Who Would Be A Poet?
Tell me, who would be a poet?
Just think what it entails...
And we know we'll sometimes blow it,
For every writer fails...
To think, that when we're feeling down,
We write to raise a smile,
But then we often have to frown,
Restricted by some style...
Eight syllables, then six below,
That's how I try to write...
Eight syllables to match the flow
Then six to keep it light...
So pretty soon verse three's arranged
Before the poem's done
And then verse four gets somewhat changed,
But don't tell anyone!
Some names get swapped and switched around,
Some placenames, too, replaced...
And suddenly an ending's found
And that has to be phrased...
My, my, it's like a Mystory Tour!
All jumbled jolly stuff,
With heartfelt tales of sweet amour
And that weird thing called lurv...
For thirty years, I've typed and typed
And typed and typed again...
I've either griped or else I've hyped
And emptied every pen...
The Writing Bug's still bugging me...
And yet how much I owe it!
Except no sweetheart's hugging me!
So who would be a poet! ?
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Writer's Block!
Yes, these two words came into mind...
Wordpad opened again,
New Rich True Format Document,
Followed by Arial ten...
No text displayed as I perused,
The cursor blinking still...
In readiness for brand new words
My thoughts were yet to spill...
I typed the title, first thing done,
Two line gaps then the verse...
With not a word to lead the way,
It couldn't get much worse...
But then I thought, I'll add my name
And copyright as well,
Then type the date, as if to claim
There's nothing left to tell...
The poem stands, no words at all,
To summarise the theme,
As if the empty heart and mind
Had nothing there to dream...
But then I thought, that's such a waste!
I'll let the reader know,
That even nothing has its place
Before the words can flow...
And so, from nothing came these rhymes,
These thoughts upon a page,
Or PC screen each time I type
To reach another stage...
Who knows? The poem I write next
Could be a great success,
That may grant tremendous insight,
Some cherished happiness...
So Writer's Block, I've beaten you!
I've conquered every doubt!
God gave me something that's brand new
And now I've typed it out!
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Portrait Of A Poet
The poet looked at what he wrote,
The rhythm and the rhyme
And of each error he took note,
Correcting each in time...
His diligence was his best friend,
It helped him to relay
The English most could comprehend
So that they wouldn't stray...
The poet counted syllables,
Eight, six, eight, six each verse,
For these obeyed his rhyming rules
And helped him to rehearse...
You see, he spoke the lines out loud,
As if the Lord to hear,
As if to make his Father proud,
With diction crystal clear...
The poet shed a tear at last,
Because his work was done,
For every test the poem passed...
The battle had been won!
The publishers were well impressed!
In fact, he won first prize!
With diligence, he'd done his best...
That's always good advice!
He taught his children how to write!
So they'd get published, too...
With pearls of wisdom and insight,
So credit where it's due...
His poems were in magazines
And books both near and far,
Yet skills like his weren't in his genes,
He simply raised the bar...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Sounds From Symbols....
as i flex my muscles
and raise my hands and
stretch my legs
as you begin to dance
and hum a song
as we make each day
different from the rest of
the days of the world
so must our poems be
so must our lives be
we have decided
when we have typed the first word
upon those symbols
the syllables have given birth
to the much awaited
sound
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Luring Websites!
I'm a reserved man.
When I was in service,
my subordinates wouldn't
dare look at my face.
'Sinister-looking man'
only the men said of me.
Being a bored retiree,
I visited a website,
seeking messages for dating.
When I typed down my age,
they flashed a startling joke:
' Wow! Just born'; my heart broken.
I entered another site,
answered Psychology-tests
and they greeted me to have
all my erogenous zones thrilled
by the folks of epicurean tastes.
When they told me to send
a maiden message to a friend waiting,
I typed: ' Don't look at my empty purse'.
Her lightinng curt reply was:
' You funny old geezer! Wanna meet me? '
I switched over to another site.
They sent loads of profiles
of Mr.Quickfire, Longman, Footy Punch
and so on, wanting soulmate soon.
My God! I cried and clicked: 'Unsubscribe'.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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I Found a Little Poem
Searching through some papers,
I was about to throw away.
I found a little poem that
I wrote twenty odd years ago.
I thought to myself
that is not all that bad.
It shouldn’t stay buried anymore.
Therefore, I dusted it off
and read it through,
nodded my head
and knew what I’d do.
So I typed it up
and read through it again.
I then decided to share it
with all of my friends,
and what was the title of this poem?
Believe it or not, it is called,
Where Have They Gone.
13 August 2007
poem by David Harris
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Stop Reading My Poem!
Hey, you, stop reading my poem!
It's private, just for me!
It's not been written on a whim,
Like plain old poetry...
It's magical and lyrical
And so much more besides,
In fact, it's like a miracle
In which this poet prides...
Hey, you, these words are mine alone,
Be off with you, I say!
Go on, just leave me on my own,
Please kindly scoot away...
It's true, my poem's quite unique,
But it's still on the go!
The thing's not finished, please don't peek!
You nosey so-n-so...
Are you still here! ? No privacy!
No privacy at all...
I guess that's just not meant to be,
No matter how I stall...
I'm testing out my short, short lines,
Rehearsing rhymes at best,
Still writing stuff for highbrow minds,
So that they're feeling blessed...
I'll upload to the Internet
As soon as my job's done,
Till then, be patient, please don't fret,
That takes away the fun!
Just one more verse, I'm almost through,
Please leave, no need to fear...
Excuse me, I'm talking to you!
Yes, you, 'cos you're still here!
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Impatient Poem
A poem with an attitude
Turned up at half-past-three,
It woke me up and said, 'Hey, dude,
It's time for poetry! '
I wrote nine poems yesterday,
Those guys give me no rest...
I slithered out of bed O.K.
And stayed there, unimpressed...
Now almost dozing, lay there still,
How long, I know not when,
Then crawled across the carpet till
I found paper and pen...
The poem prodded, like they do,
Impatient like they are,
All ready with its point of view
To broadcast near and far...
So there I was, with one eye closed,
The first line on the page,
My body slumped and strangely posed
At this most awkward stage...
The first verse came, eight, six, eight, six,
The syllables in form,
While I lay there, as cold as bricks,
Fatigued, no longer warm...
But onward, ever onward, I,
Began the second verse,
To finish this before I die,
If things should get much worse...
The third verse started very well,
I smiled at what it meant
And even giggled for a spell,
Like it was Heaven-sent...
The final verse, at last, at last,
The poem shook my hand,
'Well done, my friend, that was a blast!
I knew you'd understand! '
With that, the poem paused in prayer,
'I couldn't ask for more! '
'That's great! ' I said, eyes closed, right there,
Then slept upon the floor!
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Poetry Is Like A Beautiful Work Of Art
A poem has no write or
wrong,
How to write your poem
is up to you,
Visualize a perfect poem
That readers will love,
Adjust a poem as much as
you want,
Remember a poem is like
art,
You write it with meaning
and passion,
Add as much as your heart
desires,
Short or long it does not
matter,
Add a picture with your
poem,
Add a quote or a verse,
it is a poet's decision,
Always be proud of your poem,
Let the words flow when you
write,
A poem expresses a feeling,
thought and emotion,
Add a frame and hang it up
on a wall,
share your talents with the
world,
Poetry is like a beautiful
work of art.
poem by Derek James
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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
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Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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The Maiden Called Maryann
I saw her in a midnight dream,
She read the words I wrote...
She thought my poem quite supreme
And of it soon took note...
She mulled it over in her mind,
Reflecting for a while,
As if to her it was refined,
In rhythm and in style.
A seed was planted in her heart,
A hope to share my verse,
Responding to the poet's art
Before the idea blurs...
For words have powers all their own,
As every prophet knows,
Some warm the heart, some chill the bone,
Some blossom like the rose...
The dream foretold her destiny,
The weeks, the months and years...
The city of adversity
Was home to many tears...
Yet when our tears are wiped away,
God grants us smiles anew...
If we read poems every day,
They help to see us through...
Denis Martindale, copyright, April 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
The old fun thing is when somebody typed up the first chapter of War and Peace. And then made a precis of the rest of it and sent it out and only one publisher recognized it.
quote by Jim Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Constructive Criticisms Are Welcome
the way i typed it has a sentamental value...im glad for your consern on my spelling but toommorow is not the point of the poem...thank you for being a 'spell check' if you will but each letter and word is writen the way i write it for a reason...but thank you for your concern
something british i suppose,
but the way i type it
has a sentimental value...
i am glad for your concern
on my spelling but
tomorrow is not the point of the poem...
thank you
for being a speller
a checker but each (word and letter) is written
the way i write it with reason
under the circumstances
reasonable and
legal and tolerable
thank you
thank you
for your concern....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The mind is not sex-typed.
quote by Margaret Mead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Message Of The Wind
it is your
coldness
typed in
sighs
in the
wind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My assignment was in the communications office, where I typed out dispatches.
quote by Jack Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How To Write A Poem!
Think of a title! Don't be rash!
Just take your time and don't be flash!
Then start one line but cross it out
If it should niggle you with doubt!
Be open to a million thoughts
Such as the poet often courts!
You know, the kind that children like!
The iron's hot! It's time to strike!
It won't take long if you rehearse -
It's only four lines for a verse!
If you write 'vivacious fashion',
God will smile and bless your passion!
Let God grant a rhymes bonanza!
Pretty soon you'll have a stanza!
Then when you're 'finished' try to trim
The brilliant insights sent by Him!
Compressing compositions down
Might make you scratch your head and frown,
Yet suffer for your art, my friend!
Strive for perfection till THE END.
poem by Denis Martindale
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I'm constantly revising. Once the book is written and typed, I go through the entire draft again.
quote by Chaim Potok
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am a typed director. If I made Cinderella, the audience would immediately be looking for a body in the coach.
quote by Alfred Hitchcock
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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