She, A Romantic Poem
That day, God sent her to me
Just for 30 minutes, it is momentary.
Young, charming and lovely
Sincere, shrew and brainy.
Ow! words fail how I was happy.
Sometimes, for the earth to be peaceful,
For colorful flowers to bloom,
For nutrient plants to grow,
Mankind stares up the sky.
Ow! they wish the clouds for shower mild.
To present a cool rain-drop,
Blue sea must be burnt off.
Where is justice for nature right?
The blood of her heart vaporizes.
Ow! which mindful one does memorize?
Heart absorbs all feelings and suffers
When much, they run over through eyes as tears.
My God! is it real nature?
To own love-blooms in chest deepest,
Ow! it's inner raining running into mad.
'Her eyes are demure diamonds
Below the rainbows of eyebrows'
I compose this sort of verses with rhythm,
And feel it by myself as a gem.
Ow! does she love poems?
Truth and untruth, equity and inequity.
As she crave truth and equity,
I notice that she has fair fancy,
And she is gifted in poetry.
Ow! words fail how I feel ecstasy.
She loves verses, I love verses.
Though we're strangers and have different breaths,
Poems make us two not to mope.
Poems make us two hearts to close.
Ow! how a brave beauty like a rose! ! !
Without appealing, without tempting,
She melts in heart beating.
Arteries and veins allow her in circulating.
Finally, fingers shake and grasp a pen.
Ow! it becomes 'she, a romantic poem'
poem by Aung Si Myanmar
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Her Beautiful Fragrance
Poems are my life
My feelings are not fake
I swear to god, I have loved her
However, she could never be mine.
Not even poetry can express how deeply I did love her
Still her beautiful complexion
Is everywhere in my poetry
Her beautiful fragrance, still I can breathe
Everywhere, I see her and feel
Never, have I ever been so close to her
Especially now when she is no more mine
I do not know anything
The perfume she applied, I still can feel
Poems are my life
She was a perfect poem and still I am trying to pen her into verses
These are verses of love as well pain
Forever, I will feel her
Even though she can never be mine
My sweet sugar I will describe her to be
Poems are my life and I do not know anything other than her
Her beautiful fragrance, I still breathe.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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Farewell To The Poets And Poetesses Of Nature
Farewell to the poets and poetesses of Nature
Their beautiful rhymes are a gift of the heart
In literature they will always be remembered
For their promotion of Nature in which they played a huge part.
In their verses they captured some of the beauty of the Natural World
And their legacy in words is still with us today
In their poems one can visualize the wild birds singing
And in the warm Summer breeze get the sweet scent of hay.
Not all of them World famed or publicly acclaimed
Though a literary gem or two they created with us does remain
They played their own part in the promotion of Nature
And their likes perhaps we may not see again.
I love those old wordsmiths and their musical verses
They sung of the beauty around them they see
They had music in them their words so well written
With Nature they lived in complete harmony.
Farewell to the poets and poetesses of Nature
Their beautiful words do not have in them a use by date
To them we feel grateful for promoting Nature
And we thank them for the beauty that they did create.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Deceased Poets Of Nature
Such beautiful poems to Nature they did write
The poetry we love for to read and recite
May they rest in peace now where-ever they lay
The deceased poets of Nature their poems live today
They glorified Nature and her praises they sung
And though they may be long dead their poems remain young
the poets of the land and the poets of the sea
In their beautiful poetry their greatness we do see
Their poems and their songs I loved as a boy
And their poems and their songs I will always enjoy
The beauty of Nature they did celebrate
And beauty in their words they loved to create.
Great insights of Nature from them we did gain
The beauty of their words with us does remain
We loved them for their poems in decades long gone
The deceased poets of Nature their poems living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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To My Dear One
She....., not my student.
But she's always submissive my words.
Whatever I force her,
Ow! she could follow like a master.
I bet nothing can stop her glorious future.
She....., not my teacher.
But I have to learn noble manners from her.
Whenever I glimpse her actions,
Ow! they're full of precious lessons.
I bet no word is worth to mention.
She....., not my girlfriend.
But her verses are straight to my heart.
Wherever I feel creations of her pen,
Ow! thrill comes to me with rhythm.
I bet no beauty can compare her poems.
She....., not my relative.
But we build up fantastic friendship.
Whoever asks me to stay away from her,
Ow! why do I part my lovely pick-up sister?
I bet our poetry will make us close forever.
poem by Aung Si Myanmar
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Poetry
Only place where I feel at home is poetry
Everywhere else I am always lost
Nothing seems proper, when verses of English poems are not present
All that I feel like doing is write and write
Sometimes, I do admit that I do get lost
However, I really belong only with poetry
Still, I always feel that nobody ever does understand my feelings
A blank space is always present within my heart
As sometimes I start to feel that things which I express are not good enough
I do not really know why?
This is just how I feel sometimes
Since, often the mode of being depressed comes to my life
Then, I become a depressed poet who has only past memories
Nothing else I have as remaining to love or care
However, still I keep on penning things, only to still remain alive
Otherwise, I would be dead without words
Only place where I belong is poetry and here I feel being at home.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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As The Time Draws Nigh
as the time draws nigh
like how it happens to all of us
thanks it is at different times
otherwise i would have no more friends
to share my poems with
sing my love songs to
as the time draws nigh
i feel each of my verses
a diamond savlaged from
the deepest part of ground
getting scarcer and scarcer
the 640,000 lines i intend to write
through travels, love scores,
meeting with gods and goddesses
a journey to the realms
that give my poem
a special dimension
this heart afflutter
whenever i meet poets of similar sentiments
like whitman
i walk in his shoes
over places i have never been to
through his spirit
i thrive
writing poems
more for myself than anybody else
as the time draws nigh
i feel each of my verses
acquires a shine
a shine reflected from yesteryears
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Rare Flower Blooms Only Once In a Blue Moon!
Just as Nature is an inspiration to spirit
Poetry is an inspiration to the heart ever!
Musical poems full of meaning delight all
Like the freshly blossomed flowers do to all!
Poems delight heart, inspire mind and
Elevate spirit to higher level ever in bliss!
Poems mean inspiration and delight to heart
That remain in mind ever to inspire soul ever!
Nature and poetry are reality and reflection
As Shakespeare did with his art of poems
Reflecting human life in all its totality ever
As rare flowers alive for all to enjoy ever!
Poems of such kind are flowers of rare variety
Such flowers bloom only once in a blue moon!
poem by Ramesh T A
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All These Poems About Poems
All these poems about poems
Where do they lead?
The world is so rich in so many other things
Write poems about them.
At twilight I look out
At strangers walking
To do their errands of preparation
for Sukkot.
A poem should have some Beauty in it
And not just be an effort at recording observations-
The scarlet bright flowers rage at me from the distance
I cannot translate their Beauty to words -
There is so much I have seen
And so much I will never write –
And so many Poems beyond my Imagination.
All these poems about my failing at poetry
And about translating the Beauty of the world to words-
This is a poem I not know how to properly finish.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The commandments of poetry
I shall love poetry
For it is the conversation of God
Over my world
This is not a godless art
Though I name no God
I am bearing witness
To Him creating these
Poems
I do not write poetry
To excite myself
I write them
To sustain
My soul
I shall never use poetry
As a pretext
For fame and glory
It is my spiritual
Devotion
Poetry is pure
Virginal
It is not found
In conformity
I shall bring forth my poems
As a mother brings forth
Her children
Out of my own flesh
And blood
This poem shall not be
An analgesic to kill the pain
But it shall be the wine
That puts me to action
Each poem created
Shall leave me humble
It can never equal my dreams
And always inferior
To God’s marvelous
Creations
Always second
To Nature.
Poetry rises from my heart
In these words
And they have no purpose
But to purify
This poetry shall grow
The flowers of compassion
To console
The hearts of the lonely
And those who are lost
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poem
Pen poems enthusiastically;
Write the Eternal Truth gaily.
Poem is the internal mental feelings of Poet;
Penning verses derive delight.
Poem tranquilises the wearied brain, provides peace;
Pen a good poem with Divine Bliss.
Through poems advise the society;
People of all religions would live with gaiety.
Poem is heart’s Ganga flows peacefully;
Poets derive peace delightfully.
Poem takes people on right path;
It is ‘ Gyana Ganda’ a brook of mirth.
Poet tries to rectify society’s monsterous activities;
Through truth, peace, non-violence provides delight.
Through delightful verses attracts the society;
In God’s lap lives with gaiety.
Poet depicts good and evil deeds of society;
Desires a peaceful society with gaiety.
Is a reformer of society;
Penetrates rays of gaiety.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Do not read my poems…. [for YOU ]
Do not read my poems…
After I am dead
As a lament, a wail
An elegy, a requiem
Do not read my poems…
After I am gone
When no more I can
Hear your velvet voice.
Do not read my poems…
Alone without me
To comment along
And read with you
But, do read my poems
When I beside you lie
With my head resting
On your supporting arm
Listening to you read
In whisper, in kisses
In silence, in love
In sleep, in dream
Watching you feel
Every word I wrote
I’ll close my eyes - Love
Brush aside my hair
With your breathe
Which half veils my face
Sleepless fevered I wrote
Read me my poems
Now sing me a lullaby
Rock me to sleep
On your broad chest
Diving into your eyes
A thousand times
I am refreshed
By your smile
I’ll write on you a poem
Traced by my fingertips
To be etched in your heart
And burnt into your soul!
So, do not read my poems…
poem by Angelina Pandian
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Poems About Poems About Poems
Poems about poems about poems-
More poems and more poems and more poems-
Poems poems poems poems poems-
How many poems?
How much poetry
Until there is no poetry at all?
But only 'words' and 'words' and 'words'
Until one goes far away
Where there was never a poem before-
And suddenly hears
“Let there be Light”.
And Poetry perhaps
Is born again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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We Need Poems To Make Us Love Life More
WE NEED POEMS TO MAKE US LOVE LIFE MORE
We need poems to make us love life more
Poems that will make us happier
Poems that will make us kinder, better people.
We need poems that will inspire us
That will add to our sense of the world’s Beauty
We need Poems that will make us love others as we love ourselves as we love God.
We need holy poems
And joyful poems
And blessed poems
And kind poems
We need poems which will make us love life more
Which will help us love others and ourselves more
God more
We need poems.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Idiom: No love Lost
Love poems, how trite they become.
Their hackneyed themes we want to scream.
We purposely shy away from
That genre, teeming so it seems
With grandiloquent, large supplies
Of conjured words with empty rings
Of cheating hearts and love that dies.
Ad nauseam is all it brings.
We wish just once that we could read
Where love’s expressed differently:
Brand new verses that supersede
Love’s banal themes in poetry.
Love-lost poems are sickening
But most of all they are boring.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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I Wanted My Poem To Be A Real Poem
I WANTED MY POEM TO BE A REAL POEM
I wanted my poem to be a real poem-
I have read and studied and memorized
So many real poems-
I wanted my poem to be one of them
Which others would read and feel and memorize
And make their own –
We want and we want and we want
And who are we with all our wanting?
Who am I with all my wanting?
One more dreamer
One more ambitious person
One more lover of poems
One more writer of poems
One more wanter of real poems
Who writes this poem
For others
who dream like me
of writing real poems.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
poem by Shalom Freedman
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These Poems Say 'Who I Am
THESE POEMS SAY ‘WHO I AM’
These poems say ‘who I am’-
Why should anyone care?
My feeling deepest in me
Is who I am.
My poems are the deepest feelings
In myself
I can find.
My poems are who I am
And what I feel
My real me.
Why should anyone care?
God also loves those who cannot write poems.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Birthday Candle
one-year anniversary poem
Birthday candle
One candle I claim
Twelve flames I stitch
One for each month
On this poem I frame
How lovely to dwell
In the breath of life
The Sun tolling
My morning bell
One year in the making
Verses in poetry
Dancing in thanksgiving
My spring glowing
These words yielding
Truth in meaning
Doors open wide
Spirit seeking
With gratitude and delight
I celebrate my
One-year anniversary
On all Poetry website
I never thought
My poems will blossom
When I began my
Garden of nought
Few fell by the wayside
Few on solid rocks
Some found rich soil
Affirm my faith inside
These feeder rains
Of Love and acknowledgements
Awaken dormant hopes
Nourishing my grains
Not everything I wrote
Had flair or panache
The few ones who shone
Made my heart float
Happiest of days
When I found my voice
To discover my pulse
To God be all praise
If I may celebrate
July 24th 2011
Launch of my footprint
Birthday of my nameplate
I have chosen a ghost name
'Leaking Pen' for my face
Its inks fed my first poem,
'A Poet's Anger' my claim!
Surprise! Surprise!
This first poem of mine
Turned out to be the one
Boosting my stock rise
Stubborn passion and thought
Will not deter my journey
Till I compose the Perfect poem,
Rescue my pen from distraught
Hands shake in the open
Invitation to celebrate
Hospitality's welcoming tent
A feast from a true Bedouin
I am not feeling quite right
Asking for gifts for my flight
I do envy each write
From Poets on this web site
Active seeing eyes
I thank you for your comments
To my poems messages
I value your praise
And for silent eyes
Who read my verses
Your loyal following
A blessing in disguise
I wished for a masterpiece
To declare my thanks
But the poetry's soul
No- Will -can force its release!
Happy birthday to all poets
Where the human heart dwells
I am but a single beat
In the drums of our chorus
poem by leaking Pen
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A Drinking Song
poetry flows from my heart
the way wine gurgles
into this fine crystal glass
dancing with the moon
clinking to a lonesome night
the riveting sublime light
sparkles like the beauty of verses
sip by sip the light flows into me
line by line spirited verses
oozes from my heart
the essence distillled from
matters of heart and soul
my love, would you pour me wine
vintage wine from that bottle
that has caroused with time
to give us its real wonder?
through it i see the beauty
of the world as verses flow
from a seasoned heart that has
twisted, whaltzed, swung, rocked with time
inspired by
A Drinking Song
WINE comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
William Butler Yeats
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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431 To A Friend Who Died As Poet
I Have Seen The Power Of Your Poems
Those That
Make The Blind See
The Mute Finally Speaking About Beauty
The Deaf Hearing The Songs Of Love
And The Crippled Finally Dancing To The
Rhythm Of Your
Lines
I Am Amazed And So Convinced
About The Magic Of The Poems That You Wrote
When You Were Once Alive
Before They Buried You On A Shallow Grave
With Their Anger
And Hatred
They Were Not Able To Cut
Your Tongue And Tear Your Mouth
And Break The Bones
Of The Body Of
Your Poetry
Now Let Me Ask You
If These Poems Come From
The Deepest Chamber Of Your Heart
Are Its Roots Your Pains And Unfathomable Sorrows
Or Is It Grown From The Seeds Of
Your Bliss
That When Summer Comes They Bloom Into
Sunflowers?
I See You In Your Images Smiling
And I Can Hear That Suppressed Laughter
On The Lake On A Clear Morning
What Is This All About My Friend?
Tell Me, For They Do Not Like
My Sadness Neither Do They Share
My Joys And Happiness
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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