem by DePen Chang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poet Loses His Power For Poetry
A POET LOSES HIS POWER FOR POETRY
A poet loses his power for poetry
He can put down words
But they no longer have poetry in them
Something of the feeling of what real poetry is
is gone.
He strives
He writes again and again
He puts words down in the forms and in the shapes his poems usually take
But he has no poetry in him
He has lost what he is
And all he can do
is strive again and again
Word after word
Silence after silence
To hear within himself again
A voice he does not have.
The poet is writing poetry
And it is not poetry
The poet is dead
And he is pretending to be alive
Is this a poem?
Is he a poet
Is he dead?
Is he alive?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Recapture That Innocence Of Loved Missed
To recapture that innocence of loved missed,
May be easier done by a poet doing it.
But when a poet isn't sitting to compose words of love...
The wish for it may be stronger than words can express.
Since words may touch emotions.
But to caress one's flesh...
In an anticipated mutual acceptance,
Is what the poet envisions as best.
For those who are poets,
In a loneliness desired to forget.
Or deny to mask in alibis.
And a poet can decide,
Whether to expose this or hide!
'So what have you chosen to do? '
Lie.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet
The poet can only utter the word fine
The poet has to bear the sorrow and the sin.
The poet can only say I am happy
The poet can only say I feel no aches no pain
The poet can only say I am not in loss
The poet can only say I am in the side of only gain.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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You Do Not Have...
you do not have to
read me
for me to become
another poet
i am
and i can be
and i will be
even without you
and you are
and you can be
and you shall be
even without me
i am a poet
because i have decided to write the poems
and the poem shall be there forever
until the right reader comes along
the one who loves
a poem even without me
even without you
even without the world
this poem and that poem shall be
even without us
for these are words
and words shall be words even without the world
for it was the word which came first
and shall remain
till eternity.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This is A Place Where In My Argument I Lose
A writers anger without the vulgarities of the modern time.
How it is so hard not to say curse words where they would fit so well.
To understand as only a poet would with a passion would.
Denied the American vocabulary I know so well I seek out means and words
To bring you down to my hell.
To express the hatred, and meanness that takes over with thunder
It has been taught to me by a society who finds it only offensive in public writings like poems.
In a books one is aloud, to say what ever they want.
I have read entire sex scene's in book and one word of such a nature is wrong in a poem.
Defined by those who believe all poems are met for kids.
Look at some the best lyrics describing anger, the rawness of them it the ability to use vulgarity and speak your mind as you so choose
But again in the poet world this is a place where in my argument I lose.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Poem about Poetry - what is not poetry
writing lines
not like a child
writing lines
robotlike
hitting at keys
rather than own heart
writing lines
throwing words
which are yet
our friends
words picked
from thesaurus
dictionaries
for word's sake
an alley of prostitutes
we treat as our wives
godless
writing as if
the world
possesses
no soul and
god, the real poet
who spares symbols
for his creation
trees, lightning,
thunder
for poets
to colour their world
to see the other side
of the world
how the trees, lightning
thunder
are a part of men
themselves
described,
the trees - spring of youth
lightning - rage
thunder - warning
the warming effect
god's verse to men's uncaring verse
misinterpretation of his symbols
god the leading poet
the world a repository of symbols
for his masterpiece
a masterpiece
we could only admire
the real poet leaves us
something to ponder about
and to add a verse or two
to his work
like the almighty poet
who when he likes
answers us back
in riddles
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours
yet in this downcast hour
the mornlight
beautiful twitters of birds
lost in this dungeon of
meaninglessness of life
what sinful existence
day in day out
the beauty of the outside
that clashes with the
congested inside
that plies between loneliness,
sadness, anguish, near despair
yet the half opened window
on this seventh floor of the condominium
does not invite a jump
poet killers like plath and sextons are cowards
i dont fancy their cue
idiots slapping god's hands
so tirelessly, ceaselessly polish
the artistic soul, feelings
to get the poet ready for his task,
to guide the world through his messy world
putting things in their proper place
with his tongues locked in a poet's soul
so that readers too could come out of their mess,
distill a clearer mind of their own
through the poet's verses
the poet polishes the world
with words, polishes its soul
the other word for poet is psychologist
impatient confused plath, idiotic sexton
failing their ultimate poetic test
poet killers! !
inspired by
Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours
YET, yet, ye downcast hours, I know ye also;
Weights of lead, how ye clog and cling at my ankles!
Earth to a chamber of mourning turns-I hear the o'erweening, mocking
voice,
Matter is conqueror-matter, triumphant only, continues onward.
Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me,
The call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarm'd, uncertain,
The Sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me,
Come tell me where I am speeding-tell me my destination.
I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you,
I approach, hear, behold-the sad mouth, the look out of the eyes,
your mute inquiry,
Whither I go from the bed I recline on, come tell me:
Old age, alarm'd, uncertain-A young woman's voice, appealing to me
for comfort;
A young man's voice, Shall I not escape?
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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One Unto The Other
What can a poet do for you?
Open up your heart
to let the sunshine through.
What can a poet say to you?
Words so powerful
to put your past in review.
What can a poet give to you?
A moment of prayer
to make you feel brand new.
What can a poet make alive in you?
A picture of your soul
as it comes into view.
What can you give the poet you read?
The chance to reach you
with something you need.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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