Man of Mist
A worldly man must first insist
That things of beauty still exist
That poetry must… in this world
Have yet the passion to persist
By the force of pen in hands of men
By resolve does worldly man resist
The fate of many others in
The surrender to desist
Stand ramrod straight in parsing prose
In search of rhyme… to ne’er twist
Be a man of words, be one that knows
to not become… a man of mist
poem by David Whalen
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Related quotes
Catch 22
If I seem nervous will you show me what to do
And does the world deserve us, application rushing through
A long time coming, yes it's been a long time coming
And my loving you is a place where I surrender
In my heart it's not hard to do
And all my worldly goods I give to you
We close our eyes and chase away the sorry things
You make it easy for me life is but a dream
Cried on your shoulder
Dove into the great blue yonder
And my loving you is a place where I surrender
Touch my heart, it's not hard to do
And all my worldly goods I give to you
Loving you, is a place where I surrender
In my heart
No catch twenty-two
And all my worldly goods I give to you
No misdemeanor, theres a ring upon my finger
And my loving you is a place where I surrender
In my heart
It's not hard to do
And all my worldly goods I give to you
Loving you, is a place where I surrender
Touch my heart
No catch 22
And all my worldly goods I give to you
Loving you is a place where I surrender
In my heart
It's not hard to do
And all my worldly goods I give to you.
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Totally Biased
I do not often write free form
to me it is not poetry.
Freely admit my prejudice
I think it’s just a passing phase
Although I can appreciate
poetic and well written prose
This does not make it poetry
When I consult my dictionary
it makes it very clear to me.
All writing must be one of those
It can’t be both at he same time.
Prose poetry cannot exist
an obvious oxymoron
Though modern writer still insist
that what they write is poetry
.It may be really beautiful
and well presented on the page
but definitely not poetry.
Why can they not be satisfied
with their well written thoughts in prose.
Why do they call it poetry
a dandelions not a rose.
Its meter defines poetry
it doesn’t even need to rhyme.
Even free verse had its rules
but writers seem to think today
There are no rules anything goes.
I nail my colours to the mast
Not afraid to let my bias show.
31-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Resist
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
I can learn to resist
Anything but temptation
I can learn to co-exist
With anything but pain
I can learn to compromise
Anything but my desires
I can learn to get along
With all the things I cant explain
I can learn to resist
Anything but frustration
I can learn to persist
With anything but aiming low
I can learn to close my eyes
To anything but injustice
I can learn to get along
With all the things I dont know
You can surrender
Without a prayer
But never really pray
Pray without surrender
You can fight
Without ever winning
But never ever win
Without a fight
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Preference
Modern proponents of free form.
Do not accept that poetry
has certain rules and must conform.
Or it becomes mere anarchy.
Anything goes just will not do.
It’s either poetry or prose.
One must give credit where it’s due
They both have merit I suppose.
Prose poetry cannot exist.
An oxymoron obviously
but modern writers will insist
that what they write is poetry.
They aren’t content to call it prose
well written and quite beautiful.
Care taken with the words they chose
describing something wonderful.
Although so many writers try.
There’s very few achieve their aim.
They do not stop to wonder why
But simply write more of the same.
Make no attempt to learn the rules
Meter and rhyme a mystery
they lack the simple basic tools
You need for writing poetry.
A poem is a message to
transmit your ideas and your thoughts.
So other folks can share them too.
If you can write them as you ought.
Simplicity and clarity
are prerequisites for our art.
The finest kinds of poetry
are written from the poets heart.
Mere strings of words in random lines
are neither prose nor poetry.
Each of us knows what he defines
as being his idea of poesy.
I rest my case I make no plea
I merely state my preference.
Applicable only to me
I do not wish to cause offence.
6-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Big Or Brief Poetry......!
Big or brief, what is poetry?
Poetry is......
Creating beauty out of blemish,
Making order out of disorder,
Producing meaning out of musical words,
Creating Universal truth out of trivialities,
Arranging points out of less known facts!
Is poetry just making rhythm and rhyme
Without meaning, life, force and taste,
Without free flowing musical words,
Without words of music, beauty, fun?
Poetry is free flowing river of words
With full of images, lively and lovely,
Transporting from this world to that world
Forgetting himself and readers here!
Just end rhyme is not enough to make it so;
Internal rhymes make music in rhythm
Making all enjoy music, meaning and ideas!
Poetry is the medium to say complex things
Not possible to say in other forms of language,
Saying unknown things using known things;
It is sound, substance, message and meaning!
And many more matters to many men in the world!
poem by Ramesh T A
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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
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Demystified for M' lady Cate
The mist persists, it will insist
it has the right to block the light
with trailing wisps of dirty white.
The mist is wrong and it will learn
to leave when it has served its turn
Because the sun will rise and burn
the remnants of the mist away
There is no way that it can stay
once the bright sun comes out to play.
The mist defeated has to go.
It leaves reluctantly and slow
but where it goes I do not know.
It will return with fall of night
lurk in the darkness hid from sight.
Unless outlined by the moonlight.
The silver light makes it appear
to be the ghosts which cause men fear.
But they will quickly disappear
When banks of cloud obscure the light.
Be re-absorbed into the night.
to their dismay but men’s delight.
The mists persist they wont desist
as long as day and night exist
and if they did they would be missed.
The moisture which the mist supply
the plants trees drink thirstily.
Without the mists some plants would die.
1-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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18 Definitions Of Poetry
1) Poetry is what is Beautiful in words –
2) Poetry is the deepest feeling words can tell
3) Poetry is the soul of each one of us
4) Poetry is the morning light after the longest night
5) Poetry is a dream of dreams in a world that needs dreams to be
beautiful
6) Poetry is the Search for God and the Love of God in all holy writing
7) Poetry is Reality itself when it is doing what it should
8) Poetry is you and me and all of us when we are kind to each other
9) Poetry is more than we can say or know- deeper than the deepest
silence and quieter also
10) Poetry is the place we go to in ourselves when we need to cry out loud
11) Poetry is Love words of love and the first spring of the young lovers first
song
12) Poetry is all we are when our minds are right and strong
13) Poetry is what saves us from all the other words
14) Poetry is what ceases to exist when Cruelty comes
15) Poetry is Love and Blessing and Kindness again
16) Poetry cuts through the icy sea within and sends chills down the spine
17) Poetry is what is recollected in tranquility but also tried and tossed in
tempest on the most difficult seas
18) Poetry is open to more than what it has been It is what others have not yet created and will so long as we are human and in search of the Sublime
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Loves The Last To Know
Words and music by bob seger
Theres a distant sound to the outward bound
On a lonesome windy night
A restless sigh as it fades away
A longing at first light
Theres a sad resolve that its all gone wrong
Yet before you turn to go
It comes to you
Its really true
Its your love thats last to know
Well we take our time were polite and kind
To the strangers that we meet
And the ones who share the ones who really care
They dont seem to make us feel complete
So we stand alone
And we act so strong
Were all such worldly souls
Till we find one day
Weve lost our way
And our loves the last to know
So we stand alone
And we act so strong
Were all such worldly souls
Then we find one day
That weve lost our way
And our loves the last to know
Then we find one day
That weve lost our way
And our loves the last to know
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Everlasting Throes of Those
The Everlasting Throes
Of Those
Who Argue about Poetry versus Prose
And about the Propriety or Crime
Of Meter and Rhyme
In Poetry:
as I see it, it’s back to the ancient Greek idea
of three near-absolutes – Truth, Beauty and Goodness
and although they’re all absolute in their aim,
and therefore theoretically equal,
most of us, I suspect, have our personal order for this list
those who put Truth first at all costs are more likely
to write prose; but if they love beauty in words
and have the urge to write something beautiful in words
they may try poetry; but to them,
rhyme is untruthful, dishonest, because
looking for a rhyme
becomes a crime:
and leads your mind away from the strict Truth.
while those who put Beauty first don’t have
a fixed attitude – they may, as children do,
love the formal music of hearing about
A certain Mrs Dhutti
Who was very slightly nutty
She wouldn’t wear a saree
As her arms and legs were hairy
And thought it was much better
To wear trousers and a sweater
etc.
or they may feel that their response to the world
is so full of love, of awe, of wonder
(of which Aristotle said the second and third
are shared by philosophers, that is, lovers - note the word - of wisdom,
and poets – though a poet
may not know it…)
where was I oh yes, their response to the world
is most truly - note the word - expressed
in free verse
which may be better poetry
or worse
and what about Goodness – oh let’s not
get into that: the poetry Forums are full of the emptiness
(though it’s a necessary evil, looked at in a way)
of poets and readers and critics saying
what’s good poetry and what’s bad
according to them and feeling
they’ve made a contribution to
Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, in that order
by pronouncing this.
some few, some worthy few, and I’ll mention no names
for reasons not unconnected as Milton might put it
with the previous stanza,
whose brilliance of that servant mind which we all share,
manages to juggle Beauty, Goodness and Truth,
in that order in this instance, and not only juggle but
remain faithful to them all; we could call them
The Absolutely Great – they speak straight from heart to heart
and they don’t worry about prosaic considerations like the above
because they’ve got it all, all this, within their art; within
their constant heart.
(Readers, please note,
that last line’s a quote.)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The energy of sleep is the dream with everything that exists, with everything that does not exist. He traverses the experiences of the subconscious from all worldly and non-worldly directions.
Camelia Oprița in The word opens the human mind - Saint Nicholas Publishing House
Submitted by Alexander
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Hello, my dearest stranger!
Hello, my dearest stranger
Who saw a danger in my red hair!
You ask about my life?
I just survive.
The ancient prophecy comes true:
The things I want I haven't got.
Oh, sorry, I forgot:
I feel so often loneliness
And feel sometimes bony-ness.
Yes, I am tired to live like that.
But........ should I regret?
I don't care a straw about your life,
I don't give a damn about your feelings.
Oh, sorry, those words were my healings.
But you behave like a fool
And play with edged tool.
You'll never understand
That I am really band
Though sometimes pretend
That I don't want to depend on anybody.
So, ... I am physical alive,
But just survive.
I can certainly exist
And just persist
If you insist I'll desist
From attempts to write
though for me it's a strike
Which I don't like.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Hello!
Hello, my dearest stranger
Who saw a danger in my red hair!
You ask about my life?
I just survive.
The ancient prophecy comes true:
The things I want I haven't got.
Oh, sorry, I forgot:
I feel so often loneliness
And feel sometimes bony-ness.
Yes, I am tired to live like that.
But........ should I regret?
I don't care a straw about your life,
I don't give a damn about your feelings.
Oh, sorry, those words were my healings.
But you behave like a fool
And play with edged tool.
You'll never understand
That I am really band
Though sometimes pretend
That I don't want to depend on anybody.
So, ... I am physical alive,
But just survive.
I can certainly exist
And just persist
If you insist I'll desist
From attempts to write
though for me it's a strike
Which I don't like.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Where Sin Multiplies
In my life
I haven't seen
Such a thing
Could be so much
Cunning!
They came in
To teach me
To be unworldly
But secretly
They were too much worldly.
If to be worldly
Is a sin
It is never more than a lie
I wish not to do sin in multiple
Here the preachers of the unworldly
Do sins in double.
Flexing my muscle
I declare
In front of them
‘'I am too much worldly.''
Being an unworldly
If I get immortality
And the end of both
If is not the death
Then I would renounce the world
And embraces the unworldly.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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The Poems As Diary
to know me
there is no other but this poetry
to know poetry however
please do not read
my diary
for this diary may fail the standards
of your poetry
but at any rate everyday poetry is a diary
what makes us fume like a mad cow
what makes us whistle like a satisfied lover
what makes us surrender in defeat and shout victory in triumphs
little things and big things
all summed up
in this new thing: diary as poetry
and poetry as diary.
we do not even have to rhyme
does life rhyme at all my friend?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thousands of eyes
Poetry or prose is a writing.
In prose contents get focus
And in poetry, taste of words.
Prose sounding poetry is sweeter.
We see thousands of stars at night
And only one sun in a day - prose.
The night has thousands of eyes
And the day, only one in sky. - poetry
01.08.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Falling Higher
(m - weikath l - deris, weikath)
I thouhgt that I felt alright with my world
But now that I knew seems taken by someone
Probing me, waiting if I take the bait
Surrender, step into the line
We wont give into the false
We are not as dull as taken
Someone will hold out if they can
They must kill us if they want us to fall
When we unite
Were falling higher
When words collide
Well stand straight in turmoil and fear
No harm comming near
Hungry forever since we took a glance
Feared that the world was taken by someone
We realized by the look in your eyes
Metal will never die
With magic in your hands
We are lost-and-found contenders
For a kingdom of our stand
Come togheter no surrender at all
With magic in your hands
We are lost-and-found contenders
For a kingdom of our stand
Come togheter no surrender at all
When we unite
Were falling higher
When words collide
Well stand straight in turmoil and fear
No harm comming near
No harm comming near
No harm comming near
Were falling higher
Solo 1: michael
Solo 2: roland
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is poetry even in prose, in all the great prose which is not merely utilitarian or didactic: there exist poets who write in prose or at least in more or less apparent prose; millions of poets write verses which have no connection with poetry.
quote by Eugenio Montale
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0004 The world has lost the ear for rhyme
The world has lost the ear for rhyme.
It still makes children squirm with pleasure;
and from some witty pens and minds, its fireworks fizz;
so, after all these centuries of rhyme
and all the games of meter, dancing words,
should we now mourn its passing?
Have we lost the music of another world?
Instead, the easy unpretentious discourse,
sober, light, familiar, honest -
the world of daily, homely, shared sharp life,
that's now preferred. Not prose;
much more than 'chopped-up prose' as those may say
who think that poetry should be more visibly hard-earned;
- as if a human life set down in honesty
were not a poem in itself, unwrit;
'prose with enhanced consciousness' it's often now defined;
and consciousness - now that's earned, if you like...
and simile, and imagery, and metaphor - all the repertoire
of glorious poetry - they're all still here
to work their magic; if more played down, now,
unostentatious as T-shirt and jeans;
unostentatious as the beating, bloody heart.
And yet, when years bring tears
and time brings death and dying,
it's time for rhyme, to heal the heart
and charm away the crying.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A good or bad
We may have similar nature of different kind
The situation too would be hostile and unkind
We may have upper hand in terms of knowledge
Still we will be singled out even with clear edge
It is difficult to adjust with the situation
It may trouble us for its continuation
As they enter our life as reality
It may upset us and question our ability
We may not be able to confirm
We may not be able to confront either
Everything may look not to our test
Still we got to adjust and think as best
It may not go well with our belief
It may not give us at all any relief
Still it may be relation with new leaf
We got to forgo so many things and act as deaf
It may not compel us to do anything
But still we may miss in us as something
It shall not go as per our thinking
We may watch it helplessly with eyes only blinking
The problem may still persist
People may force on us and insist
We may not be in position to tell them to desist
They may pursue it vigorously and resist
This may cause some infuriation in mind
We may think over it nut unable to find
Any way out but fall in lines
It may hold good to watch on side lines
We may think it wrong and absurd
You may still want not to be of guard
You may try to go ahead with your own way
It is feared you may be pushed and driven away
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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