Why the F*#k didn't we think of that?
Why Didn’t we Think Of That!
Guess I got to admit it, I’m past my prime
Not nearly as quick-witted as I used to be
Appears to be a monumental waste of my time
Just tryin’ to write some decent poetry
Maybe I’m overthinking’ the point of rhyme
Maybe I’m trustin’ too much to luck
Hell I’m gonna forget about prose so fine
And start artlessly usin’ that magic word f&%k
The effort involved in finding that perfect phrase
Laboriously working to find that rhyme that feels pat
Hell I could have been usin’ that magic word all these days
So, tell me fellow poets…why didn’t we all think of that?
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Who stands with me?
True poets write in meter.
Not because they think it’s neater
but because the flow is sweeter
When their words are read aloud
as they perform before the crowd.
Their poems pass the acid test.
Prose writers do not choose to rhyme.
They see it as a waste of time.
Although their word choice is sublime.
Without meter it is prose,
not poetry as they suppose.
Their definition I contest.
Poetic prose it’s plain to see.
Can not be classed as poetry.
I can accept you disagree.
I know I have a biased view
I think I am entitled to
Decide which one I like the best.
I choose meter every time
Preferably with lines that rhyme.
I find such poetry sublime.
Though I enjoy well written prose.
Each to his own I must suppose
So write the way that suits you best.
I am old fashioned I admit
and not one whit ashamed of it.
I do not find rules inhibit.
Free expression of my views
They merely mean I have to choose
the words that will express them best
Free form, free verse, poetic prose.
Are methods other writers chose
as being fit for their purpose.
To rebel against fixed form.
Which was regarded as the norm.
Just to be different from the rest.
But fashions change and now free form
Must be regarded as the norm.
I see no reason to conform.
I choose to write my poetry
In the old way that pleases me.
A lonely voice raised in protest.
The wheel of fate will slowly turn
Metered poetry will return
and well deserved plaudits earn.
I hope I live to see the day.
when classic poets can display.
That fixed forms can outshine the rest.
Monday,06 December 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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On Being Told That There Is No Rhyme For The Word “Limerick”
After I heard Harry’s limerick,
I found that my mind set to simmer. “Rick, ”
I said to myself,
“One might write it itself, ”
But I answered, “You’re chances are slimmer, Rick! ”
So I can’t find a good rhyme for Limerick.
Told myself, “ You are just a beginner, Rick
And though there’s no reason
You can’t write something decent,
I fancy your chances get grimmer, Rick! ”
He said that it might rhyme with turmeric
But I thought, “You’re not that fast a learner, Rick:
Ditch your thoughts wasting time
Finding suitable rhyme;
Let your plans, man, stand on the back burner, Rick.”
But the cogwheels had started to turn a bit
As I guessed I had started to learn a bit
And I might find a line
That rhymes Limerick fine
And might win me a prize, so I earn a bit.
But I thought, “Though there was just a glimmer, Rick.
You will think till you’re needing a zimmer, Rick,
Since the muse isn’t kind,
I am sure you’ll will find
Not a word that will rhyme fine with Limerick.”
poem by C. Richard Miles
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0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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That Word That Smells
I've found a reason not to rhyme.
Or open a door to flowing prose.
I suppose I am not feeling poetic today.
Nor especially free of speech.
Although there is a discipline to write.
Sometimes my mind turns off like a light.
And even though I said,
I've found a reason not to rhyme...
Something 'automatic' within me resists.
Something inside of me refuses to respond,
To my temptations that exist to just say...
It!
You know.
That word that smells when one feels like hell!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Poetry Obsession
I have been writing poetry for just over a year;
That I love poetry, I guess, it's perfectly clear.
My output, to date, has been really quite prolific.
I feel pleased with my work, but it's not terrific.
Now is the time for me to make a confession:
For me, poetry has become a bit of an obsession!
Now I find that, sometimes when I speak,
My sentences unintentionally rhyme! Eeek!
My poems total over three hundred in number;
Sometimes, composing them affects my slumber.
Of my poetry, I admit I feel really rather proud,
But I feel way too shy to read them out aloud.
Often, when I'm out walking, or I'm sat on a train,
Ideas will manifest themselves deep in my brain.
I often find myself spending quite some time,
Pondering the two factors of rhythm and rhyme.
My poems all rhyme: I don't write in ‘free verse':
In unrhymed poetry, myself, I just can't immerse.
To me, poetry which rhymes seems more precise:
It has a better finish, and it just sounds, well, nice!
At my poems online, people have been gazing,
But I would disagree that my work is ‘amazing'.
From all over the world, I am quite often sent
From fellow poets, some encouraging comments.
I have chosen some of my poems to put in a book;
My local bookshop is selling it! Please take a look!
I was thrilled when they agreed to sell it in-store;
They sold the entire first batch, and asked for more!
My dream job is to become a really famous writer;
I know it's a tough journey, but I'm a real fighter.
For sitting, writing poetry, I would love to get paid:
Maybe, if I keep plodding onwards, I will one day!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Rhyme
Poets rhyme from time to time
They don’t find rhyme a crime
It’s no sin, their using rhyme
Inspired rhyme is so sublime
Can often form a perfect line
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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The Moderns
To many reading modern poetry more interesting the meaning in the metaphors they seek to find
They feel it makes their brains work that much harder that it is good exercise for the mind
Rhyme for their great brains seems that bit too simple it does not test their thinking power at all
'Tis not a poem to them if it seems simple and the meaning in it easy to recall,
Yes rhyme for them it does seem that bit simple and deciphering it to them is not a test
The hidden meaning in the metaphors is something that does seem to try them best
Rhyme poetry to them is too simple and far too easy for to understand
It has to be blank verse with dozens of metaphors for their interest for to command
They look on rhyme and bush poets as inferior their preference in poets and poetry they make known
On literature they air their opinions like it is said to each their own
Their poetry evenings do seem quite exclusive rhyme poets to read they never do invite
Their unmusical lines that are laced with metaphors to each other they do recite
They do not like rhyme or they do not like bush poetry to them it is of another time
And in their poetry evenings there is no place for the men and the women of rhyme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Magic
Theres a light in the sky that hangs on the edge of illusion
Something very fine but its something you know is there
Mystery of time hidden by a man of confusion
But the hand is quicker than the eye
Only the stranger knows why
cos its magic
You know its magic that youll find
You see its magic
I know who you are and theres magic in you
Keep your eye on the man
And dont look away for a moment
How is it done how does he make me see
Something up his sleeve when speaks you want to believe him
But the hand is quicker than the eye
Only the stranger knows why
cos its magic
Can you see its magic that youll find
You know its magic
I know who you are and theres magic in you
Driven by a force
Moving in another dimension
Here for today, gone for eternity
Seeking for truth hidden by the word of his wisdom
But the hand is quicker than the eye
Only the stranger knows why
Cant you feel its magic
You know its magic that youll find
I said its magic
I know who you are and theres magic in you
song performed by by Rainbow
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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Most Of The So Called Literary Experts
Most of the so called literary experts are dismissive of rhyme
They say 'tis the poetry of a long gone time
Yet the poets that they laud the poems they do write
Cannot be put to music and are hard to read and recite
The rhymer of today is not looked on as a poet
Or is not seen as one worthy of literary note
By the so called literary experts with literary degrees
Though their judgement on what is or is not poetry not everyone does please
They never will convince the old style rhyme buff
To him or her well written rhyme is not throw away stuff
In well written rhyme are the words to a song
And good rhyming poetry to music belong
Yet the degreed literary experts who on poetry like to have their say
Dismiss rhyming poets and their poetry as of yesterday.
poem by Francis Duggan
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'Til I Can Make It On My Own
i'll need time to get you off my mind.
and i may sometimes bother you,
try to be in touch with you.
even ask too much of you from time to time.
now and then.
lord, you know i'll need a friend.
til i get used to losin you,
let me keep on usin you til i can make it on my own.
i'll get by, but no matter how i try.
there'll be times you know i'll call
chances are my tears will fall,
and i'll have no pride at all from time to time.
but they say there'll be brighter days.
but til then i'll lean on you thats all i mean to do
til i can make it on my own.
surely someday i'll look up and see the mornin sun,
without another lonely nite behind me.
then i'll know i'm over you
and all my cryin's done.
no more hurt and memories can find me.
but til then lord, you know i'm gonna need a friend.
til i get used to losin you,
let me keep on usin you til i can make it on my own,
til i can make it on my own
song performed by by Faith Hill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Poetry Critics
Our poetry critics ageing males on saturday evenings from six to nine
Meet at the literary room of the Lions Club to do what suits them fine
To talk of poetry and poets each to their point of view
Though they agree on one thing that good poets only few.
Well educated gents of course and they could not be rude
But contemporary rhyme poets only poetasters and them they exclude
From their talk of poets and poetry and in their literary knowledge they take pride
And who is or who is not a poet seems their right to decide.
They never talk about bush poets such verse they see as slipshod
And they see them as the children of the lesser poetry god
And for their years in Uni they have their degrees to show
And of poets and of poetry so much they think they know.
To them a poem is not a poem unless it reads like prose
And a ballad different from true verse as a weed is from a rose
And true poets only write for the privileged few that's what they do imply
And never for the ordinary, people like you and I.
Our poetry critics at the Lions they meet on saturday
And who is a good poet and what is a good poem each like to have their say
And if you wish to become a member of their club you must have your Uni Degrees
For if not to them you are not qualified for to talk about poetry.
poem by Francis Duggan
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What The Hell Do You Want
(tsk..why you gotta act like that?)
When I say that I love you, you ask me what I want
When I try to care for you woh-o hoa, you say I'm tryin' to front
When I'm tryin' to listen to you oh ho baby, you take it as a joke
And when I try to give you good advice yeah yeah, you swear that I don't know
So what the hell do you want? Uhn, Baby?
What the hell do you want, from me?
What the hell do you want, I need to know
What the hell do you want, baby
What the hell do you want from me
Baby, tell me,
What the hell do you want from me yeaah
Listen here, Baby,
I need to know right know
Tell me how
When I try to make love to you, oh yeah yeah yeah, you tell me not tonight
And when I wanna touch you, oh ho baby, you say that now is not the time
And when I wanna hold you, oh ouuh, you tell me you need space
But you just said I wasn't affectionate enough
That's what you told me yesterday
So what the hell do you want? Uhn, Baby?
What the hell do you want, from me?
What the hell do you want, I need to know
What the hell do you want, baby
What the hell do you want from me
I don't know what else to do yeah,
What the hell do you want frome me baby,yes
Listen
You tyin' to decieve me, you're tryin' to mislead me, yes yes
You didn't appreciate what I was doin'
Thank god I'm just gonna keep movin'
You can't hurt me no more yeah so I'm walking out that door
You can't hurt me no more so I'm walking out that door
song performed by by 112
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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The barren music of a word or phrase,
THE barren music of a word or phrase,
The futile arts of syllable and stress,
He sought. The poetry of common days
He did not guess.
The simplest, sweetest rhythms life affords-
Unselfish love, true effort truly done,
The tender themes that underlie all words-
He knew not one.
The human cadence and the subtle chime
Of little laughters, home and child and wife,
He knew not. Artist merely in his rhyme,
Not in his life.
poem by Christopher Morley
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I have a dream
I want to write real poetry
But I’m not sure how I should start
I need someone who can teach me
the basics of poetic art.
I do not know if it should rhyme
and meter is a mystery.
I have the will I have the time.
I somebody will please help me.
I have the urge I have to write
I really want to get it right
What makes it poetry or prose?
there is a difference I suppose.
I know there’s different schools of thought
an ongoing controversy.
I’m simply looking for support
to help me with my poetry.
I have the basic writing tools
a pad a pencil and P.C.
I need to learn the basic rules
which turn prose into poetry.
I am willing to study hard
and heed advice that’s offered me.
By any older wiser bard
who’s skilled at writing poetry.
26-Apr-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rhyming Flu
It’s 1: 15 A.M.
I’m sitting here in bed;
I want to go to sleep,
But rhymes are in my head.
I just came upstairs;
I was just on the com,
Working out a poem;
For Ainaa to recite in the morn.
The problem with rhyme and I;
Is that it starts and never stops,
Remember it’s one o’clock;
But rhymes still pulse my thoughts.
So I’m writing this very rhyme;
Hoping my rhyme runs out,
But such a hope’s impossible;
When my rhymes are as abundant as trout.
I know what you all are thinking:
“This rhyme is simply a gimmick;
This boy’s not really sleepy,
He’s wide awake with this limerick.”
“This story of sleep is really;
Just some tricky plot,
To make you think he flows out rhyme;
Like water from a cracked pot.”
But, nay, it is true;
I’ve got the rhyming flu,
I’m hoping that by writing this rhyme;
All my rhymes shall be through.
Aha, I know the cure;
The medicine’s no longer obscure!
To end this awful rhyme;
I need a word that does NOT rhyme!
I’ve heard of the word before;
It’s like English’s Achilles heel,
No matter how hard you rhyme;
Its un-rhyming-ness is an iron veil.
Touché now rhyming flu;
This word I give to you!
Try rhyming the word ‘month’
…Ha-ha, you can’t now, can you! ?
The rhyming flu has left me…
I can feel it leaving my mind…
Ahhh… I am so relieved…
The clock says it’s now sleepy time...
…zZzZZZ
poem by Warren Chan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Word
Find the word, understand the word,
Depend on the word;
The word is heaven and space, the word the earth,
The word the universe.
The word is in our ears, the word is on our tongues,
The word the idol.
The word is the holy book, the word is harmony,
The word is music.
The word is magic, the word the Guru.
The word is the body, the word is the spirit, the word is being,
The word Not-being.
The word is man, the word is woman,
The Worshipped Great.
The word is the seen and unseen, the word is the existent
And the non-existent.
Know the word, says Kabir,
The word is All-powerful.
The Song That Didn't Rhyme
Wrote a song, it was wrong from it's very first conception
Seemed I struggled on every line
It wasn't fast, wasn't pretty, wasn't serious or witty
The song that didn't rhyme
The band couldn't wing it, the singer couldn't sing it
The drummer's always out of time
The DJ's were offended, my union card suspended
Billboard declared it a crime
The melody blows in a key that no one can find
The lyrics don't flow but I can't get it out of my mind
A three minute waste of your time
On a song that didn't rhyme
It was bland, it was boring, all the groupies they were snoring
The first time we played it live
All the record guys got fired, the president retired
But somehow the song survived
The melody blows in a key that no one can find
The lyrics don't flow but I can't get it out of my mind
The melody blows in a key that no one can find
The lyrics don't flow but I can't get it out of my mind
A three minute waste of your time
No redeeming value of any kind
But thanks for the twelve ninety nine
On a song that didn't rhyme
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lowest Point
i can't believe i got to this point.
only to be left with hate and disapointed.
knowing i was fragile.
you still didn't seem to care.
you still seem to lie.
you didn't seem to help me much.
what the hell are you there for?
you didn't help me,
i had to learned by myself.
and when i got to my lowest point,
did you even help?
hell no! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
you didn't seem to care.
you didn't even see if i was okay,
you would of just told me to go to class.
what good was that of done?
it would of just make me question,
what am i doing here?
do i belong here?
when really i needed to be asking myself,
what do you know?
i can make it through this.
why don't it ever go the way you hope?
what the heck up with that?
yet we get everything we don't ever want.
10-06-08
poem by Mona Martinez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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