The Sound Of Poetry!
God keeps a library up above
And there records Man’s thoughts on love!
The best are gentle, like a dove,
And warm and tender, like a glove...
I’ve heard that angels gather near,
Each time a writer sheds a tear...
Above his shoulders, thus to peer,
To read the words his heart holds dear!
Lord, let me write with this in mind!
Please stir my heart until I find
New thoughts with wisdom underlined
And God-blessed visions, pure and kind...
Resplendent rhythms set in rhyme!
Lyrical lines, like steps to climb!
Exquisite thoughts compressed in time!
Together, evermore sublime!
Let sacred souls find ecstasy
In Christian verse of Cavalry!
Lord, bid me write... yet hear my plea...
God bless the sound of poetry!
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Why Do I Write Poetry?
Why do I write Poetry?
The answer is not plain to see,
As a Legal Cashier I earn my Living,
For me and my family.
Why do I write Poetry?
Thoughts come to me in rhyme and verse,
They have to be worked on continually
To make those lines seem terse.
Why do I write Poetry?
One day HE’ll answer me,
Hopefully while I’m on this Earth,
Before I reach Eternity.
Why do I write Poetry?
Why must my lines scan and rhyme?
Not only on this occasion,
But forever, and all the time.
Why do I write Poetry?
Why put them on your website?
To leave my Thoughts and Visions of Life,
To you all and posterity.
© Jonathan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 9 April 2005
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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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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The Pool Of Poetry
From the Pool of Poetry let the thirsty spirit sup -
From truth and fantasy... Come, drink, and drain the cup!
According to your taste, from folly to sublime,
Each verse can be embraced or spurned twixt prose and rhyme!
Just bring your present views and all that you hold dear -
It’s up to you to choose from what you see and hear...
Perhaps you'll find a friend! A phrase you'd like to quote,
A tale you'd hate to end... Or some short anecdote!
Whatever you may find, twixt ecstasy and strife,
It could help change your mind and even change your life!
Each generation shares Man’s greatest legacy -
Wise children learn their prayers from the Pool of Poetry!
Discerning souls confess the debt they'll always owe
To bards that chose to bless each one that strives to grow!
From the Pool of Poetry comes wisdom that refines!
Yet insight is the key! Read thoughts between the lines!
For doctrines come and go and ‘facts’ of science, too...
Love’s Truth resists the flow and this God shares with you!
From the Pool of Poetry let the thirsty spirit sup!
From truth and fantasy... Drink up! Drink up! Drink up!
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Precious Gift Of Poetry!
Yes, poetry's a wondrous gift, vivacious lines of verse
That help to give the heart a lift with rhythms to rehearse!
When spoken, it's a memory to bless the ears as well,
The incantations gently weave their very special spell!
Encapsulating captured words that fill the air above,
All circling high like tame young birds to help spin yarns of love!
At best, the rhythms carry you into the writer's realm
Where he directs them ever new, the captain at the helm!
Perhaps across calm seas that soothe the soul in need of rest...
Or stretching forth and thus improve with thoughts so full of zest!
Whatever words are brought to bear, mid this realm and the next,
The poet strives and thus takes care, creative muscles flexed!
Perhaps the midnight oil's burned, perhaps there's little strain
And yet the poet's rarely spurned when there's so much to gain!
Of all the blessings God bestows to aid us as 'Mankind',
It's poetry that overflows from mind to mind to mind!
If only we'd all try to write, we wouldn't waste the ink!
We'd be more noble, more polite, investing time to think!
We'd mull things over in our hearts, we'd take the time to see
One of the greatest of the arts is precious poetry!
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Free2rhyme
How blessed are those that choose to write,
Expressing thoughts sublime,
As if to seek the greatest height,
Perchance then free2rhyme...
For they shall find God's thoughts revealed,
From age to age to age,
With precious truths that always yield
Sweet poems page by page...
Thus through the day and through the night,
God's thoughts are shared on Earth,
Such that our weary hearts take flight
Remembering God's worth...
To think, that He should be so kind,
With prophecies and such,
Allowing us to keep in mind
God loves us very much...
I know that there are sad times, too,
Yet faith still proves the key
That's always there for me and you,
For all eternity...
Yes, blessed are those that choose to write,
For they shall learn God's love,
And free2rhyme will gain insight
Till called to Him above...
Just think of all the great rewards
That people could yet gain,
If serving Christ, the Lord of Lords,
God's Gospel to explain...
God's pardon isn't once a year,
It's every day we live,
It's every time that we draw near
And ask Him to forgive...
No wonder, then, God's poets share
Amazing grace and more,
They hear Good News, then kneel in prayer,
Then preach from shore to shore...
If free2rhyme, what strides we'd make,
Improving as we go,
Lost souls to Heaven we could take,
More wonders there to know...
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2012.
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...
Live broadcasts are also on some UK
Freeview HD and Roku set top boxes.
poem by Denis Martindale
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
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Great Poetry?
How could anyone ever truly
Define great poetry?
Factors are so many that contribute
To the way each person does hear-feel-and see.
The season, the day, the very time,
Along with each readers wisdom-knowledge-and mind.
A line read one day
May deeply stir the spirit
While the very next time read
The reader simply just can't 'get-it'.
Besides, who is to judge,
And who is to decide?
Who always speaks truth,
And who pray tell has never lied?
Let the one who has never struggled with emotion and word
Cast the first critical stone,
Let the pure, perfect poet
Read and write completely all alone;
Enshrined by himself
Upon his own empty throne.
After all, it is supposed to be
A bit (or more) of myth and mystery,
A little difficult to decipher, somewhat vague,
Meant to speak, but not brag.
For Goodness sake, it's poetry.
Not prose, not essay, and certainly not the news.
It's forms are many and free,
It's thoughts different and deep,
It's direction everywhere the heart can see,
It's origin, and destination, ineffable...
But to write, one must try, or die... such is the poems strength.
So, let the creator of words create.
With wild and wonderful words to decipher and debate;
And never let the beauty of it all
In trivial criticism suffocate.
What is great poetry though you still inquire?
I should have told you from the start;
(But, then you would not have listened)
Great poetry is always, and only,
Beautiful words written truly
From, and for, the heart.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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A Revolution Poetry Is....!
Are you writing words of rhythm according to thoughts?
Or are you coining words of thoughts according to rhythm?
Or are you writing poetry both working at the same time?
Asking so, if they ask me how to write poetry, what shall I say?
Poetry writing is natural, spontaneous expression from heart!
How can this be taught to anyone to write poetry ever at all?
Poetry is a spontaneous flow of words direct from heart ever!
I wonder many a time how am I writing poetry at all ever!
But this is happening to my great surprise since longtime!
Due to engagements ever poetry only I am able to write
Though my aim in the beginning was writing stories.....,
Novels, short stories and nonfiction articles of criticism!
Poetry books too I have completed writing so since long
But what a pity there is no reception for poetry books...!
poem by Ramesh T A
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A Heartfelt Letter Unsigned
It seems I am only good with words
When I write them in my silent hours
Of all the things I have wished to say
But never found the moment or courage
I find myself saddened by my thoughts
All of which surround my thoughts of you
I think you are amazing, kind and so strong
You are beautiful in many ways I cannot count
Your nature and spirit I have come to know
Shows you to be funny and loving
You put a spring in my heart, a song in my step
I would love to hold you each night
Look after way and love you always
But alas, a time has come I must face
That moment of courage and opportunity
I think it matters not anyway
I have listened to my mind and heart argue
And wish I could look through any eyes
Other my own, when I look at you
A time has come to say goodbye, to move on
I wish to take you from my heart
Place you by my side as a friend and nothing more
If only my thoughts were not my own
If only I could look through another’s eyes
Perhaps I would not need to write these words
Because moving on from you
Is the hardest most difficult decision in life
You will always be so beautiful to me
And in loving you I must say goodbye
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Thoughts Whirling
The need to write
Get rid of these mixes mass of thought
What to write?
Yes, something is amiss!
Talking is not enough
Yet thoughts whirling in my head
Unaware of revelling in the words
Which flow from this pen?
Still no words
Not sure what to write
Yet here it is
A whole massed mess of words
For all to read
Thought this medley of words
Brought some calmness
Shoulders more relaxed
Fragments of each thought
Clear as daylight
This muddled mass of thoughts
A verse created
By, a whirling mind
poem by Persian Khushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thoughts Whirling
The need to write
Get rid of these mixes mass of thought
What to write?
Yes, something is amiss!
Talking is not enough
Yet thoughts whirling in my head
Unaware of revelling in the words
Which flow from this pen
Still no words
Not sure what to write
Yet here it is
A whole massed mess of words
For all to read
Thought this medley of words
Brought some calmness
Shoulders more relaxed
Fragments of each thought
Clear as daylight
This muddled mass of thoughts
A verse created
By, a whirling mind
poem by Persian Khushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Take Back the Virgin Page
Written on Returning a Blank Book
Take back the virgin page,
White and unwritten still;
Some hand, more calm and sage,
The leaf must fill.
Thoughts come, as pure as light
Pure as even you require;
But, oh! each word I write
Love turns to fire.
Yet let me keep the book:
Oft shall my heart renew,
When on its leaves I look,
Dear thoughts of you.
Like you, 'tis fair and bright;
Like you, too bright and fair
To let wild passion write
One wrong wish there.
Haply, when from those eyes
Far, far away I roam,
Should calmer thoughts arise
Towards you and home;
Fancy may trace some line,
Worthy those eyes to meet,
Thoughts that not burn, but shine,
Pure, calm, and sweet.
And as, o'er ocean far,
Seamen their records keep,
Led by some hidden star
Through the cold deep;
So may the words I write
Tell through what storms I stray --
You still the unseen light,
Guiding my way.
poem by Thomas Moore
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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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Verses Wrought
I do not know just how or when, God will send something to my pen,
From something that's on my heart, a thought God desires to impart,
Throughout my day, just as I go, thoughts from above seem to flow,
While I begin with simply a thought, by The Spirit verses are wrought.
It is The Lord God, Who blesses me, with these verses, that you see,
As these words that I pass along; the credit for all, does truly belong,
To The Lord God, Who reigns above, inspiring the verses, I speak of,
These very words, which I pen, that God has me share with other men.
God pens verses from my prose, through ways only The Spirit knows,
This when God's Spirit is inclined, to guide these thoughts in my mind,
In ways which only The Spirit can, as my Lord fills just an ordinary pen,
God blessing me, with His choice, to use my pen, instead of my voice.
Blessings, I hope to pass your way, with verses, on what I have to say,
As The Lord moves upon my heart, regarding thoughts I wish to impart,
From my thoughts God takes words, and He compiles them into verse,
Through ways that only God can do, so that I may share them with you.
Sharing with many through my life, the Truth and Grace of Jesus Christ,
Sharing Truths, you may have heard, that you find in God's Holy Word,
And Grace, which God bestows on us, when we follow The Lord Jesus,
All this as my Savior blesses me, while He guides me home to Eternity.
V.
Grant us succor both now and in time to
Come, through our Lord, Jesus Christ that blessed Son
Praise him with sonnet and haiku
Let by your true wisdom be done
The Lord has put down the mighty from their
Seat, he has brought then down to their bear knees,
That, they know that no evil shall be spared.
With this all true souls shall come to agree.
To thou O Lord have true mercy on us.
You are the light that light our way once dark.
Be us sober of thoughts, not a Bacchus
As Norah sober of thoughts toward the ark.
Keep true to the Lord’s service studying ever
Ever true of heart while never acting
poem by David E. Patton
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At A Loss For Words
Some time had passed since a verse had come to mind
a mental blockage I have had, nothing seemed to rhyme.
No words of creation the supply had gone
no thoughts, or imagination, nothing, not a one.
The source had stopped for some strange reason,
as though there was a break in the poetry season.
I tried and I tried, but nothing would come together,
not even with a change in the weather.
In the early hours I woke up and had to pick up a pen,
for some strange reason I began writing again.
It is quite odd and I’ll never get to know
why periods of poetry come and go.
But I’m thankful when words and lines come to me
it is as though they are sent telepathically.
It doesn’t matter if the poem is incorrect or good
or if it’s taken as silly, or is misunderstood.
As long as it relays that moment’s thought
an instinctive message that cannot be taught.
To me it doesn’t matter if its only two lines long,
or whether it has many verses, or even sounds wrong.
When thoughts of words or sentences come to mind
I have to write them down no matter the place or time.
If I don’t record the thought on paper right away
they become lost forever in the space of night and day.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Poetry... All The Time
All Poetry … All The Time
I Love To Read In Rhythm & Rhyme
I Love To Write Of Wistful Wishes
And Lips Speak Of Love Like Bold Kisses
All Poetry … All The Time
Poetry, Is A Medication For My Mind
Poetry, Has A Power To Overthrow Pain
Poetry, Should Be Spoken, Again and Again
All Poetry … All The Time
I Am Really Thrilled To Find
More Poet Lovers, and Their Word Artistry
All The Time … All Poetry
All Poetry … All The Time
May Each Poetic Puff, Rise & Climb
Into The Clouds, Up To The Stars
(Or Maybe Just Linger, Where You Are) …
All Poetry … For All Of Time
Written & ©: 5/24/10
By: MoonBee
poem by MoonBee Canady
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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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Rare Thoughts that Never Go away
Has anyone out there reading this
Ever thought about that one person that is always in your thoughts and they never go away?
Well many of us out there are too scared of what or whom we miss
And then there are some of us that can't stop thinking of them throughout the day
Well I am this kind of person that just met a person not long ago
And I am here to say that my thoughts are of this person that I really admire
There are so many people that say how you can feel that way about someone who you barely know
I simply tell them that I trust in the Lord's every desire
Even though finding that one kind of person in everyone's life is rare
Who is always willing to listen and be gentle and kind
I hope that everyone can find this type of person that seems to always be there
Because I want her to know this is why she is always on my mind
And this is why these thoughts never go away
Because of the friendship that has come from the Heaven Above
This is why I am glad, for these thoughts are here to stay
And hopefully those thoughts and feelings will turn from friendship to passionate love
By Frank Pulver
poem by Frank Pulver
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