What Do Poets Want With Gold?
What do poets want with gold,
Cringing slaves and cushioned ease;
Are not crusts and garments old
Better for their souls than these?
Gold is but the juggling rod
Of a false usurping god,
Graven long ago in hell
With a sombre stony spell,
Working in the world forever.
Hate is not so strong to sever
Beating human heart from heart.
Soul from soul we shrink and part,
And no longer hail each other
With the ancient name of brother
Give the simple poet gold,
And his song will die of cold.
He must walk with men that reel
On the rugged path, and feel
Every sacred soul that is
Beating very near to his.
Simple, human, careless, free,
As God made him, he must be:
For the sweetest song of bird
Is the hidden tenor heard
In the dusk, an even-flush,
From the forest's inner hush,
Of the simple hermit thrush.
What do poets want with love?
Flowers that shiver out of hand,
And the fervid fruits that prove
Only bitter broken sand?
Poets speak of passion best,
When their dreams are undistressed,
And the sweetest songs are sung,
E'er the inner heart is stung.
Let them dream; 'tis better so;
Ever dream, but never know.
If the their spirits once have drained
All that goblet crimson-stained,
Finding what they dreamed divine,
Only earthly sluggish wine,
Sooner will the warm lips pale,
And the flawless voices fail,
Sooner come the drooping wing,
And the afterdays that bring,
No such songs as did the spring.
poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Dedication To His Love
SWEETEST, in desperate hours
Of clouds and lightning and rain,
You came like a vision of flowers
And summer and song once again:
You came, and I could not receive you,
Seared in my flesh, in my sight.
I heedlessly turned back to leave you;
We passed on into the night.
(Heart, soul and all, sweet, never to sever, Love me for ever!)
Dearest, in hours of twilight,
Terrible, silent and lone,
When the light, long sought for as my light
And found, for ever seemed gone —
When the hope of the love-dream of boyhood
Passed sad with unknowing rebuff,
With your passionate patience and joyhood
You came, O my Priestess of Love!
(Heart, soul and all, dear, never to sever, Love me for ever!)
With your lips to mine deathly-reposing,
You kissed back the blood and the sighs:
You lit up my tired eyes unclosing
With the light of your beautiful eyes.
You held me close-pressed to your bosom,
Your heart to my heart, beating strong,
In mine eyes put your life like a blossom,
Put my love in your lips like a song!
(Heart, soul and all, sweet, never to sever,
Love me for ever!)
Dearest, of my heart-blood's Evangel
I hail you Queen, and of me:
Sweetest, I revere you Archangel
Of the better time that shall be.
So to these Songs, for my love's sake,
As Priestess of Love must you stand,
And, for the great Truth above's sake,
God's seraph with his sword in your hand!
(Heart, soul and all, dear, never to sever,
Love me for ever!)
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Poem about Poetry - I dream to write like black woman poets
i dream to write
like black women poets
free from verbose bondage
strutting away verses
with enviable clarity,
simplicity, agile as
an ambitious lass on
hip hop dance floor
i also know why
the caged bird sings
it's because it wishes
to fly to the affectionate black woman poet
to learn from her how freedom songs should be sung
i dream to write
like black woman poets
verses so eloquently tempoed, neatly executed
they float through my soul the lightness of
butterflies flitting from rose to rose, bloom to bloom
smoke over indian summer ocean
i dream to write
like black woman poets
with no pretensions about the past
calling a spade a spade
yet infectiously bold about the future
taking the world by storm - in storms
- black women poets who could take me through
the thick and thin of their salvation song
with a tenacity court cases are won
gospel songs are sang
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Poet's Song
~♥ ♥ ♥ ~
I have read
Works of great men and women
Simple poems and stories
I also have written
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I love poetries
So too are stories
They are simple daisies
Filling my fantasies
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
It is my refuge
When in sorrow
My hopes and dreams
In my unknown tomorrow
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I am a poetess
With the dream of sharing
And with my knowledge and skills
Tomorrow, my dreams I will be fulfilling
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I and my works
May never be great
But I will never lose hope
In God, I place my faith
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I will never surrender to failure
I shall never retire until I reach my goal
I will read and write literature
I will hear the cry of my hoping soul
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
~♥ ♥ ♥ ~
poem by Belleza Edella Marian SwanCullen
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American Dream
American dream
American dream
American dream
I must surrender to my American dream
Please do not call me
There is a wedding ring on my ring
And I am building my American dream
I found an American soul mate to love
And to share my life and my American dream
I am getting married and settling down
Good bye single life
Love is the best thing I can give to the people who also share my American dream
Soul mate give me a kiss
And let's dream the American dream
I want my self, you, and every body else to be a part of this American
Dream
We are starting over with an American dream
What I lost before
It is not of any value to me any more
I can't replace it
But you are a part of me
And that is what matters the most
This American dream belong to us and every body else
My heart belongs to you my soul mate
Days will come and go
But I am here for you
We can make a difference when we claim the American dream
Maybe tommorow we will sail on a moon beam
My soul mate has blue eyes
Soul mate I ask no more than this
Please give me a warm kiss
Somewhere in the American dream roses will bloom
And ships will sail across the sea
Poets will write their poetry
Singers will sing in the boulevard cafes some love songs that touch Every body's heart
Flower girls will sell flowers in the streets of the American dream so
The man can buy some
Flowers for there girl friends and lovers if they have any
I can't let any body else steal our American dream
We must save this American dream for us and every body else
If you want to be a part of the American dream
You will have to be a good citizen of the American dream
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Old Poets
(For Robert Cortez Holliday)
If I should live in a forest
And sleep underneath a tree,
No grove of impudent saplings
Would make a home for me.
I'd go where the old oaks gather,
Serene and good and strong,
And they would not sigh and tremble
And vex me with a song.
The pleasantest sort of poet
Is the poet who's old and wise,
With an old white beard and wrinkles
About his kind old eyes.
For these young flippertigibbets
A-rhyming their hours away
They won't be still like honest men
And listen to what you say.
The young poet screams forever
About his sex and his soul;
But the old man listens, and smokes his pipe,
And polishes its bowl.
There should be a club for poets
Who have come to seventy year.
They should sit in a great hall drinking
Red wine and golden beer.
They would shuffle in of an evening,
Each one to his cushioned seat,
And there would be mellow talking
And silence rich and sweet.
There is no peace to be taken
With poets who are young,
For they worry about the wars to be fought
And the songs that must be sung.
But the old man knows that he's in his chair
And that God's on His throne in the sky.
So he sits by the fire in comfort
And he lets the world spin by.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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Aging Poet
Come and see the old poet
Laying in his bed of ashes and dust
His love in ruins
His mentality frozen by restless rust
His hungry heart emptied of it's fertile blood
His souls melodic purpose nearly gone
The mellifluous music now so silent
The end, of a once wonderful and powerful song.
What happened to this poet
With dread you may ask,
The ancient story ofcourse
The evils of age and wear, and so damned many things out there
Working at his heart, fulfilling their wretched task.
When poets speak truth and beauty into this old world
Any breath may be their last
For so many evil spirits will stalk them
With an endless passion to haunt, from the past
The deepest hearts, so oft, become weary and tossed
As all about them seems dreadfully lost
And everything fearful and frustrating and unknown
Becomes thriving weeds where once, long ago
With such ease a radiant, eloquent garden had grown.
Still this old poet wrote
For was his vocation so to do
Even through the battles with doubt
He held on, ever true
Words from his heart
He rended to give
The conundrum being
It cost him his life, to fully live...
So look! Look deep
Here lays the old poet - in state
Having succumbed - like all the living shall
To mankinds unavoidable fate.
May all the aging poets forever
Rest in peace, and ever be blest
For the sempiternal words they lay upon us
- dug with pain from the depths of their souls
Are nothing less than the very best.
(for: Townes Van Zandt)
poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Last Judgment
With beating heart and lagging feet,
Lord, I approach the Judgment-seat.
All bring hither the fruits of toil,
Measures of wheat and measures of oil;
Gold and jewels and precious wine;
No hands bare like these hands of mine.
The treasure I have nor weighs nor gleams:
Lord, I can bring you only dreams.
In days of spring, when my blood ran high,
I lay in the grass and looked at the sky,
And dreamed that my love lay by my side--
My love was false, and then she died.
All the heat of the summer through,
I dreamed she lived, that her heart was true
Throughout the hours of the day I slept,
But woke in the night, at times, and wept.
The nights and days, they went and came,
I lay in shadow and dreamed of fame;
And heard men passing the lonely place,
Who marked me not and my hidden face.
My strength waxed faint, my hair grew grey;
Nothing but dreams by night and day.
Some men sicken, with wine and food;
I starved on dreams, and found them good.
* * * * * * *
This is the tale I have to tell--
Show the fellow the way to hell.
Heart Like Mine
Night grows cold
I've been lonely so much
Out of reach
Save it only for me
Nothing in life is the same
And the sooner we stop to start
And there's a heart like mine
Somewhere in this world
There's a heart like mine
Beating but left to burn
Maybe you can hide your face forever
God knows it's true
That when you search for someone
There's a heart like mine
There's a heart like mine
To be heard
Souls on fire
Feel her voice in your ear
She goes on
Living only for me
Nothing you say could be wrong
'Cause you give me the lovers sign
And there's a heart like mine
Somewhere in this world
There's a heart like mine
Beating but left to burn
Maybe we can share it all forever
But not 'til we do
I'm gonna search for someone
There's a heart like mine
There's a heart like mine
To be heard
And baby are we waking up together
'Cause God knows it's you
If there is love for someone
And there's a heart like mine
Somewhere in this world
There's a heart like mine
Beating but left to burn
Maybe we can share it all forever
But not 'til we do
I'm gonna search for someone
There's a heart like mine
There's a heart like mine
To be heard
There's a heart like mine
There's a heart like mine
song performed by by Bee Gees from Size Isn't Everything
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Secret Of Happiness
The secret of happiness is not hidden behind the distances of perfection
Nor in posessing dozens of gold and wealth
I never had complicated dreams since I
believe that the real happiness in the simple things exists
Never dreamed of becoming a crown queen
Never wanted to have a perfect life
The happiness was my Desire
And I always had the faith that at the little things the happiness can be found
There is no need for complicated heart desires
At the simple things we can find the perfect and the happy life
Just keeping the hope in the heart
The kindness of soul and love of God
The perfect life is hidden there don't go far away
Finding the real love not the perfect one
Was my hearts best Desire
Because always I had the faith
The secret of finding the happiness is hidden at simple desires and the real ones
What worts all the world wealth if you don't have the faith of God in the heart
What worts all the worlds wealth and the success
If you don't have peace of mind
If you are surrounded with fake lovers all around
Because of that my dream was to find the real love the real happiness and peace of mind
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If I Knew What Poets Know
If I knew what poets know,
Would I write a rhyme
Of the buds that never blow
In the summer-time?
Would I sing of golden seeds
Springing up in ironweeds?
And of rain-drops turned to snow,
If I knew what poets know?
Did I know what poets do,
Would I sing a song
Sadder than the pigeon's coo
When the days are long?
Where I found a heart in pain,
I would make it glad again;
And the false should be the true,
Did I know what poets do.
If I knew what poets know,
I would find a theme
Sweeter than the placid flow
Of the fairest dream:
I would sing of love that lives
On the errors it forgives;
And the world would better grow
If I knew what poets know.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lesson
MY cot was down by a cypress grove,
And I sat by my window the whole night long,
And heard well up from the deep dark wood
A mocking-bird's passionate song.
And I thought of myself so sad and lone,
And my life's cold winter that knew no spring;
Of my mind so weary and sick and wild,
Of my heart too sad to sing.
But e'en as I listened the mock-bird's song,
A thought stole into my saddened heart,
And I said, 'I can cheer some other soul
By a carol's simple art.'
For oft from the darkness of hearts and lives
Come songs that brim with joy and light,
As out of the gloom of the cypress grove
The mocking-bird sings at night.
So I sang a lay for a brother's ear
In a strain to soothe his bleeding heart,
And he smiled at the sound of my voice and lyre,
Though mine was a feeble art.
But at his smile I smiled in turn,
And into my soul there came a ray:
In trying to soothe another's woes
Mine own had passed away.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Introit : V. Litany Of Beauty
Joy, if the Soul or aught immortal be,
How may this Beauty know mortality?
O Beauty, perfect child of Light,
Sempiternal spirit of delight!
White and set with gold like the gold of the night,
The gold of the stars in quiet weather,--
White and shapely and pure!--
O lily-flower from stain secure,
With life and virginity dying together!
One lily liveth so,
Liveth for ever unstained, immortal, a mystic flower:
Perfectly wrought its frame,
Gold inwrought and eternal white,
White more white than cold of the snow,
For never, never, near it came,
Never shall come till the end of all,
Hurtful thing in wind or shower,
Worm or stain or blight;
But ever, ever, gently fall
The dews elysian of years that flow
Where it doth live secure
In flawless comeliness mature,
Golden and white and pure.
In the fair far-shining glow
Of eternal and holy Light.
Beauty of earthly things
Wrought by God and with hands of men!
Beauty of Nature and Art,
Fashioned anew for each Time brings,
For each new soul and living heart!
Beauty of Beauty that fills the ken
Till the soul is swooning, faint with delight!
Beauty of human form and voice,
Of eyes and ears and lips!--
O golden hair and brow of white!--
Wine of Beauty that whoso sips
Doth die to a spirit free, and rejoice,
Living with God and living with men,
Rapt rejoice in eternal bliss,
Raising his face to meet the kiss
Of the Beauty seraphic he sees above
In figure of his love.
O Beauty of Wisdom unsought
That in trance to poet is taught,
Uttered in secret lay,
Singing the heart from earth away,
Cunning the soul from care to lure,--
O mystic lily, from stain and death secure,
Till the end of all to stay!
O shapely flower that must for ever endure!
O voice of God that every heart must hear!
O hymn of purest souls that dost unsphere
The ravished soul that hears! O white, white gem!
O rose that dost the senses drown in bliss!
No thought shall stay the wing, or stem
The song or win the heart to miss
Thy love, thy joy, thy rapture divine!
O Beauty, Beauty, ever thine
The soul, the heart, the brain,
To own three in a loud perpetual strain,
Shriller and sweeter than song of wine,
Than song of sorrow or love or war!
Beauty of heaven and sun and day,
Beauty of water and frost and star,
Beauty of dusk-tide, narrowing, grey!
Beauty of silver light,
Beauty of purple night,
Beauty of solemn breath,
Beauty of closèd eye, and sleep, and death!
Beauty of dawn and dew,
Beauty of morning peace,
Ever ancient and ever new,
Ever renewed till waking cease
Or sleep for ever, when loud the angel's word
Through all the world is heard!
Beauty of brute and bird,
Beauty of earthly creatures
Whose hearts by the hand of God are stirred!
Beauty of the soul,
Beauty informing forms and features,
Fairest to God's eye,--
Beauty that cannot fade or die
Though atoms to ruin roll!
Beauty of blinded Trust,
Led by the hand of God
To a heaven where Cherub hath never trod!
Austere Beauty of Truth
Lighting the way of the just!
Splendid Beauty of Youth
Staying when Youth is sped,
Living when Life is dead,
Burning in funeral dust!
The glory of form doth pale and pall,
Beauty endures to the end of all.
poem by Thomas MacDonagh
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To Louise
OH, the poets may sing of their Lady Irenes,
And may rave in their rhymes about wonderful queens;
But I throw my poetical wings to the breeze,
And soar in a song to my Lady Louise.
A sweet little maid, who is dearer, I ween,
Than any fair duchess, or even a queen.
When speaking of her I can't plod in my prose,
For she's the wee lassie who gave me a rose.
Since poets, from seeing a lady's lip curled,
Have written fair verse that has sweetened the world;
Why, then, should not I give the space of an hour
To making a song in return for a flower?
I have found in my life — it has not been so long —
There are too few of flowers — too little of song.
So out of that blossom, this lay of mine grows,
For the dear little lady who gave me the rose.
I thank God for innocence, dearer than Art,
That lights on a by-way which leads to the heart,
And led by an impulse no less than divine,
Walks into the temple and sits at the shrine.
I would rather pluck daisies that grow in the wild,
Or take one simple rose from the hand of a child,
Than to breathe the rich fragrance of flowers that bide
In the gardens of luxury, passion, and pride.
I know not, my wee one, how came you to know
Which way to my heart was the right way to go;
Unless in your purity, soul-clean and dear,
God whispers his messages into your ear.
You have now had my song, let me end with a prayer
That your life may be always sweet, happy, and fair;
That your joys may be many, and absent your woes,
O dear little lady who gave me the rose!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Song..to Whom Does It Belong
a song
to whom does it belong
once it is born, , , and stays alive for so long
the poet has done his bit
he has put his heart and soul
to give the song a soul
the musician has done his bit
he has put his work and mind
to give the song a form
the singer has done his bit
he has put his voice to emote
to give the song a life
whose song is it now...to whom does it belong
the song has become a bird
it goes around the world
it is by itself..a persona
it goes on to live for long
[the indian film songs..at least a few go on to live for long
i tried to say how itis made and how it stays]
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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Wherever You Are
Whenever your shadow falls on stony ground
And theres not a hand for you to hold
Whenever the dreams you dream come crashing down
Every time you think of home
Remember that youre not alone
And well be with you heart and soul
Wherever you are
And if you should lose your path along the way
And find yourself walking in the dark
Whenever the ones you love seem far away
Every time you think of home
Remember that youre not alone
And well be with you heart and soul
Wherever you are
Whenever the fears you hide come reaching through
Every time you think of home
Remember that youre not alone
And well be with you heart and soul
Every time you think of home
Remember that youre not alone
And well be with you heart and soul
Well be with you heart and soul
Wherever you are
Were with you heart and soul
Music & lyrics by: andrew gold, graham gouldman, geoff downes & john payne
song performed by by Asia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue Moon (feat. Eric Clapton)
(Rodgers/Hart)
(feat. Eric Clapton)
Once upon a time before I took up smiling
I hated the moonlight
Shadows of the night that poets find beguiling
Seemed flat as the noonlight
With no one to stay up for I went to sleep at ten
Life was a bitter cup for the saddest of all men
Blue moon
You saw me standing alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
Blue moon
You know just what I was there for
You heard me saying a prayer for
Someone I really could care for
And then there suddenly appeared before me
The only one my arms will ever hold
I heard somebody whisper please adore me
And when I looked the moon had turned to gold
Blue moon
Now I'm no longer alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
And then there suddenly appeared before me
The only one my arms will ever hold
I heard somebody whisper please adore me
And when I looked the moon had turned to gold
Blue moon
Now I'm no longer alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
And then there suddenly appeared before me
The only one my arms will ever hold
I heard somebody whisper please adore me
And when I looked the moon had turned to gold
Blue moon
Now I'm no longer alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
Without a love of my own
Without a love of my own
Now I have a girl of my own
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue Moon
(feat. Eric Clapton)
Once upon a time before I took up smiling
I hated the moonlight
Shadows of the night that poets find beguiling
Seemed flat as the noonlight
With no one to stay up for I went to sleep at ten
Life was a bitter cup for the saddest of all men
Blue moon
You saw me standing alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
Blue moon
You know just what I was there for
You heard me saying a prayer for
Someone I really could care for
And then there suddenly appeared before me
The only one my arms will ever hold
I heard somebody whisper please adore me
And when I looked the moon had turned to gold
Blue moon
Now I'm no longer alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
And then there suddenly appeared before me
The only one my arms will ever hold
I heard somebody whisper please adore me
And when I looked the moon had turned to gold
Blue moon
Now I'm no longer alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
And then there suddenly appeared before me
The only one my arms will ever hold
I heard somebody whisper please adore me
And when I looked the moon had turned to gold
Blue moon
Now I'm no longer alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
Without a love of my own
Without a love of my own
Now I have a girl of my own
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Out Of The Fulness Of The Heart The Mouth Speaketh
In answer to those who have said that English Poets
give no personal love to their country.
ENGLAND, my country, austere in the clamorous council of nations,
Set in the seat of the mighty, wielding the sword of the strong,
Have we but sung of your glory, firm in eternal foundations?
Are not your woods and your meadows the core of our heart and our song?
O dear fields of my country, grass growing green, glowing golden,
Green in the patience of winter, gold in the pageant of spring,
Oaks and young larches awaking, wind-flowers and violets blowing,
What, if God sets us to singing, what save you shall we sing?
Who but our England is fair through the veil of her poets' praises,
What but the pastoral face, the fruitful, beautiful breast?
Are not your poets' meadows starred with the English daisies?
Were not the wings of their song-birds fledged in an English nest?
Songs of the leaves in the sunlight, songs of the fern-brake in shadow,
Songs of the world of the woods and songs of the marsh and the mere,
Are they not English woods, dear English marshland and meadow?
Have not your poets loved you? England, are you not dear?
Shoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom,
Living amber of wheat, and copper of new-ploughed loam,
Downs where the white sheep wander, little gardens in blossom,
Roads that wind through the twilight up to the lights of home.
Lanes that are white with hawthorn, dykes where the sedges shiver,
Hollows where caged winds slumber, moorlands where winds wake free,
Sowing and reaping and gleaning, spring and torrent and river,
Are they not more, by worlds, than the whole of the world can be?
Is there a corner of land, a furze-fringed rag of a by-way,
Coign of your foam-white cliffs or swirl of your grass-green waves,
Leaf of your peaceful copse, or dust of your strenuous highway,
But in our hearts is sacred, dear as our cradles, our graves?
Is not each bough in your orchards, each cloud in the skies above you,
Is not each byre or homestead, furrow or farm or fold,
Dear as the last dear drops of the blood in the hearts that love you,
Filling those hearts till the love is more than the heart can hold?
Therefore the song breaks forth from the depths of the hidden fountain
Singing your least frail flower, your raiment of seas and skies,
Singing your pasture and cornfield, fen and valley and mountain,
England, desire of my heart, England, delight of mine eyes!
Take my song too, my country: many a son and debtor
Pays you in praise and homage out of your gifts' full store;
Life of my life, my England, many will praise you better,
None, by the God that made you, ever can love you more!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Black Gypsy
(Emmylou Harris)
Broken bottles, broken songs
Broken people been in town too long
Where's everyone gone
Ooh, baby this city gonna break your heart
Oh, gipsy please tell me
Where everyone's gone
Never had a second name
Never spoke of why we came
Fellowship and Gloriousness
The loneliness of pain
Sitting in the rain
Why is the soul of me
Where is my heart
Where is the part of me
That I would give to you
If kindness were my style
Where is the soul of me
Where is my heart
In my own time
Better leave it behind
In a thousand bottles of wine
Oh, precious plans of standing strong
Why is life taking so long
I would tell you everything
If I only had the words to explain
Don't know nothing but the rain
Why is the soul of me
Where is my heart
Where is the part of me
That I would give to you
If kindness were my style
Where is the tenderness
Where is the warmth
In my own soul
That I let it grow old
Oh, it's getting so cold
Broken bottles, broken songs
Broken faces been in town too long
Where has everyone gone
Oh, baby this city gonna break your heart
Oh, gipsy please tell me
Where everyone's gone
Oh, gipsy please tell me
Where everyone's gone
Where everyone's gone
Where everyone's gone
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: My Poetic Evolution
From simple Rhymes that Kinder-gardens teach,
And little songs that children love to sing,
I worked my way, up to what Poets reach,
And tried to soar the Skies with my own Wing!
And then I came to know what metre was;
And Rhythm melody of words and sounds;
And soon I was some kind of Poetic-Boss;
And tried my skill of words in newer grounds!
The old was gold but people wanted new;
I had to write 'free verses' now and then;
My Sonnets sprung with speed and divine hue;
My Wings were strong enough to reach Heaven!
Believe-it-or-not, I'm World's Sonnet-King!
Each Sonnet was just a ten- minute thing!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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