Ink
A poet's ink
Is the paint and their
Notepad is the canvas, which displays
What they think
Collectively
reader and writer
Somehow fills in the blanks
To each one the words may protray something different
Each and every line is clue
The final analysis reveals
whatever the viewer wants it to do
Take for instance
The saying that
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
As a bird chirping may be music to some
However, to other simply noise
Regardless of the nature
However, the truth is always true
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sonnet: Poetic Limits
Can words depict the true beauty of things?
Can words describe the truth of every scene?
Can words expound the hearts of all earthlings?
Can words decode the joy of things unseen?
Can words bring out the beauty of music?
Can words suffice to explain mysteries?
Can words repaint the beauty of a ‘pic’?
Can words spell out the taste of foods/berries?
And yet, the poet slogs with words and sounds;
With mastery and skills, unique, unknown;
And takes the reader’s hearts to divine grounds,
Or earthly terrains akin to their own.
Kudos to Bards! Who pen and sing supreme,
To create things felt/seen or in a dream.
9-21-2002
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0396 The Almost Unknown Language
I like to think that
there's a language
which is unspoken, unwritten
except
on rare occasions when a poet
puts two words together or
sometimes even
a whole line
which haunts the reader
beyond sense, even
beyond understanding and
beyond beauty as perceived and
beyond truth as previously revealed
but good beyond hope and yet
not beyond a shiver of delight and
the poet has heard it
in the space between the thoughts
in the space between the words
in the silence between the thoughts
in the silence between the words
and somewhere very wonderful
two beings we've never seen
look at each other
and smile
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reader or writer
If you are a reader or a writer.
You should be a positive thinker.
You are more like a scientist observer.
Try to be an exact experimenter.
Nothing is too crazy to put on paper.
If you are a reader or a writer.
The reader is a wonderful dreamer.
The writer is a sincere worker.
Its lovely that both can be each other.
If you are a reader or a writer.
You should never say never.
So don't leave behind a book marker.
Make sure you have a word sharpener.
A Walk In Nature
A walk in Nature never boring in Nature great beauty to see
The wild birds are chirping and singing on fence wire and bush and on tree
Away from the street and the traffic from human made pollution and noise
Above the gray scrub by the river the skylark he sings as he flies.
The poets have been inspired by Nature and of her great beauty they sing
The swallows return to their Homeplace when they sense the coming of Spring
And the artists they paint Nature's beauty the woodlands in their Autumn brown
And one can see the beauty of Nature even in the park of your town.
My stay on this Planet a brief stay but Mother Nature will live on
And the birds will be heard in the woodlands when I am forgotten and gone
Our lives they are not that important for our lives they are numbered in hours
But Mother Nature is forever and she outlives her beautiful flowers.
A walk in Nature never boring though she hides her secrets from me
Her birds always chirping and singing on hedge and on bush and on tree
My stay on this Planet a brief stay our average span ten years with three score
But Mother Nature is not for the reaper and she will live forever more
poem by Francis Duggan
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Beauty
It has been said.
Beauty lies
in the eyes
of the beholder.
Might one ask.
Does beauty
in or of itself
recognize any bounds?
To voice an opinion
as to knowledge of beauty.
Must the beholder
be acclaimed expert?
In all truth.
Might an expression
of beauty be but
an affair of one's heart?
poem by Kurt Hearth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Creative Perceptions
Artist appropriate palette prepares
as poet intuitive channels and shares -
perceptions highlighted in paint or in rhyme,
on screen, paper, canvas, [b]rushed, touched outside Time.
Each reaches out writing, foresighting, prepares
stalls [f]rigid for music of spirit sublime.
But few can interpret the talent they praise
in the style of an artist in true paraphrase.
(24 September 2005 robi03_1306)
Bridgework
Artists palette, paints, prepare,
poets channel insight rare.
One canvas fills, one paper inks,
imagination interlinks.
Each respective stream compares
perceptions, self-respecting, thinks
perspectives sensitively, shares
intuitive fruition, links
symphonic patterns, well aware
individuals everywhere
sense beauty way beyond time's brink -
horizons widen, never shrink.
Images accompany
free originality.
(7 May 2008 variant of As Artist, Poet robi03_1396_robi03_0986 16 February 2002 robi03_0986 and also variant of Creative Perceptions
24 September 2005 robi03_1306_robi03_0986)
As Artist, Poet
As artists palette, paints, prepare
so poets channel insight rare.
One canvas fills, one paper inks,
the foremost and the least of links.
Both tune respective streams, compare
perspective, sensitively share
where, true to self there neither sinks
as each through intuitions thinks
the way to harmony, aware
that perfect strangers anywhere
may beauty sense beyond time's brink -
horizons widen, never shrink.
Both pictures form, accompany
creative thrust with spirit free.
(16 February 2002 robi03_0986)
for previous version see below
As Artist, Poet
As artists palette, paints, prepare
so poets insight channel, air: -
one canvas fills, one paper inks,
the foremost and the least of links.
Both tune respective streams with rare
sensitive perspective, care.
When true to self then neither sinks
as each through intuitions thinks
the way to harmony, to share
with perfect strangers anywhere
how beauty may beyond the brink
horizons widen, never shrink.
Both pictures form, accompany
creative thrust with spirit free...
(16 February 2002)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eye to Eye
A poet with an artist’s eye
can conjure words to set the scene.
Then with the words that he’ll supply
his reader feels as though he’s seen.
The same scene which the poet saw
Draws on his own experience
of things that he has seen before
though it makes little difference.
The message that the poet sent
is perhaps not the one received
The reader senses the intent
and finds the poem well conceived.
The picture which the reader gets
is the scene his own mind sets
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Notepad By My Bed
I keep a notepad
On the nightstand by my bed
To jot down thoughts
that late at night, fill my head
Thoughts that glide
into my brain
That if not captured quick
Slip away… down drowsy drain
A pad replete
With words and phrases
Caught before
I start to snore
Oft' make no sense
When viewed in daylight
As they so clearly
Did the night before
Still, as a writer should write
A little each day
E'en those words
That trip so lightly by night
And that is why, I suppose
Until the day I die
I'll keep a notepad
In which I'll write
On the nightstand
…By my bed…
Close upon
The reading light
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Beauty Natural Is True!
Is beauty woman?
Is beauty Art?
Is beauty Nature?
Man explores beauty
In woman, Art and Nature
To find out true beauty!
Woman makes up herself beautiful;
Art is made up full of beauty;
But Nature is simply natural;
For, Nature is true and simple forever!
So, natural is beautiful
And Nature is true beauty!
poem by Ramesh T A
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The Canvas
Oh how she loves her canvas,
The stories that it tells.
Oh how she loves to paint her thoughts,
And etch a perfect spell.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
The memories that it holds.
Oh how she loves to trace the lines,
And tell if new or old.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
Her stability in an unstable world.
Oh how she loves to fret away,
At all of her unfurled.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
A standstill of art and truth.
Oh how she loves the feel of it,
To reminisce her youth.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
A long work of her life.
Oh how she loves the twisted colors,
Splashes of red upon white.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
She crafts each inch with care.
She hides her canvas well away,
Though she often earns a stare.
Do not tell of her canvas,
Keep the secret- she insists.
But perhaps some time take a second glance,
For her canvas is her wrist.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Can't Judge Beauty
Truth is beauty and lies are ugly but what about the in between, can justice exist without injustice and what about the jury they say there is a little truth to every lie beauty seen in just the right light. In the eye of the beholder we can never really predict what they'll see, no one day is ever really the same, can a lie become truth in the future? an ugly duckling that will transform into a swan or will a hungry predator eat it before it can reach it's final stage. Only time will reveal eventual truths if they can survive that long if the jury finds it not guilty and the judge is not so harsh
poem by Jeremy Rascon
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Sonnet: What Isn’t Beautiful?
What is not beautiful? What isn’t ugly?
’Tis the beholder who decides ably!
Beauty is not just color or contour;
’Tis the perception of the gray-matter!
To appreciate you need two things unlike;
Beauty exists even if you dislike;
Beauty is there in both white and in black;
There is true of Nature, when you think back.
Beautiful’s the wisdom of the old man,
And the silver hair of the old woman;
There is much beauty even in a thorn!
And the wildest flower that you scorn.
Things in Nature have an innate beauty!
Appreciation, our bounden duty.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nature
Hey Man! Enjoy the Nature
Come out and see the beauties of Nature,
Put aside your hurries and worries
Come out and see the beautiful trees,
Lay aside your business tensions
Refresh your mind by seeing the vast oceans,
Ignore your official phone calls
Come out and watch the gushing waterfalls,
Free yourself for a while from the T.V. fun
See the beauty of the blazing sun,
Forget for a moment your official words
Hear the sound of the chirping birds,
Not only utilise the joy that money gives
But also listen to the noise of the swaying leaves,
Don’t waste your time by attending phones
Come out and see the beauty of the round stones,
Not only eat and grow fatter
But also see the beauty of the flowing water,
While roaming in your luxury cars
Spare sometime man to see the twinkling stars!
You would find nature as a real boon
When only once you watch the radiant moon,
Why not enjoy Nature, Why man Why?
See how cute looks the clear blue sky…!
poem by Kavita Iyer
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A Beauty in Love
Act of love always flourishes joy!
Cheerful activity creates beauty
And a thing of beauty is a joy ever!
Sans love how can there be peace?
Loving peace is objective of romance
And romance continues till the end!
Nature, music and romance sway all!
All activities of Nature advocate love
And love eternally unites all to be all!
Beauty of love truly accrues joy ever!
Beauty is for love and truth for joy....
And love of beauty brings joy true sure!
Love of beauty never leaves one in pain as
Peace is in truth where beauty is in love!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Point
Words too many, creates an inflation-like balloon; sphere grown too large
where each word gets lost in the volume of words gone awry, orphaned,
where syllabicity becomes too complicatedly and comprehension
escapes the brain and flees into the night of obscurity and sadly
interest waxes and wanes and only pieces of the meaning
remain, distended and jumbled up and in surrealities
which makes one doubt whether the poem makes
sense of not, or if it is I, the reader lacking
the wit or common sense to see what
the writer meant or if there is a code
to all of this that I, the reader just
does not get, and, perhaps a
second read will clarify all
this and the light will
flood in and then
I, reader, will
and poet
reveal
the
point.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Poet/bum
There's a thin line between the poet and the bum,
Usually both are broke,
In boxing circles, there's the bum of the month,
And like the poet, considered a joke.
For instance, a poet has to fight for respect,
Like any boxer risking his neck,
The poet fights with words he understands,
The boxer fights with his hands.
Neither fighter can afford to be afraid,
Taking a hit from a move delayed,
Clobbered by critics, or clobbered in the ring,
Can sting.
As remote as it may sound,
They both have to survive the round,
Neither wants to remain the tramp,
Both would choose to be the champ.
They exist on a parallel track,
With no time to look back,
They touch gloves with Heaven and Hell,
In an endless fight till the final bell.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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Chirping Bird
chirping bird chirping bird
chirp no more
the sun has come
and it is time for you to sing
chirping bird sing
chirping bird sing a song for the sun
it has come
to give you the clouds and the air and
the song for you to sing
chirping bird chirping bird
sing with the sun
sing that song for me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I paint on a sky
The dawn is breaking its early morn
Here, I m standing on a promise
of a brand new day
for new morning comes.
for the early morning smile,
So then, I paint on a sky.
Your eyes that shine like a golden sun.
I sense the morning glory.
Those cherry blossoms
That I paint on my mind.
As I heard the morning breeze,
That plays inside of me.
The notes and melodies
Were I paint on a sky
Over there beneath the silence
I watched the sea that dance on a wave,
And then I draw a line on sand
A line that connects my soul on wind
There I can dance to the music of my own
There I can paint on a sky.
Every step that I have been through.
I belong to the wind.
To fly higher than the mountain
Fly as free as the bird.
Then, I paint on a sky.
These dreams inside my mind,
These hope that I have been holding on
These love that last for more than time.
I walked on a bridge of the rainbow
I’ll be the sun in the sky.
I’ll be the light in all time
I’ll put back the blue in the sky
And learn to see the beauty that is waiting for
So then, I paint on a sky
All the happiness that brings back in my heart.
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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A True Beauty
Beauty is in the eyes
of the beholder'
goes the old saying.
But true beauty
comes from within
an aura seen even
with closed eyes.
True beauty transcends
beyond physical limits
a sense of confidence
and faith in one self
True beauty is priceless
no equivalent in value
except for happiness
no money can buy
Do not ever regret
being not handsome
or beautiful in appearance
for true beauty overrules
poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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It's Music Not Noise
Love Music, Hate Noise
Music may heal you
Noise may irritate you
Different from every aspect.
Find Music, Throw Noise
Music is nice,
Noise is insane
Different from each other.
Cherish Music, Burn Noise
Music is good
Noise is evil
Now can you choose?
poem by Rudy Rico Castillo
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