Early Works - Reader and Listener
A circle of faces
smiles and frowns
ears listening
to the readers words
the rhythm of the voice
as it rise and falls
in mellow tones
a snigger, a laugh
as humour surfaces
over some joke
whom the reader has missed
slowly the story ends
a silence reins
its sad ending
has stunned them all
reader and listener.
24 October 1979
poem by David Harris
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Related quotes
Nada Mas (only the poem)
Reader, your voice is the poem
you are the words; and
nothing more.
Reader, there is no poetry
unless you speak it.
Reader, there is no sound
you must find what it has to say.
Reader, seek the thought
rising from your soul.
Reader, look all about you, up and down
no one else has come this way.
Reader, there is no other poem
only you among the words of the word; and
nothing more.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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We're not keen on the idea of the story sharing its valence with the reader. But the reader's own life ""outside"" the story changes the story.
quote by David Foster Wallace
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A thankyou for a comment
What is a poem without a reader?
What is a reader without a heart?
What is a heart without another heart to meet it,
greet it?
What are two hearts without what they share?
What is sharing without sharing everything?
What is everything without poets?
What is a poet without a reader...
How beautiful a circle is.
How still its centre.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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It is not the purpose of the ad or commercial to make the reader or listener say, 'My what a clever ad.' It is the purpose of advertising to make the reader say, 'I believe I'll buy one when I'm shopping tomorrow'.
quote by Morris Hite
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ballade Of The Average Reader
I try to touch the public taste,
For thus I earn my daily bread.
I try to write what folks will paste
In scrap books after I am dead.
By Public Craving I am led.
(I' sooth, a most despotic leader)
Yet, though I write for Tom and Ned,
I've never seen an average reader.
The Editor is good and chaste,
But says: (Above the public's head;
This is _too_ good; 'twill go to waste.
Write something commonplacer-
Ed.)
Write for the average reader, fed
By pre-digested near-food's feeder,
But though my high ideals have fled,
I've never _seen_ an average reader.
How many lines have been erased!
How many fancies have been shed!
How many failures might be traced
To this-this average-reader dread!
I've seen an average single bed;
I've seen an average garden-weeder;
I've seen an average cotton thread-
I've _never_ seen an average _reader_.
L'ENVOI
Most read of readers, if you've read
The works of any old succeeder,
You know that he, too, must have said:
'I've never seen an Average Reader.'
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Reader or writer
If you are a reader or a writer.
You should be a positive thinker.
You are more like a scientist observer.
Try to be an exact experimenter.
Nothing is too crazy to put on paper.
If you are a reader or a writer.
The reader is a wonderful dreamer.
The writer is a sincere worker.
Its lovely that both can be each other.
If you are a reader or a writer.
You should never say never.
So don't leave behind a book marker.
Make sure you have a word sharpener.
Modern Day Poet
I am the modern day poet you know
that must make words that easily flow.
For to just present words that ramble on
is to yield forth words that soon are gone.
They're gone from the listener and reader too,
who cannot reason or cannot view
how the words just seem to sit on a page
allowed to sit and yellow with age.
Words must be caressed and also thrive
to take on rhythms which come alive,
alive in the memory that through the ear
has taken it in and holds it dear.
And so in each poem I have my say.
And so in each poem my words do sway
back and forth like a front porch swing
giving my poem a magical ring.
I never allow dullness to come into play
for then my poem will be thrown away
into the piles of poems never read
because they're too hard to keep in the head.
So over and over it's become my style
to enchant the reader for a little while,
making them remember the lilting rhyme
that got into my head one word at a time.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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My poems is not Poetry
My Poems are not Poetry
Poetry rhythm is essential part
Communicative act of rhythms
Where words created music
An effect on the reader’s and listener
Words beginning with the same letter
And achieve a poetically effect.
My Poems has no rhythms
For the first time I don’t know
What to say and how to show.
Many words is not my style
Let me say, I like your smile
I don’t think I should like you,
Unfortunately I do.
I'm not sure now how to write
I lost my idea how, where words
Are used in away similar
Creating Music, where you find
Languages of rhymes
I write Prose but not Poetry
Using a regular rhythm
Where vast majority
Of languages spoken and written.
I try to be a barn, the muses were believed and inspire
I try to hard without success,
you already know, I guess.
Anyhow, it doesn’t matter
Usually I do not write
Things like this, I never tried,
for the first time I don’t know
what these lines should say or show.
Allegory, metaphor equated
Meaning lie outside the narrative
Acrostic phase when read together
Alliteration words same letter for poetical effect
Satire is a form of humour
Limerick is a short humorous poem.
And Honestly, I don’t regret
Things I did and words I said.
7. January 2008
poem by Mary Wismer
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Eye to Eye
A poet with an artist’s eye
can conjure words to set the scene.
Then with the words that he’ll supply
his reader feels as though he’s seen.
The same scene which the poet saw
Draws on his own experience
of things that he has seen before
though it makes little difference.
The message that the poet sent
is perhaps not the one received
The reader senses the intent
and finds the poem well conceived.
The picture which the reader gets
is the scene his own mind sets
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I do have to earn a living, so I'm conscious of probable reactions from readers, but the most important one is still the awareness that if I'm not enjoying a story, the reader won't either.
quote by Thomas Perry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Silence Inside
The Silence Inside
It's amazing how easily silence can disperse laughter. As joyful smiles to outrageous videos play deep into the night, the loudest silence nobody ever hears coming let's everyone feel it's presence.
For once, in too long, there is a connection between heartbeats, not through laughter, nor music, but in distorted silence. Distorted silence that followed a telephone ring and a playful joke. The one with the last laugh is the first to lose his voice.
Smiles fade and sweaty palmed statues appear where there once stood living beings. Then, cold, like a shockwave that deadens the cells, and makes light work of the ears as the brain shuts off connection to what seems to be a miscommunication, or a bad translation between mediums. And without those
ears; silence. Doesn't even matter because even with those ears, there's still silence, as your entire world stops spinning for just a moment. one moment, that seems like years.
Then one speaks, in hopes for a false alarm perhaps? But the reply in silence is the loudest alarm you'll never hear. Then you're brain goes dead with nothing but replayed memories; what were you doing? How long ago was that? I can't believe I said that! You know, I never did........ And silence. Then the clock starts ticking, and the crowd disperses, much like laughter, only leaving, in it's wake, an earth still spinning in silence.
poem by Bragg Adocio
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Early Works - Circle Of Uncertainty
The lion roar of passing cars
as people pass beyond to where
no one ever goes
strangers with blank faces
on a treadmill belt
where are we going
the words from a silent scream
echo from the walls of buildings
at someone never seen.
Circle of uncertainty
lies in a shadowy grave
no one seems to care
nor want to save
the life that is lingering
in-between no where.
22 October 1979
poem by David Harris
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No Voice
There are times when we feel
we have no voice
we are suffocated by circumstances.
Our voice is lost in the void;
we wander with eyes open
and no mouth for things to say.
Those around us are oblivious
that our presence is near.
We are invisible
with only our ears to hear.
We have no voice to shout our protests clear,
no voice to vent our anger at what we can hear.
Our voice is silenced by circumstances
some of which we do not understand.
We have no voice today or tomorrow,
and even if we had a voice
would it be heard?
Would our words fall
on vacant and deaf ears?
The question remain unanswered
for around us silence reins.
Silent as our protests
and frustration is all we gain.
One day our gag maybe lifted,
but will it be too late.
There maybe no one around us
and our anger will be lost,
lost in the silence when no one is there.
We can only hope that one day
when the silence clears
our voice among the millions
will finally be heard.
15 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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Thank You Reader Of This Poem
THANK YOU READER OF THIS POEM
Thank you reader of this poem
Among the billions of pages
And innumerable possibilities
For giving your time
You have given
A bit of your light
To these lines.
Thank you reader of this poem
For the kindness of your Attention.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What The Reader Needs Is Words
What the reader needs is words
So Beautiful
And so Surprising
That they bring Joy and Mystery
A sense of Freshness in all things.
What the Reader needs
The Poet should give
But there are Poets who cannot be
The best Poetry is
Still they live and write
As I do.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Laughter
Life is a dull story told by an idiot
Who is the idiot? Macbeth? Shakespeare?
Or the reader himself?
Because where is the text?
Does the reader half create it and
half perceive?
But suppose life were a story
told by an intellectual
Would it make any difference?
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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A Point
Words too many, creates an inflation-like balloon; sphere grown too large
where each word gets lost in the volume of words gone awry, orphaned,
where syllabicity becomes too complicatedly and comprehension
escapes the brain and flees into the night of obscurity and sadly
interest waxes and wanes and only pieces of the meaning
remain, distended and jumbled up and in surrealities
which makes one doubt whether the poem makes
sense of not, or if it is I, the reader lacking
the wit or common sense to see what
the writer meant or if there is a code
to all of this that I, the reader just
does not get, and, perhaps a
second read will clarify all
this and the light will
flood in and then
I, reader, will
and poet
reveal
the
point.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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An Apology To The Reader Who Has Written Me A Message I Have Not Answered
AN APOLOGY TO THE READER WHO HAS WRITTEN A MESSAGE TO ME I HAVE NOT ANSWERED
The real apology is not this poem
It is one by one
Reader by reader
Answering each one
Who has ever written me.
It is reading all the poems of others
I do not want to say
A ‘real no’ or a ‘false yes’ to.
It is opening myself
To perhaps a true friend
To perhaps one whose writing
I see better than my own.
The real apology
Is in opening up to the poems of the many unknown others.
Will I do this
Will I give it the time
When I already am guilty
Of not using my limited time
To correct my past work?
Dear Reader,
I apologize, I do not know.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Great Write...
Every poem is an invitation
for the readers to use their imagination
a vehicle licensed
to carry passengers
who sometimes have a greater imagination
than the poet
even perhaps get more from the poem
than the poet knowingly put in
which you must admit
if with a slight embarrassment
as you read the words of praise
is a divine joke
and from the divine viewpoint
very practical since
every reader is an invitation
for the poets to match their imagination
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Metaphors
Like the unicorn,
they have to need to be;
to hear our need for them to be.
Like time,
they must creep up on the writer,
on the reader,
invisible
yet with inevitability
which cannot be escaped.
Like thieves,
they must enter unannounced,
take what they must.
Like mice,
they must take up residence
until there is no longer sustenance for them.
Like bailiffs,
they must demand entrance;
be admitted;
take their just exchange.
Like housekeepers,
they must earn their keep
by keeping us in all we ask of them.
Like lovers,
they must prove themselves
part of our lives
until our earthly sentence ends the dream.
Like children,
they must know their place;
then be loved just for themselves
beyond life itself.
Like life:
revealing its boundlessness
in a landscape that stretches out, is limitless.
Writer - reader -
care for a metaphor as for one you love:
as you love yourself;
they are our life-blood: for they tell of what
can only be said quietly, with a touch of hand,
to those whose heart is listening.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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