Words
Words have the power to heal.
Words have the power to destroy.
A Wise writer uses them carefully
As sometimes they flow
As if they know in themselves what it written on your soul
Yet at times they must be calculated
Never cold but well thought and warm with a love of warm vibration.
If you find the subject of your desire,
If you seek and find what it is that you truly wish to write of
Then your heart will release the blueprints,
Flow will those words like the grandest cascade
Of nature’s showcase wonderment
Leaving you lakes of beauty to wade through
As you forget the shade
Baked beneath Apollo’s kiss
Ah, Bliss!
poem by David Lacey
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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A Thought Upon the Power of Words
Words have the power to please the soul of awareness
Words have the power of ecstasy; they have the power to heal or to scorn
Words have the power to rebuild worlds that have been torn apart by words.
Words have the power to invoke, to choke and to joke,
They have the power to bring you to your knees just as they have the power to plea.
Words have the power to incite trance like states, they have the power of fate,
They conceal meanings deeper than he greatest oceans and are a method
By which we express the emotions we feel, just as we may use them to question
What we consider to be real. You can incite love, hatred, fear,
You can bring a tear to the most stone cold of king giants and you may
Describe the sorrows of the world yet through words we may also share our dreams,
We may ponder upon the events of tomorrow and we may laugh with one another.
We may love and express love through our words though at times we go unheard,
We may share in our experience as we may laugh alongside memories ghost.
Words are the host to our instinctive knowing of all we wish to express,
Words are the dressing of our wisdoms blessing, with words we may put the soul to rest.
poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Will The Words Come Back?
Words slip off our pen
like warm butter off a knife.
They fall in unison across the page
with everything we write.
Then one day the words don’t flow
in unison like they used to before.
They have no rhythm within them
and just become no more than words.
We look at what we’ve written
and there is no bounce in them.
The words become no more than words
once written by a creative hand.
There is no meaning in what they say
they have no heart anymore.
They are just words written on a page
with no rhyme or reason for them being there.
Some call it a writer’s block;
others call it stagnation of the mind.
The creative juices fall away to nothing,
no spark to be kindled,
no emotions to be released,
no protests to be made,
no stories to be assembled
like a jigsaw in your mind.
Just an empty pen with words
that don’t make sense anymore.
Struggles without feeling,
ideas leading nowhere
on a spiralling downward turn.
You are no longer a writer,
your creativity is gone
and the only question you have,
will the words come came back?
13 July 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Volcano Of Passion
As the passion builds inside, my heart beats faster
My mouth goes dry
My hands become clammy
My eyes widen in anticipation
Out comes a flow of words, a flow of meanings
A flow of thought and feelings
I can feel it growing inside me, waiting to burst out
I really just want to shout as the words flow out onto the page
Without any rage, just a desire, a passion
For my words to have their own stage
The volcano has erupted, the words flow
Yet when the dust settles, nobody but me knows whats happened
It's my very own volcano of passion
poem by Craig Piercy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heart Of Poetry
The mystery of words wisdom of the heart to each
angelic form, the voice of emotion in verse.
The melody of heart speak in words that feels the
emotion to express the deepness of feeling in the mind.
Thoughts of words flow to the emotion to make meaning,
to the essence that moves, sensitivity inside emotion
through the words.
Intellect of mind with the knowledge of experience power of
wisdom transcend to composition to unlock the perfect will of
words justify hidden truth.
The magnificent power compose words gives roots
blossom to the garden of heart and bring fruits to the heart of men.
Love kind words are power to win oneself to transform the
beauty of inside emotion to one particular individual.
The poetry, words of wisdom comes from inner motives of
good heart that gives us privilege to express the hidden
beauty of thoughts inside mind to put it in words.
The power to dominate inside individual for beauty and
wonder purpose of life.
Copyright (c) Jocelyn Dunbar
13th of May 2006
7: 50 A.M.
poem by Jocelyn Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Fear Through Words
It is through fear I write this
Through fear I dare not speak these words
Or name the muse of who I pen them to
I hold a gentle and honest love to my heart
Such a love as yet untried and unknown
What good are my words when I cannot speak them
To my muse so beautiful so sweet, so divine
I fear I may lose them so completely
That I stay silent, bide my words so well
And watch with abject despair
My muse, object of my whole desire
Grow more distant with each passing day
And I fear I may lose all together
By speaking these words, these cursed words
I asked myself once, what I search for
Is it what I want or what I need in life
And there I saw my muse, a world of beauty
More than I could imagine or ask for
A gentle heart and loving nature
Those warm soothing eyes I look to
Do not see me as I would wish
I fear if they were to, see my innermost soul
My passion and my love for them
They would turn away and be lost completely
Which is why I write with fear
These words I dare not speak
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Words of Fire
Words of Fire,
Words of Power,
With the force of a steam train,
With the speed of a bullet,
You hit me.
You knocked me off my high horse,
Upon the ground I lay,
Unable to move,
Such is the power of your word,
You hit me.
When first I read your word,
Words of Fire,
Words of Power,
The threat of culpable damnation,
The gift of undeserved salvation.
You are the living Word,
The only word,
Who was,
Who is,
Who is to come.
Words of Fire,
Words of Power,
Words of Eternity,
Words of Fire,
That burn within my heart.
From my youth,
My hair now grey,
Those words of Fire,
Those words of Power,
My life maintained.
poem by Steven Reeve
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unveiling lines without a rose
The white moon gleams in the wood
From every bough there comes a voice
Beneath the bower with a meaning of one choice
The pond reflects a shimmering mirror of a hood
As dawn breaks the silhouette of thoughts
Projected by the dim willow shade
Where winds lament what dreams us taught
We crave these dreams to last and not to be dread
Yet I aught to content with the thought….
If a woman ever loved
In faithful truth
As you by me
If a love faith ever found
So true in faith
As mine in you
To draw the strength
To seek the faith
That comes of self control
The truths that never can be proved
Until we close with all we loved
And in harmony we flow and lull soul to soul
Our livings will that shall endure
When all that seems shall suffer shock
We shall rise in the spiritual rock
Out of which the holy water of cure
Shall flow among our deeds and make them pure
Now I hold these lines in sin
To put in words the love’s anguish that I feel
For words like nature, half reveal
And half conceal the soul within
Oh, horrid heart how fares it with you now
That you have leaded me to failure by my own desire
And not once to stall, to repent at all or inquire
What makes me fall so low
copy rights 2010
But is it
Right down within the depths of me
there lies a vein of poetry
Wherein I find when I have leisure
words which are my greatest treasure.
Words with which I can fashion verse
some silken smooth and some perverse
Each one is chosen carefully
then put together artfully.
I find them raw and unrefined
then with the power of my mind.
I create intricate designs
of words that some idea defines.
A poet is an artisan
who follows carefully a plan
that’s handed down from days of yore.
Which many men have used before.
To create formal poetry
to demonstrate their artistry.
Perchance I sometimes get it right
in verses which I choose to write.
I can imagine nothing worse
for those of us who write in verse
Than poetry which does not scan
and lacks all structure, has no plan.
Just words which incoherently
are juxtaposed haphazardly
. Which critics now suppose to be
the future form of poetry.
22-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Brephos
Although it is easy for one to think, it is not always easy for one to write
Not all thoughts can be expressed into words, nor should they. Rousseau said in his solitary walks or was it his confessions? That his most beautiful thoughts died in him as quick as he thought them and how he at the time wished he had a pen in hand to write them all down. Those thoughts are dead, but perhaps those same thoughts are born in others written down somewhere in all of infinite time. Some thoughts like some lives are not meant to be born. The seed of this thought, watered by my serene tears, germinates in my soul as I write this letter. Still I can't find the words to express its beauty, its paradox, its mystery. The seed germinates but no plant is born, no flower blooms. For every child that isn't born, for every thought trapped in the moral order nature's thought; the ineffable, the unborn, the unknown, I hope one day you find expression and tell the world what you are and what beauty really is—To eloquence that never speaks, to thought that never thinks, to life that never lives, in my heart you speak, think and live.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Help Me Find A Way To Your Heart
Another day and Im spending
Time alone
I called you place and there was
No one home
Ive been laying low but im
Thinking of you
Out there by yourself trying to find
Something new
Girl I thought what we had was so
Good that Id never hear you say no
And for all that is worth, I cant
Think about ever letting go
But Im lost for the words that i
Need to get over the way I feel
I cant do it by myself
Girl I really need you her
Help me find a way to our heart
Help me find my way, I cant see
In the dark
Tell me if Ive drifted too far
Am I warm? am I cold?
Tell me now, let me know
Baby where we are
Ive asked myself a thousand times
Or more
Girl, if we dont communicate then
What is loving for?
cos I thought what we had was
So good that Id never hear you
Say why
I cant do it by myself
Girl weve really got to try
Help me find a way to our heart
Help me find my way, I cant see
In the dark
Tell me if Ive drifted too far
Am I warm? am I cold?
Tell me now, let me know
Baby where we are
Too much time too much confusion
Love wont let me be
Take a little time and show you care
For me
Baby tell me what to say
cos I cant live my life this way
Show me where your feelings start
Show me sweet baby the way
To your heart
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Is Said
How could I ever tell you how important what you say
can be
that the words of any man in a day
can affect a life, millions, or even me
our words have so much power
so do not cower
and do not shy away
do not hold back what you want to say
because your words affect a lifetime
speak your mind
all shall be fine
do not fear rejection for the reward is sublime
to save life or cause a turn
to help the world, or save one destined to burn
but forget not that words destroy and create
break down and perpetuate
the power of words and their force of love
the power of words and their capacity for sadistic destruction
forget not that you hold inside this death and life
the power to create argument and strife
or peace and tranquility
remember, remember dear child that each word can kill
each word can fill
with love and joy
or malice and contempt
so don't attempt
to downplay their importance
and play the fool
because its those words that are a part of you
its those words that yours my child
now use them wisely, say what must be said
for with all my years of experience i have learned that what's most important
sometimes...
is simply
What's said
poem by David Knox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wrote A Poem I Could Not Write
I wrote a poem I could not write-
And then when I tried to write it again
Could not write it again -
Poems written and not written
Words and more words
What do they mean?
Paradoxes and games with words
What do they mean?
If there is Beauty in the language
It is one thing
But words just to hear themselves think,
Why should they mean ‘Remembrance'?
Oh Words oh Questions oh Darkness oh Life-
Let me write myself to the grave
Believing at least
That poems too even when they can be written
Have their small unhidden meanings.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words
Words on this paper
Words in my head
Words while I'm texting
Computing
Unsaid
Words between people
Words on the phone
Words upon words
Even when I'm alone
Words from the Bible
I question
Don't mesh
Words from pornography
Making them flesh
Words with flat letters
Written in black
Good words and bad words
You cannot take back
Words that are shallow
Words that are deep
When they're too many
They put me to sleep
Words that I'm writing
And rhyming you read
Whatever I'm saying
There's prolly no need
Words from the alphabet
Words that can't be
When you are blind
And it's Braile that you see
Words that are worthless
And said on the fly
My words or your words
Are most likely lies
Words in a sentence
Wise words or fair
The only words earnest
Are those said in prayer
Written by Sara Fielder © 2011
poem by Sara Fielder
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Opportune Moment
Never ask me why I became a writer
because I couldn’t tell you why.
I just pick up a pen
and the words just flow again
off the top of my head.
I never planned to become a writer,
it just happened.
One day I picked up a pen
to doodle a bit
and the words came streaming out.
Now after over forty years
the words keep coming out.
I have no problem with that,
though there is times I wish
they’d pick a more opportune moment
when they are about to arrive.
2 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The mystic rose
In ancient times
a warrior prince travelled to the East
to find the wisest man on earth.
Stars guided him
over uncharted terrain
to the court of Enoch
who counselled with the Almighty God.
Great and knowledgeable king,
point me the way
to find the most beautiful flower of all,
it’s called the mystic rose,
and like crystal its leaves glitters
in colours of blue, violet and ruby red
and its odour is more divine
than that of any other bloom.
Why do you need this spectre flower
the great wise king asked?
To win the heart of the girl that I desire
the prince proclaimed.
Where will I find the mystic rose?
The rich prince asked again
while his servants
brought great gifts to the wise king.
Enoch looked the prince in the eye
and said:
Somewhere in the depths
of your inner soul
lies the flower that you seek.
Without words the prince
studied the wise king
and thought about his words
without really comprehending.
The words were perplexing to the prince.
What is the mystic rose,
the prince asked at last
Its unconditional, self-sacrificing
and called perfect love
the wisest man said to him.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tonight all windows are opened wide
Tonight all windows are opened wide
Tonight all hearts blasted in pain converge to heal
Tonight all gentle soft words pay to mend and to appeal
Between us they flow said undisturbed by vain pride
Time has traveled us so far
Broken heart shall we let it journey us forth more
To the end of our painful path; till the last dropp of love’s soar
Where finally we may find the virtue between us, the goodness of our stars
Someone is weeping on a pillow dry
Someone is gasping at the door knob asking why
Let all soft gentle words flow between two of us
And heal and cure all pains to the very last.
Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved
The nature of her beauty
The nature of her beauty
~
her pale soft skin
pure like untouched fields of snow
her lips red like the roses petal
feather like in their kiss
those eyes warm like the earth
feed my soul with a richness of passion
the depth of which is limitless
bury my heart into hers
let me lay amongst her nature
let me rejoice her beauty
let her words sing to me
the essence of her soul
place my hands in hers firmly
that I may feel their warmth
holding eternally
there is a beauty undying
embedded into my heart
and its all in her nature
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Ready Leraner
Give ear to me if you have knowledge,
And hear my words oh wise men;
For my tongue is the pen of the ready writer.
Kiss me and be very warm with my love!
For the peace in your mind is like the joy of my muse;
But, a gift blinds the wise.
My mind is like the knowledge of a ready learner,
For the wise man's eyes are in his head;
And the beauty of an old man is his gray hair,
And like a sweet savour and a noted mind!
But the imagination of a man's heart is very evil from his youth,
And, i am crying out loud now without the moon.
Bread for the hungry and love for the lonely,
Pleasant words are as the honeycomb;
But, i went mourning without the sun.
Along the path of love and along the paths of peace,
But tired and weary in the month of Nisan;
So, tell the opposable thumbs who rules that,
Today, a legend is born in the midst of the people.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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