I Do Not Read To Dissect a Poem
I do not read to dissect a poem
It's not there for analysis
Although with insight, it can become
A good specimen for diagnosis.
I read to enjoy most poetry
To savor the meanings, perhaps some rhyme
It's like drinking a good cup of coffee
The taste lingers on for a time.
A nice poem may bring me somewhere
To the places that I've never been
Vivid words may paint images there
Showing scenes I have never seen.
Poetry, as an art, is a vehicle
That carries our thoughts and emotions
Like a ship on which we can travel
To a land of unlimited horizons.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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Painted Canvass: Perspective Master Strokes
Luxury. Time and a whole new poem to cite.
Exquisite. An exceptional poem a classic write.
A great poem from a favourite master poet.
And mine all mine to read now in the night.
With deep appreciation, I read these words in hues of light.
Others may fear fail to tread, this path that shines so bright.
First we avid read, then deconstruct, then reconstruct,
the words are whole again, with new fair crafted insight.
If we do not venture, into the words?
How will we know, there meanings?
The poem was whole, written in theme concepts.
Word play gifted images, savour ponder contrasts.
Mine eye perceives perspective, shaped in logic art.
The images drawn forever grace, astound my heart.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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At the Poetry Class
I read their poems at dawn
In the still quiet hours, alone
To savor the meter and the rhyme
Of their poetry stored in time.
A myriad thoughts and styles
Their pens bring tears and smiles
A kaleidoscope wrought in words
From the passion that writing accords.
For poetry is like the best wine
That you have as you leisurely dine
Each little sip is one you enjoy
Each line is one that brings you joy.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Need to Write
I need to write a poem, but how shall I do it,
First of all shall I write standing up, or just sit;
Until I get comfortable, I won't be able to start,
All the words will be muddled up, and then it'll fall. Apart.
Now! I got it right, I will choose the title to write about,
No good getting frustrated, or even sit or pout;
Just need to relax, and then the words will come easy,
Cause if I try to hard, Then my stomach will feel queasy.
I know what sort of holiday would people like,
And as I start the poem, the hall clock did strike;
Oh! It is now is what I can do, write about the time passing,
And so I have the heading, the thoughts on paper lasting.
It's got colour, size, And description, and the taste of art,
It's come from my mind, emotions, and also from the heart;
It has vision, and thoughts about where I want to go,
Yes! I think it'll get some to agree, to me they'll show.
So if you have a problem to write a poem or story,
Just read this poem, as a help, it's a help from me;
Don't force the idea, or rush it through at all,
Just go have a cuppa, read an article or a friend call.
Eventually it'll come, the words will flow along,
You might even end up, turning it into a song;
Writing poems will be rewarding, just give a go,
And you might enjoy it, they may end up in a show.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Read my poetry
Read my poetry
My poetry is enough
My poetry is independent
My poetry creates itself.
Read my poetry
My poetry is not mine
Everything belongs to my poetry
My poetry creats itself.
Read my poetry
My poetry is psyche and
Alchemy in me
My poetry is independent of me.
Read my poetry
It agony its ecstasy
Its inspiration
Everything belongs to
My predecessors-poet
Read my poetry
Read my poetry.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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What Does Poetry Mean To Me
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from a poem
Good poetry is a rhapsody
That makes my spirit roam
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from an ode
Good poetry is the world to me
It is the mother lode
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from a verse
Good poetry makes my soul soar free
And lifts the darkest curse
What does poetry mean to me
A sorry sonofabitch
Good poetry grabs me by the balls
And makes my life seem rich
What does poetry mean to me
An ageing U3Aer
Good poetry takes me back to youth
To when I was a player
What does poetry mean to me
A frustrated would-be bard
Good poetry trips not off my pen
It’s far too blooming hard
The Poem I Cannot Write/ Is The Poem Beyond My Own Poetry
THE POEM I CANNOT WRITE/ IS THE POEM BEYOND MY OWN POETRY
The poem I cannot write
Is the poem beyond my own poetry -
It is greater than what I am capable of -
It surprises in ways my awkward phrases cannot
It is complex beyond my simple simplicity
It has an infectious beauty
That demands to be recited again and again -
It lingers in the mind and memory
As a strange new beauty beyond anything done by anyone else before.
The poem I cannot write
Has been written will be written
By those greater than myself-
I have the great blessing
Of being able to read them
But I cannot join them
Despite a lifetime of trying.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Everything In Poetry Is Allowed
everything in poetry is allowed
so much sweat had been wasted
so many words alienated from their own meanings
on the issue of which is true poetry
enough of that
let me state once more that everything in poetry is allowed
whatever is it that comes from your mouth
that slips from your lips
becomes a poem by the intensity of your intention
today my mouth gives birth to bees
and i am telling you a poem is a swarm of bees
like a set of hands spreading some prayers
tonight i shall dream of words escaping from my mouth
i see them as snakes singing
oh, i see, i am telling you a poem is a choir of snakes hissing a song
(do you really imagine that? am i not a little bit
weird?)
i never tire giving birth to words, and images, and metaphors
and a poem never gets weary like the insomniac still not wanting to sleep
oh, i see, you too must have words like these
those that never sleep, you see? what a poem can be?
a poem is a set of sleepless words, smoking at night, looking over the window,
naked, like a very beautiful woman, looking for love.
you want things to make connections? hmm, don't be silly, some connections
do not seem to be
takes time, sometimes, takes even death upon one's self, to see the light.
but don't you worry, whatever is it, becomes a poem by the intensity of your
affections.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Caveat
Son, sort of caution, I say
No foul languages in poetry
Good poetry doesn’t need any
In prose, all you need is to facilitate words in good array
And in poetry, consider the rhymes, imagery and emotions all together
That would redefine a poem from a slander
Did you ever wonder?
Hear ye, not in ode, oh dear…
For muses and nymphs,
Citadels and pillars confer.
Thoughts ably recurring,
While the golden ink devours in symbolisms
it conceals our breath in an undated paper.
poem by by unknown author
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Being A Poet
I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.
Or when I’m out walking, or sat on a train,
Words and ideas, all rush round my brain.
Sometimes, ideas just appear in my head,
Or may be a result of something I’ve read.
At fellow passengers, on a train, I take a look;
Some chatter away, while others read a book.
But, me, I’m sat there, quietly composing verse;
With dozens of ideas, my creative mind bursts.
If I compose lines on my way into town,
I repeat them over, until I write them down;
If they are not written down straightaway,
Around my mind, other thoughts then play.
There are many things which inspire me to write,
Such as animals, the seasons, and the sky at night.
If I try to force ideas, they just do not flow;
The poem itself, I find, just will not grow.
I like to write on a layperson’s level;
In too much information, I do not revel.
Having chosen a decent subject or idea,
I then need to get my brain in to gear.
Of a subject, I like to consider all of the aspects,
But I keep my writing simple; not too complex.
To make a poem rhyme, words I may change,
But I only use words that are within my range.
In using unfamiliar words, I can see no point;
A nice poem, tricky words, can really disjoint.
Words, within my head, I keep batting around,
Until the perfect combination, is finally found.
With poetry, I really love the creative process,
But over time, I’ve become slightly obsessed.
Sometimes I find myself talking in rhyme;
That I am a poet, this must be a sure sign.
Of my finished poems, I often feel proud;
One day, I’ll be brave and read them aloud.
Into my swirling head, ideas continue to pop;
I love writing poetry and never want to stop!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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I Have Become A Poem
I HAVE BECOME A POEM
I have become a poem
And all I say and think
Is read in me
As poetry.
All connects to lines of others.
Read through a lifetime of reading poetry,
and all it means,
all the questions and implications,
resounding in me now
at all
The Poet I am not
And never will be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Double Faced Poet
double faced poet
like day and night
light and darkness,
the bad side of
the other good side,
that is not what i
really mean,
it is not about good
and/or evil, it is about
how we do things:
poetry at night
and bread and butter
during the day, something
that makes the terror
of our creativity,
moon and sun
they may not come together
but they must exist
to make the whole
narration of a complete event.
rushing myself to write a poem
and then rethinking things over
a decision between life and/or death
liberty and/or prison, and so on and so forth,
this time, as you read, it is poetry.
as i sign out, it will be another face of me.
it is something that you cannot read.
it is hidden by the clouds
behind the sun and the moon and the stars.
it is something that disgusts me.
it is something that i do most of the time.
apart from this poem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Moderns
To many reading modern poetry more interesting the meaning in the metaphors they seek to find
They feel it makes their brains work that much harder that it is good exercise for the mind
Rhyme for their great brains seems that bit too simple it does not test their thinking power at all
'Tis not a poem to them if it seems simple and the meaning in it easy to recall,
Yes rhyme for them it does seem that bit simple and deciphering it to them is not a test
The hidden meaning in the metaphors is something that does seem to try them best
Rhyme poetry to them is too simple and far too easy for to understand
It has to be blank verse with dozens of metaphors for their interest for to command
They look on rhyme and bush poets as inferior their preference in poets and poetry they make known
On literature they air their opinions like it is said to each their own
Their poetry evenings do seem quite exclusive rhyme poets to read they never do invite
Their unmusical lines that are laced with metaphors to each other they do recite
They do not like rhyme or they do not like bush poetry to them it is of another time
And in their poetry evenings there is no place for the men and the women of rhyme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poetry
Brewing a good poem takes time,
Doesn't matured whiskey taste better
On the rocks or with cordial lime?
Also a love matured is sweeter
Poetry is not about using fancy
words,
Though one might employ one or two
For it leads to many roads:
Emotions, memories-
experiences too
Most mistake poetry for the canvas
But is not, It is the journey,
The clay being mould into a vase,
The process of making the honey
It isn't alone the protagonist,
It's every one behind the scenes,
The chemical reaction not the catalyst
Nor the song but why one sings
Poetry is untying a gordian knot simply,
Its teaching angels how to fly,
Nothing like a show of Mr.Ripley,
Its the tears of joy God would cry.
poem by Isunge Mwangase
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Do Not Read! ! !
Don't read this poem!
Turn back while you have the chance
Or you will regret it
This poem is a poem of darkness
This poem is a devourer of souls
It will destroy you
Consume you
Absorb you into its black depths
I tried to warn you
I told you not to read it
Why are you still reading?
If I had named it 'READ THIS POEM! ! ! '
Would you have even bothered?
This poem is pulling you in
It has your feet
It's eating you
It's shattering your soul
It's never going to let you go
It's murdering you
This poem is a murderer
It is a criminal, it is evil
It is unnameable, unbreakable, imperfect
This poem has you
It's too late for you now
There's no escape for you now
Too bad
This poem has you
This poem's devoured you
Yummm, good
This poem is satisfied now
You should have listened to me
But you didn't
And now the poem's taken you
You're dead.
111
The useless poem
He knows that his poetry
Is a useless endeavor
As you put it,
There is no money for a poet,
Not even fame when he is alive
Or even dead, perhaps for some,
Whose lines are judged for greatness
His poetry is nothing but a way of laundering
His emotions,
Not even read
Nobody really cared
How many nights did he spend to make a poem?
His heart bleeds
For more pain, his stomach acidifies for more
Harmful corrosive liquids rising to his brain
Through all his intestines and veins
And he goes groggy
Nauseous,
Till dawn breaks he makes his lines
Like a fool
He wants to stop and put an end to everything
He is suffering
He knows the end
Cannot refer to this poem
But to his life
He ends it
His poetry may live on some pages
But (again) not even read because nobody
Nobody really cared
Perhaps someday when another useless poet
Comes accidentally along
Surfing
Or
Writes the same useless
Lines like the way he wrote his
By a slim chance
He shall then
Be read for once
Through this poem
Again
And again
Because in fact
There are many of them
More than you will expect
Rereading the useless poems
Still bleeding asking for care and even forgiveness
(The vice of asking for attention
The uselessness of recognition)
Another one reads it this time
It is, I will not mind, You
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Getting to Know You
Poetry pretty much mirrors
Different stages and places
In one’s life
It’s given away… in what you say
In your sense
of peace or strife
Your words describe you…
They strip from your soul
The shrouds and lay bare…
Your true thoughts, your ambitions
Your insights, your inhibitions
You perhaps unknowingly share
It’s a venting perhaps…
A release from the restraints…
Of cold hard reality
In some it’s of hope
In others of complaints
And in others still…of finality
In others it’s a cry for validation
A way of saying “I’m me…
I’m still here! ”
In others It’s a cry of repudiation
Saying “listen to me now,
But don’t come near! ”
When I read a poem
I see the person
Behind the prose
And that I see…
this person properly
Is something I can only suppose
You’re not writing a poem or a rhyme
You’re openly inviting me into your mind
And just why? …only God knows
One develops opinions about you
And biases, both good and bad
Based on what you’ve unknowingly said
In your writings, choice of subject
Turn of phrase, become suspect
And lets one get into your head
Perhaps I should not…perhaps it’s not right
But I know you a bit better
each poem that you write
poem by David Whalen
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On Poetry
1
poetry can be
like a sky filled with wrangling clouds
or as a sky without a wisp
2
in poetry there are no
clichés in thought and phrase;
and what is left there is
the resplendent and the living
3
poetry leaves one
rich inside
and ordinary outside
4
the fool defines poetry
and poetry defies all definitions
5
poetry entertains, inspires;
poetry tickles, distracts, and shapes and frees -
but its true intent, no one knows
6
many lines, and countless lines
many pages, and thick volumes
don’t make poetry
7
if one had no coins
one cannot buy bread;
but not all the world’s wealth
can bring you poetry
8
Oh no!
Not another love poem!
Oh no!
Not another poem about oneself!
9
rhyme, technique and meter
and tricks of prosody
don’t make poetry: passion does
poem by Raj Arumugam
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