Everybody's A Critic
Oh, to pontificate
on parakeets and poetry
Of birds and words
Of posting and tweets
Of prose and bird beaks
Desk chairs and perches
Of cuttlebone and corn pone
Comments and peeps
Perusal of newspapers
In search of inspiration
Silly words, unruly rythme
seeds plucked from my lips
replacing newspaper
in bottom of cages
Little swings, tiny bells
Head bobs and nips
Beady little bird eyes
Watch, shine and glitter
My green and blue critics
My inspiration wreckers
Reading what I write…
They give in to titter
My boon companions
With little pointy peckers
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
In Search Of Inspiration
searching the world for inspiration
searching books, music and nature too
a lot of effort gone into it, a lot of concentration
inspiration i think is hard to find
in the songs of birds, in the whistle of the wind
i search for inspiration, even a tiny little bit
when a baby laughed or when a woman grinned
i searched folr inspiration, guess it's harder to find
in the words of shelly, keats and shakespeare too
inspiration i searched and searched, no use
in 'gone with the wind'and 'the sound of music'
movies i searched for a bit of inspiration
'
without inspiration, what do i write
i wanna fill the pages with the poem that's right
i need to write a poem, i need inspiration
i wanna write a poem. wait a minute! ! , i just did! ! !
note: i never write poems for the sake of writing.......it comes from the heart......in reality...i dont need to search for inspiration much.....it comes when it needs to... :)
Copyright © 2009 by Sneha Murali
poem by Sneha Murali
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Once Again I Write...
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
I write to save my sanity.
I write to ease my heart.
I write to cleanse my soul.
I write to feel alive.
I write to keep my mind strong and my thoughts clear.
I write my words of sorrow, despair, pain, and love, as well as words of wisdom.
I write so that one day someone will truly know me.
This paper, this pen is once again my inspiration.
It is the inspiration to what I see.
It is the inspiration to what I hear.
It is the inspiration to what I feel.
It is the inspiration to the art I create.
It is the inspiration to what I draw.
It is the inspiration to the love for my daughter.
It is the inspiration to the love for my husband.
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
Once again I write to say thank you my timeless friends.
Thank you for saving me time and time again.
poem by Sara Jo Andrews
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Her love is my inspiration
Her love is my inspiration
Love is the inspiration for my heart to sing a tune,
love is the inspiration for my ear to hear,
love is the inspiration for my soul to warm,
love is the inspiration for my mouth to smile,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to glisten.
Love is the inspiration to draw my soul near another
love is the inspiration for my mouth to utter sweet words,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to gaze upon her,
love is the inspiration for my heart to speak out.
Love is the inspiration for need, love is the inspiration for my mouth to touch hers,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to close,
love is the inspiration for my heart to race,
love is the inspiration for my tears to burn.
Love is the inspiration for longing,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to see only her,
love is the inspiration for my heart to cry out,
love is the inspiration for my ear to hear her whispers,
love is the inspiration for my soul to join hers forever.
Love is the inspiration for forever,
love is the inspiration for my heart to be whole,
love is the inspiration for my ear to always hear those words,
love is the inspiration for my soul to have hers,
love is the inpiration for my mouth to speak the truth.
Love is the inspiration for my soul to seek life
love is the inspirationfor my ear to hear her words,
love is the inspiration for my soul to reach for her,
love is the inspiration for my mouth to speak her truths,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to always look upon her first,
For she is the inspiration for my Love.
Nathaniel Cole Buddington
poem by Nathan Buddington
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Inspiration..
Inspiration comes and goes.
I write it down or I’ll forget while searching for a pen.
Inspiration comes and goes.
I get is from dreams or experiences.
Inspiration comes and goes.
But tell me, what inspires you.
I’m inspired by beauty, love and lust.
Giving me words and thought I dare to trust.
It’s inspiration that separates me from the rest.
‘Cause when inspiration comes words fall into place.
And things are beginning to make sense.
Sometimes I’m inspired by sorrow.
When I’m waiting in my bed for tomorrow.
And words start to become sentences.
I will start to write just to understand.
And to make me feel better so I can go to bed again.
Sometimes I write because of a pain that runs so deep.
I write cryptic lyrics about the secrets I keep.
I express them in other words so no one will understand.
But they feel not knowing what I’m trying to tell.
It’s a just way to clear my conscience.
Sometimes I write how the world could be.
Or I write about the girl of my fantasy.
Then I’m inspired by a fragment of my imagination.
And now I told a few ways where I get my inspiration.
So now tell me what inspires you.
poem by Rick Adriolo
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Gone Is Inspiration
A thought!
A blurry thought in my head
and my pen is full of ink
I am dry,
I am sore
I can't channel my soul
before the words of my heart
would seep right through my
fingers
and possess my pen
but now I am blank
I am dry,
I am empty again
I hate the times when
my mind is still
and still I cannot channel
the artistry in me
the flame of inspiration
has died out
I am cold
I am stuck
my brain is paused
why is this so?
Pages beg
to be written on
keys plead for me to type
stories linger within
waiting for me
to give them life
but i cannot
I am frozen
and so are my words
so is the rhythm
the rhyme
the floetry
of my poetry
has flown off into
the sky
and with the birds
go my words
And I am here,
I am dry
Gone is inspiration!
poem by Upile Chisala
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I need inspiration
I need inspiration like rolling hills and roaring thunder
I need inspiration like humanity's fatal blunder
I need inspiration of the purest kind
Where both the dark and the light are defined
I need inspiration to spark the flame of imagination
I need inspiration that could rouse an entire nation
I need inspiration like a roaring fire
The kind of inspiration of which I'll never tire
Please love be my inspiration
You love, are the light of my imagination
With those emerald eyes that are so serene
Your tempting words which set the scene
Your candied lips and gentle breath
That soul of yours with its endless depth
Come my love, explore with me
There is so much we've yet to see
On our journey we shall inspire that dullest of imaginations
And your love will be my eternal inspiration
poem by Jade Hymora
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In Search of inspiration
Spring…
In the song of Birds
And the whistle of wind
I searched the inspiration
I know
It is harder to find it.
The beneath of blue sky
And
The inseparable long ways
I stretched my eyes
To fill my heart
With a cup of inspiration,
Looking a pearl over a billion times
Asking to An ocean
Weather she might be holding of it.
But I get backed
Stroked my face
And skips for search of Inspiration…
……………………………………………………………………………*****……………………………………… …………………………
poem by Susanta Bandha
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Some newspapers are fit only to line the bottom of bird cages.
quote by Spiro T. Agnew
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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a sequel on charles bukowski's 'SO YOU WANT TO BE A WRITER?
he has his message clearly said: a writer is chosen
he does not have to move heaven and earth
to make a poem or write an essay
or finish a novel, for he is the
privileged soul
the chosen one
the prophet
the messiah
the secret prince
the hidden king
the divine incarnate
whatever
whoever
and words simply come to him like
a light from the sun
embracing him with so much inspiration
that he merely sits there by the throne of his porch
and simply listens to the dictated poem.
he says it is a burst inside your heart
an explosion inside your head
and you simply have to listen with your heart
and mind and soul
and there everything comes so easily
day by day and on and on and on
ad infinitum ad aeternum
there is no sweat
or hard work, there is no striving at all
to become the chosen one
for the inspiration
it comes even if uninvited
it perches on your chest like a bird and sings
it stays there until you die or it dies with you
there is no madness
or murderous intent or this lostness
they are not necessary
to be a writer one does not have to
stay for hours and write a piece and stare at the
screen of the computer and tire your eyes
with so much pressure
Is that so Charles? Did you not once believe
that Elvis Presley is nothing?
Did you not look for a job, or even try to find your lost self
for twenty years or so or even more?
There must be this irony.
And if that be so, I think i must believe you.
He does not bother at all, how can he be a poet?
Not you Charles, someone else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Writer's Drought
You've heard of a thing called writer's block and you've heard of writer's drought
But writers are never short of things on which they can write about
It's just at times their inspiration well does seem to run dry
And they cannot seem to pen a line though hard enough they try.
The writers drought it causes writers moments of self doubt
Till the words that seem locked in them eventually flow out
Through their pens to their notebooks their dry spells do not last
And on time lost out on penning words they seem to catch up fast.
Some writers in their writing drought cannot seem to feel inspired
To write even a single line they feel mentally tired
But when fresh inspiration comes to them much better stuff they do write
And feeling re-invigorated they sit and pen all night.
Most writers you will talk to of writers drought can tell
When there is no inspiration in their inspiration well
But when inspiration returns to them and their creative juices flow
They become much better writers and in self confidence grow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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To a Sleeping Child
Lips, lips, open!
Up comes a little bird that lives inside
Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.
All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings,
Up he comes, and out he goes at night to spread his wings.
Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?
Round about the world, while nobody can know.
Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?
Far away around the world, while nobody can see.
Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?
All round the world and around again home;
Round the round world, and back through the air,
When the morning comes, the little bird is there.
Back comes the little bird and looks and in he flies,
Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.
Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird’s away,
Little bird will come again, by the peep of day;
Sleep, little boy, the little bird must go
Round about the world, while nobody can know.
Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,
Round and round he goes; sleep, sleep sound.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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These Days Don't Mean Dust To Me
(For a certain shade of artist)
While caged in blue, I ponder.
I simply cannot embrace the common,
The 9 to 5 hamster wheel,
Nor night's dim lit lovers.
I wake, I search,
Coffee, glasses, and an outdated paper.
The day governs me like most
Until the point of the Inspiration's arrival.
These days don't mean dust to me,
Soon I too will be swept under the carpet
Of green growing nature.
With no words, no lines, or poems,
And my headstone will be a detour sign to guide the Inspiration
To the doorstep of the next prisoner of blue.
Copyright ©2008 John Carroll Walls
poem by John Walls
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On The Wings And Claws And Beaks Of Poetry
lame, i walk on the crutches
of poetry,
wingless, i put on the feathers
of words,
i get these beaks
of metaphors
to feed upon
the richness of meaning
i am a hundred birds
on a hundred wings
i have claws and beaks
and eagles' eyes
on the flights
of the madness of poetry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love is the inspiration
Love is the inspiration for the heart to sing a tune,
For the ear to hear,
For the soul to warm,
For the mouth to smile,
For the eyes to glisten.
Love is the inspiration for want,
For the soul to draw near another,
For the mouth to utter sweet words,
For the eyes to gaze upon,
For the heart to speak out.
Love is the inspiration for need,
For the mouth to touch,
For the eyes to close,
For the heart to race,
For the ear to burn.
Love is the inspiration for longing,
For the eyes to see only the one,
For the heart to cry out,
For the ear to hear whispers,
For the soul to join another forever.
Love is the inspiration for forever,
For the heart to be whole,
For the ear to always hear those words,
For the soul to have another,
For the mouth to speak the truth.
Love is the inspiration for the heart to seek God,
For the ear to hear his word,
For the soul to reach for him,
For the mouth to speak his truth,
For the eyes to always look upon him first,
For God is the inspiration for Love.
poem by Rabecca Welch
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Just A Blank Page In Front Of Me
I sit here at my desk
trying to figure out a line to write,
inspiration seems to have deserted me tonight.
I hear no strings of love;
feel no emotions deep,
just a blank paper in front of me.
Each word I write seems to stop there,
no further words follow.
I’m in despair.
What happed to the happy words I want to write,
the feelings I want to express?
Gone I’m afraid for tonight.
Let us hope they return
at tomorrows dawning light.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Caged Bird Cries...
i do not know why a caged bird sings?
or shall it sing when caged?
or shall it cry instead?
i know cages, and i have met some birds,
i have seen birds on cages
and i have heard them sing on trees
i have listened them when caged
it is not a song, but a cry,
it is not a dance, but a struggle,
it is not a poem, but the saddest prose.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prose-Poetry
Once prose and poetry existed side by side
Two styles of literature, each with its bound
Jealously guarded by the literati
Lest prose masquerades as poetry.
The First World War smashed all fetters,
Soldiers wrote heart-rending poetic letters
To sweethearts, friends, fathers and mothers.
Newspapers published their anguish and horrors
The literati classed them as prose
And turned up their nose
At such a new trend of mongrelised poetry;
But the public gave it name and identity
Prose-poetry began to gain respectability.
Prose-poetry is a contradiction in terms,
An oxymoron; a paradox of many forms.
When well written, words flow as though in rhyme
Thought and syntax together dance with rhythm.
Some pen few lines haphazardly,
String words together arbitrarily,
Flit between thoughts randomly,
Structure their poems casually.
They want us to see them as thinkers
In fact, they are just wearing blinkers.
If only they could see their folly
They’d stop abusing prose-poetry.
poem by Isam Hussain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To A Bullfinch
Oh bullfinch bird unfettered wild and free
Piping on branch of leafy alder tree
Lit by the bright and warming sun of May
You do seem happy on this pleasant day
Were I a poet I'd write for you a lay
A lyric that might last till amen day
A poem a poet would feel quite proud to write
And school goer would feel happy to recite
Were I an artist your picture I would draw
A masterpiece that art critic dare find flaw
A painting far too splendid to ignore
That well might last five hundred years or more.
But I'm no artist nor neither am I poet
Since doggerel is all I've ever wrote
And what I'd give to desribe you in words
One of the fairest of all wildborn birds.
You've got strong beak designed for cracking seeds
That you find on hedgerows bordering green meads
And you wear the colours favoured most by kings
Dark head, pink breast and beautiful blue wings.
The lark, the thrush and blackbird sing more sweet
As a singing bird with them you can't compete
But beauty wise you do look number one
When lit by rays of brightly glowing sun.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poetry, That's What I Write
Parody of the classic song Money, That's What I Want
The best words on the page are here
Teaching you a hell of a lot more about life
Then just the birds and bees
Now you know words of magic
Words of wisdom
Given birth
Right here, right now
Oh, yes
Poetry, that's what I write
My wicked writing should give you such a thrill
So don't be shy
Go ahead and click on this link right here
My poetry won't pay your bills, no
But I can promise to give you some kinky thrills
Now you know
Poetry, that's what I write
Bright and beautiful
Perfect as can be
Poetry, that's what I write
Oh yeah baby
Poetry
Poetry, that's what I write
My poetry is the best
It's true
If you don't agree then I don't need you
You can kiss my sass
Now you know
Now you better read it
Oh yeah baby
Poetry, that's what I like
Poetry
Oh yes
Poetry, that's what I love
Poetry, that's what I write
Whoa
My poetry is the best
It's true
If you don't agree then I don't need you
You can kiss my sass
Now you know
Now you better read it
Oh yeah baby
Well, now read my poetry
Ooooh, oooh yeah my poetry
Read my
Love my
Poetry, oh yeah that's what I like
What I love
Oh yeah baby
Poetry, that's what I write
Yeah
2008 Ramona Thompson
poem by Ramona Thompson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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