Simple Joys
For the simple joys I find, I read poetry
Those poems that reach the very heart of me
And perhaps leave a message, unexpectedly
Bringing memories that linger, quite sweetly.
I have a preference for the understandable
Not the vague ones I find indecipherable
With fancy words or terms indigestible
To read them is a hurdle for which I'm incapable.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Read Today A Hundred Poems
I read today a hundred poems
And cannot find
A single one that moved me -
Perhaps it is not the poems
But my poetic soul
that has no life -
I remember a poem
I read yesterday by Neruda
How beautiful how deep
How filled with passion and longing-
How rich in surprise-
I marvel at the greatness
Of his Poetry of Love-
There is Poetry
One only has to read a true poet
To find it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sometimes I Find Poems
Sometimes I find poems
Like they were jewels in the sand
So excellently written
A blessing to read and understand.
Sometimes I find poems
Composed like it was a work of art
The writer weaving word tapestry
As he writes diligently from his heart.
Sometimes I find poems
Laced with just verbal grime
With random musings or lost words
That to read them is a total waste of time.
So to the writers who value the pen
With all respect, I give you my salute
With the hope you keep writing again and again
And to this site your work you contribute!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Read With Your Heart
My heart is beating with a love, so strong and so true,
my heart is beating with a love just for you,
my heart is singing a song you don't seem to hear,
yes my heart is crying out to you dear,
my heart is waiting here all alone,
it almost finds you, then poof you are gone,
my heart will keep looking all day and all night,
hoping one day it will find you, when things are just right,
don't read poems with your mind, but read with your heart,
there is a message hidden in each little part,
yes there is a message in each little poem,
keep reading them honey, till you are my own.
poem by Harry Bryant
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I Write Poetry
I write not poetry for the poor
for tears from their swelled up eyes
smudge and erase my words,
I write poetry not for the rich
for the splotches from their fat and cheese
hide my lines of wise,
I write poetry for not men to read
for in their skirmishes, poems are trashes
like beans spilled in pond full of slush,
I write poetry for the men not to read
for poems are little words, little music
little cry that the men cant touch or destroy,
poem by Saranyan Bee
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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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0317 Fingertip to fingertip, a human net
i think it's really wonderful
that with all the million poems on this net
people find their way to read what each of us has read
or written.
it's like a shining human net around the world -
fingertip to fingertip in space
all connected by the love of poetry
and the poetry of love.
so instead of moping and chewing our pencils,
feeling pathetic and unread
we can dedicate all our poems to all those real people who - yes! -
actually read them
and say
It's you I wrote them for - and you - and you-
and now I know you're there
I'll write some better ones for you in time,
that what it's all about...
and if I'm silent for a time
working on something that's good enough for you,
remember -
love, love, love
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Poems in her
Poems in her
It has become now a journey
Crusade against no one but a turn key
Almost with single thought in mind
Something new to search and find
You can call it divine injection
Penetrates in mind for lovely action
To transform thoughts into words
And create poems to look forward
Not all objects provide some clue
Some birds and natural objects are over due
Seasons and sadness come to my rescue
I think, rethink and make periodical review
Black color fascinates me so much
Not because of its color but quality as such
Its worth is precious and can't be counted in terms
But it provides enormous joy and returns
Such is my love for poetry
I consider it prayer to almighty
As words pour out to strengthen his prayer
I become mere tool and conveyer
At first sight I get enormous signals
The thought floods mind with its arrival
I look at face and it clearly impresses
I find its real worth to write poems
Can any one not read what goes on in her mind?
I certainly do when come across to find
She is certainly extra ordinary and truly gifted
Almost with same views and never shifted
I would love to dwell at length about character
The color may not play an important factor
Yet it leaves ever lasting impression
I write the poems with true confession
She is an every inch poem with message
If you look at her closed eyes in page
You may sum up with final note
Poems and poets certainly relate
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Fed On Contradiction
If you've only read,
One of my poems...
And found it to be,
Contradictory.
You certainly haven't read,
'My' poems.
Most of them are...
Fed on contradiction.
You should read the ones,
Based on dysfunction.
They are the ones,
That are most normal.
And...
You might not find them,
To your liking at all!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Accidental Insults
Although I write mainly for me.
I choose to share my poetry.
With other poets on the net.
The only thing that I regret.
Sometimes I find I have upset.
Somebody inadvertently.
Albeit unintentionally.
I can only apologise
For bringing teardrops to their eyes.
Though I am taken by surprise.
By what they read into my words.
I often find it quite absurd.
They take offence at what I write.
They see it in a different light.
And choose to take the opposite.
view. Because they fail to understand.
They then dismiss me out of hand.
As they have every right to do.
Because sometimes I've chosen to.
Criticise what they hold true.
I do not mean to cause offence
I offer this in self defence.
The words I write, you filter through
Experiences peculiar to you.
That's why you read them as you do.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Is it you?
Read the poems and meet the words
Like they are strangers
They do not know you
And you do not know them
But then you
Get to know each other
With how you feel
And what they feel for you
They flow into your mind
And float there
Then they sink because
You rock them in your
Blood and thirst and
Loneliness, and you ask
If it is you in the poem?
Did I not tell you the magic
Of my poetry? Or of poetry itself?
I will tell you again
You read them and then feel them,
Then they become you
Because now you see yourself
Inside them
And the poems own you
Because now you own them too.
is it you? yes, it is also us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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289
Read the poems and meet the words
Like they are strangers
They do not know you
And you do not know them
But then you
Get to know each other
With how you feel
And what they feel for you
They flow into your mind
And float there
Then they sink because
You rock them in your
Blood and thirst and
Loneliness, and you ask
If it is you in the poem?
Did I not tell you the magic
Of my poetry? Or of poetry itself?
I will tell you again
You read them and then feel them,
Then they become you
Because now you see yourself
Inside them
And the poems own you
Because now you own them too.
is it you? yes, it is also us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Great Poetry?
How could anyone ever truly
Define great poetry?
Factors are so many that contribute
To the way each person does hear-feel-and see.
The season, the day, the very time,
Along with each readers wisdom-knowledge-and mind.
A line read one day
May deeply stir the spirit
While the very next time read
The reader simply just can't 'get-it'.
Besides, who is to judge,
And who is to decide?
Who always speaks truth,
And who pray tell has never lied?
Let the one who has never struggled with emotion and word
Cast the first critical stone,
Let the pure, perfect poet
Read and write completely all alone;
Enshrined by himself
Upon his own empty throne.
After all, it is supposed to be
A bit (or more) of myth and mystery,
A little difficult to decipher, somewhat vague,
Meant to speak, but not brag.
For Goodness sake, it's poetry.
Not prose, not essay, and certainly not the news.
It's forms are many and free,
It's thoughts different and deep,
It's direction everywhere the heart can see,
It's origin, and destination, ineffable...
But to write, one must try, or die... such is the poems strength.
So, let the creator of words create.
With wild and wonderful words to decipher and debate;
And never let the beauty of it all
In trivial criticism suffocate.
What is great poetry though you still inquire?
I should have told you from the start;
(But, then you would not have listened)
Great poetry is always, and only,
Beautiful words written truly
From, and for, the heart.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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I Am My Poem
When you see me,
you see my poems.
For when i breath, i breath out ballads.
But vers libre express my heart.
Should i write in complicated
and rhythmic words to make
my poems deep and beautiful?
My life is complicated already.
Should i write in simple and
enticing words to make
my poems attractive?
My life is not that simple.
Like stream to the river
down to the sea,
so is my poems from my
soul to my spirit down to my body.
You may disapprove me
but come and take a walk
within my soul and see if
you can live there for a moment.
So when i write, must i
invite you to read.
Read if you want to.
I write because the chamber
of soul finds relieve.
poem by Enebeli Ifyprada
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The Professional Poet
and of course it was wrong
to label him as that – in just that tone of voice;
a touch of envy there, no doubt
implying a comfortable life,
a smart careerist, older poets youthfully
cultivated, poems in the right magazines,
editors gently kept in touch with;
keeping on the right side of his peers,
'interesting' reviews of their poetry skilfully woven,
professional favours quietly exchanged;
academic posts gracefully filled, and
moved on from; leaving grateful ex-students
recommended for the vacancy;
and an acquired ability
to write just enough, but not less;
so it should be rather, a lifelong devotee of poetry,
and when he started to read to us I felt mean
for assuming him to be some artificial thing
a professional poet;
I wanted to inhabit his poetry, the
house of his poetry; but some doors
to rooms were open, some were shut;
would I give the time to find and love the key?
He read his own poems
as if they were step-children –
proud to show them off, and yet, not really his;
the audience, taken aback by this,
hesitated to applaud.
But when he read the poems of others,
he read them as though they were miracles
to stun and to admire, yet he was, we were, barely worthy of;
dropping as fine mercy, as the gentle dew of heaven; he read like
an amateur would read the great, in awe; as -
a lifelong devotee of poetry. He shone.
In each of us, a poet was born and lived.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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Transatlantic
3000 miles across the sea, are you waiting there for me
Im stuck here in this state, so I must communicate
Dont know just where you are, just know that youre too far
Theres only one thing I can do
Chorus:
Gonna send my love to you (transatlantic)
Beam my message through
Gonna find your frequency (transatlantic)
Send it e.s.p.
Thru the static in the air, I will transmit that I care
Do you read me loud and clear, yes thats my heartbeat that you hear
No phone no radio, the telegrams too slow
Im going crazy without you
Gonna send my love to you (transatlantic)
Beam my message through
Gonna find your frequency (transatlantic)
Send it e.s.p.
S.o.s, in distress
Close my eyes for your reply
Do you read me
Will you reach me
Transistor tube and microchip
Wont bring me closer to your lips
Send a kiss out through the night
Like a laser beam of light
No underwater train, no supersonic rain
Is fast enough to get to you
Gonna send my love to you (transatlantic)
Beam my message through
Gonna find your frequency (transatlantic)
Will you
Will you read me
Send my love (transatlantic)
I wanna know
Do you read me...
song performed by by Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Is Poetry?
A language of the heart
Its touch of words immense!
The emotions it imparts
Bears truth, or some pretense.
However read, it connects
With a message there to show.
Of myriad thoughts or objects,
In poetic lines they flow.
I have no vain expertise
I just love Poetry with passion,
And my words may be amiss
But purpose there finds fruition.
Yes, anyone can dance
To the tune of Poetry!
Inspired, find there romance
Or friendship and harmony.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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cn U rd ths? Its nt gd nws...
The National Literacy Trust in Britain
did a survey and
- yes, you guessed -
57% read 'only a bit' or not at all
and 25% of the older ones said
they had no intention to
read any more than this
So what do they read when
they read?
Well, mags,
and websites
and txt msgs of course
and jokes,
and TV books and mags
and e-mails
and eighth on the list comes fiction
that's made-up stories, right?
right
then comix ninth
then newspapers well
they're just for people
who don't have TV and
don't mind waiting 12 hours
to read the news put that tenth
what's that? poetry?
sorry would you spell that
oh poetry nah
girls said, they read
to find out how other people live
and feel and
to help them understand
more about themselves
boys said, they read
because they have to and
because it helps them
get a job so
some old farts might say
put up a sign
civilisation's postponed until further notice
but it may all work out
well it'll have to
poem by Michael Shepherd
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It's For Me
Poetry for me, is just like breathing
I inhale Life and exhale poems
It's for me - I do the writing
No matter, if ever, comments come.
As chosen words come out soothing
Release the pained and burdened heart
I find relief in simply writing
Touching others with what I impart.
But always the joy is within me
The reading by others may truly bless
I'm grateful they read my poetry
But the writing is my true happiness!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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