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A Poet’s Life (Fun Poem 13)

A poet’s life is an awkward one,
he sits with pen and paper in hand,
writes down what comes into his head,
prints it up, reads it through,
only to find that someone
can’t understand
a blinkin’ word he’s written.
The most frustrating part
is that he understands it perfectly well,
so now he has to explain and tell
what the whole thing is about.
At times, a poet’s life
just wants to make you scream and shout.
So you take pen in hand again,
hoping what you write this time
they will understand.

(7 May 2007)

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poet To Be

A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.

I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.

I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.

I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.

But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.

I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.

I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.

I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.

A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.

I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.

I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.

It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.

A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.

But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.

How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.

As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.

poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Letter To A Young Poet Revised

Letter to a young Poet

Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent pass time it doesn’t
change anything, no one reads it, other than cranky people. Should
a poet writes something nationalistic that resonance with, a nation’s
pride, like: “my country is the best in the world.” He will get a medal.

So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the common man a poet is regarded as a figure of
fun who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make
sense of a world he doesn’t understand. As my father said, when my first
poem was published: “How much did they pay you? ” If my words have
not scared you off, you’re a poet. The only tool you’ll need is honesty.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet Is A Poet/Wherever He Goes

A POET IS A POET/ WHEREVER HE GOES

A poet is a poet
Wherever he goes
He can stop and sit on a bench anywhere
And write a poem
The poems come from without often
But what is within is the poetry-

Like a dream like a fire like a small light
That never goes out
A poet sits anywhere and writes his dream-

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet?

Am I a poet?
What is a poet?

To bear your soul on paper
hoping someone will understand

enough - but not too much.

poem by Meli Secret
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The life of a Poet

The poet listens
the poet hears
he writes down
all his fears.
He observes things
that others don't
going to places
that others won't.
Inspired by simple things
like a sound or smell
the poet has lots
of stories to tell.
Even when asleep
his mind isn't at rest
in fact this is the time
it's at it's creative best.
The poet can be a restless soul
his life reflected on the page
some verse can be sweet and mild
then full of anger and rage.
The poet can be mysterious
and write in a strange way
he will say Black is White
and that night is day.
The poet is an artist
but instead of paint it's the word
painters want their work to be seen
but poets just need to be heard.

poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Love Letter

She wonders how to begin her letter
She knows he will read each word
Greedily for any hint of love. She knows
He will sniff the paper for any scent of her

She leans an elbow on her writing desk
And clutches her pen tight. She has got
As far as, Dear John, but then the words
Stopped coming. Before she had sat down
To write, the words flowed through her
Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing

She sucks the end of the pen. Say what
You would if you were face to face, her
Mother always said. She tries to imagine
He is there before her and what she would
Say if he was, but still no words will come

He writes to her so fluently when he writes
He always seems to know what to write
And how to put it into words. She tries again
Puts the pen nib onto the paper, gripping
The pen tighter. She reads what she’s written

Dear John. The pen moves, the words begin
To flow, her hand moves across the page
The images come into her mind as she writes
The things that they said last time they met
The things they did, she blushes slightly
That almost being caught out by the maid
In a state of undress. She pauses the pen
And sits gazing at the painting on the wall.

She looks back at the paper and starts again
The words tripping over themselves to be put
Down in ink upon a page; the images open up
In her mind, the colours, the smells, the events

The pen now stops. The love letter is written
The writing done. She looks at the words
Then she seals it in an envelope and writes
His address. She pictures him reading it: in bed
In his room, sleepy, in a state of his usual undress

poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Master Shakespeare

Quill in hand I see him so
A vision of him I there see
Word by word he writes on
No other can replace he
Master Shakespeare
A poet of Devine perfection
He writes and writes along
What an excellent inspiration
His words will continue on
Master Shakespeare
Magic in your very hand
No other takes your place
You I admire with my life
So full of love and grace
Master Shakespeare

poem by Suelynn Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am A Poet

Iam a poet
ı was born a poet
ı feel that frommy childhood
why the storks
chatter on the chimneys
and nest there
their young beak black
their eggs catch cold in winter
ı am a poet
but sometimes ı am misunderstood
that upsets me
very
sometimes people scold me
why the hell you look at me
strangely
they say
do ı resemble someone
do you recognise me
ı am just a poet
ı cannot say
ı s ı t my fault
to be born poet
ı wanna write a poem about you
so ı look and try to understand
your attitude
why does this bother you
ı was born so
ı watch a little child
leaving her mother
throwing herself to the water shower
in the pool in spring
then ı ask the child to return to mother
cause she is looking eagerly looking AFTER
does not like a stranger
she does not know what a poet is too
and lives plain and direct
ı am a poet
ı wish
ı were not born so
ı long for a humble and simple life
living may be in poverty
cause understands me nobody
even the closest around me

poem by Metin Sahin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You are the poet

Poet is a journalist
Watches the feelings
Watches the emotions
Watches the world
Watches the light and
Watches the dark
He thinks everywhere
Others can’t imagine

-o-

Chasing the thoughts
Searching the words
Forming the sentences
To give the expression
To put the life in it

-o-

Poet is like a cook
Collecting good ingredients
Cooking the feelings to
Present in better way

-o-

Poet is like a soldier
Fighting in the war and
Fighting with the self
Feeling the pain and
Bleeding the emotions
Making room for self
To express the story
To save the people

-o-

Poet is like mother
Cooking the soft food
Feeding smoothly
Treating the readers like his own kids
Reader’s happiness is poet’s happiness
If you can’t praise, no problem
But don’t forget to acknowledge
-o-

Poet is the center of universe
Editors, Music directors,
Composers, singers, musicians,
Media everybody is rotating around

-o-

Poet writes to quench intellectuals
Poet writes to entertain good listeners
Poet writes to move hearts
Poet writes for a cause
Poet write for entertainment
Poets write to express themselves
Poets write to share their feelings

-o-

When time is running
Poem is the history
In present it reflects the story
Poem gives the hope in future

-o-

Poet is the planter
Plants seeds into your hearts
Make sure that it sprouts
Brings the thoughts into actions

-o-

Poet is the director behind your actions
Poet is the motivator behind your feelings
Poet is the coach who puts you on track
Poet is person whom your heart likes

-o-

Poet is the soldier when he uses poem as bullet
Poet is the coach when his poem moves your heart
Poet is the love, when he gives poem as flower
Poet is the parent, when he consoles you in your troubles
Poet is the healer who heals souls
Poet enters different roles
To justify the poem and to justify the people

-o-

Poem is the form of literature
We can find in holy books
Poem is the feelings
Poem touches the hearts

-o-

Sun can be seen in day
Moon can be seen in night
But poem is there day and night
Poem is powerful than nature
Poem don’t have life and death
Just it flows from heart to heart
Poet is the instrument
In the hands of the poem

-o-

If you drink a cup of alcohol
It may stay there just for hours
If you read a good poem
Nobody knows how long it gives the kick

-o-

When you have time, read a good poem
When you have time, write some poetry
When you have time, share a poem

-o-

You will be the poet, when you read a poem
You will be the poet, when you put on paper

You can be the poet to change your self
You can be the poet to change the world

You must be a poet, to enjoy this life
Waiting for you, to listen to your poem

-o-

poem by Bhavani Polimetla
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I Am Just a Poet

I am just a poet.
A philosopher of sorts.
One who cohorts with others...
With common ideals as if at sport.

I am just a poet.
Observing those in an environment.
Trying to make sense of activities done.
And why some are done without consciousness.

I am just a poet.
Blessed to have what I do as a gift!
And living each moment to understand more of life.
As I share this point of view through the poems I write.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Waw Waw Waw

Well certain thing you dont act man
And you cant take it back
You understand me a say,
But certain things you have to look on an other thing,
Hm..... , me cant understand what I say
Me nah understand what we a say,
Me not understand what we are chat about,
Well this is what we chat about
.....what me a talk bout....
Baby girl, waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
You can hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
You can hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
She caught me red handed and feel offended
Gal a pose up in a me car (Im sorry)
Me and suel book room in a hotel and she catch
Me when me hand in a deh jar (Im sorry)
No she cant take this, catch me with at the office
And drink from one glass inna varn
She said me character dirty, when she hold me
With shirley, and she still a never warn (oh dear)
She vex when she see me inna the bed with yvette
And susan a pose up like style (what a thing)
Peachess, princess, put on her dress,
And she decide we have to stay far, anyway
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
You can hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Can you hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
This a me sincere apology, straight from me heart
And off me pickney (yes baby)
It going out to my number one lady,
Like don sliver far line, water run daily
Sorry, I do it, cant buy soldier lorry, cant sleep at night,
Never do it for sight, I am sorry, hush, but the car by rush,
Your little teeny weeny have me never need to crush.
Waw waw waw, waw waw waw waw
Waw waw waw, waw waw waw waw
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Can you hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Like a police sirene come fast stichie cry
Waw waw waw want you back inna me life
Can you hear me a shout it out ten thousend times
Find me guilty, punish me for the crime (true)
But you have me a serve over time
Woman why do you have to treat me so cruel,
Full time, you put me on parole (true)
Its like you put me on the condemn block (true),
Over alcatraz pon the rock (true)
And a me try everyday, stichie saying, oh sorry,
This me have to cry

song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cap In Hand

I could tell the meaning of a word like serene
I got some o grades when I was sixteen
I can tell the difference between magarine and butter
I can say saskatchewan without starting to stutter
But I cant understand why we let someone else rule our land
Were cap in hand
I could get a broken jaw from being in a fight
I know its evening when day turns to night
I can understand why stranraer lie so lowly
They could save a lot of points by signing hibs goalie
But I cant understand why we let someone else rule our land
Were cap in hand
We fight - when they ask us
We boast - then we cower
We beg
For a piece of
Whats already ours
Once I thought I could make God a bribe
So I said I was in his lost tribe
Getting handouts can be so frustrating
Get in line son, theres five million waiting
I cant understand why you let someone else rule your land
Youre cap in hand.

song performed by by Proclaimers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0005 Letter to a Younger Poet

Thanks for your letter. Though
you’ve caught me at a rather awkward time –
I’m going into surgery tomorrow – a rather
risky op; so I’ll try to put all the answers that I’ve got
into this one letter;
I hope you'll understand...

and that helps me to make my first point to you:
write as if you, too, may not live
beyond tomorrow – write as if
it’s the last thing that you’ll ever write –
give it everything you’ve got,
hold nothing back;

or better still – write as if
the world will end for everyone tomorrow:
write so that in their last hours, too, this
will make them feel, will make them know
we’ve faced life fully, faced it so complete
that death is relatively unimportant now…

write as if it were only yesterday
that, in an air crash, all your family –
parents, wife or husband, partner, children, and best friend,
had lost their lives; write as if,
were you not to write,
your heart would break forever, or you would go mad...

write as if you’re writing somewhere
where there’s no such thing around, as ink;
you’ll have to use your own blood in the pen,
so use it carefully; so red, so living,
look at it… so beautiful, so precious,
and so solemn – use it carefully, don’t spill a drop…

write as if you’re borrowing every word
from the very centre of the universe, where suns and gods are made;
and need thus to account for every word
with your whole life, no less; know that every word
must be given back, cleaner, stronger, brighter
with your own power, than when you borrowed it;

write as if every poet that ever lived
is leaning over your shoulder, so that you
can feel their breath upon your neck as they say
‘Tell them all that we would tell,
but cannot now; tell them all of this’…
this, now, is how you must deeply be and speak;

write as if you are the only being on earth
who can tell them this; as if tomorrow, if tomorrow comes,
you shall visit them every one, at home,
and look them in the eye; write as if
you love them more than they will ever know;
write as if you were offering to live their lives with them;

write as if you were a force of nature in yourself:
as if whatever earthquake, hurricane or flood might do,
whatever law or love may greatly do,
whatever gods or men can speak, in fullest force,
this you may do, because the sound of poetry is such;
yes, write ‘as if’ – but know you really write ‘because’…

write as if – no, write because –
you know that only poetry can tell
all, that must be told, and must be known;
and as all hearts melt in the heat of your own love,
be in no doubt – and see that all are in no doubt too –
that life was never, never more serious,
never more glorious, than it is right now;

write all this.

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Letter To A Young Poet

Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent’ it never starts a war
nor finished it. Should a poet write something that resonance with,
the sentiment of a nation, you can be sure it will be used by politicians
and interpreted for their dubious plans.

So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the people a poet is regarded as a figure of fun
who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make sense
of a world they don’t understand. As my father said when I published
my first poem: “How much did they pay you? ” So if my words have not
scared you off you’re a poet. All you need is intellectual honesty.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Message Here For All You Poets

The love poet writes of lovely things like true love and flowers in bloom
And the roses in the poet's garden scent of a sweet perfume
And the gentle hearted applaud him saying what a marvellous poet
He surely is a child of God and one worthy of note.

The love poet writes of love of God and the God fearing say
He's a fine poet one of the best love and respect to God he pay
He hear no evil speak no evil only write of God and love
And there's a place reserved for him in God's Kingdom up above.

The social issues poet writes of the poor and few his verses read
They say he writes such morbid stuff sob stories we do not need
He keeps highlighting the downtrodden and those in poverty
He ought to put more trust in God and in Humanity.

A message here for all you poets don't write of the downtrod
But write of affairs of your heart and write of your love of God
And some will say how great you are and your praises they will sing
And they will pay respect to you and call you their Poetic Queen or King.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Lunch With a Poet

I had lunch with a poet, just the other day.
A poet who has written fine and lofty verse,
Conveying his experiences, emotions and his ideas, in
Vivid, imaginative ways, condensed in simple language,
Choosing words for sound and power,
Rather than impressing readers with poetic adulterations.

Almost apologetically, he said he uses 'nickel words'
To write his inner thoughts. It was as if he were at fault,
As though he thought those simple sounds
Had lessened the intent of his poetic worth.

I emphasized how wrong he was, and tried
To make clear, a poet writes in sympathy with his reader,
Overleaping the barriers of understanding by the simplicity
Of his language, and of his words.

To write with words of misty meaning does not make
A mystic.
To write with vulgar words does not lift up the poem
On wings of song, it only floats as high as the poet's
Commonality who, mistaking flatulence for inspiration, becomes
Enmeshed in a literary byproduct of the foulest of excretion and Smells.

My friend failed to intellectually understand,
But spiritually Accepts, as his writings reveal,

That clarity of thought and mind is the poet's
Highest point of the poet's integrity.

poem by Lynn W. Petty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Understan me please

Please understand me.
You are one of the closest people to me in a way.
But for some reason you don't understand me.
It's almost as if you don't want to understand.
I'm just a target to shout at.
Just an idiot you don't really want to understand.
But I am your blood.

Why can't you at least try to understand?
It's not as if I enjoy attempting suicide all the time.
I don't care what you say it's not always my fualt.
The diagnosis I was given, you won't even take in to account.
I try to explain but you don't listen.
All you say is you know what you are doing.
Stop it you say, yeah becuase it's really that easy not.

I'm not getting any enjoyment out of this you know?
But I wish you wouldn't shout and curse.
You say you love me.
But how can you when you won't try to understand?
Please, please understand me

poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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A Poem To A Poets!

the poet see crooked
and talk weird too
like a drunk
perdition in his insane!

No one can understand a Poet
Just you and me, like poet we are

The poet say 'Dr. Jivago'?
It means like a movie? No
it means my love for you! ! !

Or he asks yourself, Am I Evil?
No, he does not evil
I am in silence, affirm the poet! ! !
In silence never he will be

BONG, kick the can! ! !
WAR
AAA
RAW
in silence he is!

Trapped in a tower
a terrible place
just for one second to rest
like almost all of us

He said' I gone'
but gone like no one
gone with strenght
strange and revolutionary Poet!

No one can understand a Poet
Just you and me, like poet we are! ! !

poem by Mirna Morgan
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The Poet Who No Longer Believes In Himself

THE POET WHO NO LONGER BELIEVES IN HIMSELF

The poet who no longer believes in himself
And writes on anyway-
The poet who is too weak to stop writing-
The poet who has died as a poet,
Before he has as a person-
The poet who may never have lived as a poet-
The old old old schnook,
Still trying to write a poem
And believing he has done it once again.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Follow Me

(denver)
Its by far the hardest thing Ive ever done
To be so in love with you and so alone
Follow me where I go
What I do and who I know
Make it part of you to be a part of me
Follow me up and down
All the way and all around
Take my hand and say youll follow me
Its long been on my mind
You know its been a long long time
Ive tried to find a way that I could make you understand
The way I feel about you
And just how much I need you
To be there when I can talk to you
When theres no one else around
Follow me where I go
What I do and who I know
Make it part of you to be a part of me
Follow me up and down
All the way and all around
Take my hand and say youll follow me
You see, Id like to share my life with you
And show you things Ive seen
Places that Im going to
And places where Ive been
To have you there beside me, well never be alone
And all the time that youre with me
Then we will be at home
Follow me where I go
What I do and who I know
Make it part of you to be a part of me
Follow me up and down
All the way and all around
Take my hand and say youll follow me

song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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