The Poets’ Heaven on Earth!
Allpoetry.com is Poets’ home!
- A happy family that’s growing fast;
Where one can speak his heart out to others,
And share the joys/woes with sisters/brothers.
Where Greeters come and make you feel at home,
And help to clear your genuine doubts;
And guide you through the website’s rules followed,
And give the newcomers a warm welcome!
Oh, what a lovely place for all poets!
Empty your emotions and have no fear;
Where friends comment and critique on your writes;
But sometimes cause upsets and little fights!
The place looks friendly for all ages, minds!
Show off your talents at word-painting;
Enter the contests and win cups and points,
Blessings too; someone even anoints!
Nevertheless, ’tis a wonderful place,
Where stressed minds and hearts can find real peace;
Where poets post numbers at rapid pace,
And learning and fun is for paltry fees!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We As Poets
We as poets must command a sacred accent over a language of our choice,
We as poets must gift the minds of a failing generation,
We as poets must demand a clear explanation and a fair occupation,
We as poets must dissolve into particles and dust if we have not known enough,
We as poets must destroy the living standards of low quality,
We are to be the poetry of utmost perception and suffering.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Real Poets
THE REAL POETS
The real poets are few in number and largely known by name
The rest of us are endless frustration in aspiration
Words upon words upon words
Dreams upon dreams upon dreams
Getting and going nowhere forever unheard
The real poets find their anthologized place
And we know them over and over and over again
The rest of us just appear this only once
If we appear at all
And our words and our hearts and our minds
Do not encompass and inspire the endless rereadings
Time and Time’s Wounds make again and again and again
We are once only always forever losts
Nothing will save us
These words too coming in the wake of a long night’s reading
Of the poems of others
Cannot sustain and redeem
Cannot be what they would be
Cannot help and cannot save
Me or you or anyone we love
Even as poetry.
God Who Knows All
And in the End Decides on Everything
Has made us smaller even than the Angels
And our place in the Divine Song
Is not as far as we know
Anywhere heard at all.
Goodbye world
We are going
We have done what we could
We have written and written and written
Oxymandias’ poet will remain
And we will not
The lone and desert sands will stretch away
When we are not even a single grain.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.
quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poems from heaven
poems from heaven come to me in my sleep
i awake in the morning and i start to weep.
for in my dreams i see the loved ones who had past
they give me these words which will forever last
you are my child which i gave to the world at birth
i did not know at the time- if and what
your life would be worth.
but i knew in my heart that there was a purpose in your life
now i am in a better existence looking down upon you
and the lord has shown me what you have to do..
you are here to spread the word to all the other poets.
that they could reach more people than they
could ever dare to imagine.
open up your hearts and minds, and let
your loved ones souls with yours entwine.
listen to what they have to say
for with their words, this world
will be a better place.
.these are the poems from heaven of which
i talk about.
and of this i have no doubt.
to all the poets of the world, continue
to spread the words that come into your hearts and minds
for they will be here way beyond our time.
.
.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why People Become Poets Poets Dreams
have you ever wondered why people become poets?
poets have been around since the beginning of time
and they have been mostly men, speaking of their loves, life
and emotions.
famous love stories, plays, movies, all seen thru a poets eyes.
just as the centuries have gone by and everything in life has changed
so have the poets.
there is now as many and if not more female poets
than male poets. why? because they are more sensitive to emotions
and are not afraid to show or speak of it, unlike men who want to
show the 'MACHO MAN IMAGE'
poets see life thru different eyes for different situations
and write about it in so many forms, and see the light and
the darkness in everything, including the good and bad.
it may be just one word, or a line, or verse
that enters their mind to start creating
what will become a poem,
what is the poets dream that you will create?
a love story, a sad story, one of fear or hate, or passion
one of beauty, or war.
so many things to choose from- but it doesn’t matter
what you may choose, you must take the first step.
just as reading this is the first step to start on your way to writing poetry
and opening up your mind and soul.
touching other people and receiving comments
and feedback on your writings will help you to improve
on your weak areas.
some people do it because they are looking for fortune and fame
while others want to communicate with others, and others
just to see their names on something other than
a bill being paid.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Give Me A Home
Give me a home to call my own
A humble home of wood or stone;
A place where ripples laugh all day
And songbirds sing and children play
A little home of love and cheer
Where seasons paint throughout the year,
And at last, when the day is through,
A place where I may talk with you.
Give me a home to call my own,
A friendly home to stand alone
And crown some earthly mound of clay
Or set before an ocean spray,
A simple home of faith and trust
Where I may toil in Heaven's dust
And when, anew, each day is through,
A place where I may be with you.
Give me a home to call my own,
A common home of tree or stone;
A place where kindness lights the way,
And flowers bloom and willows sway-
A home of love where hearts may kiss
Each tender joy of wedded bliss,
And in each hour of life to find,
A truer peace of heart and mind.
poem by Sara Stowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Canadian Chronicles 32
On my holiday, I have had many surprises,
but none like I had on my birthday.
'The Auburn' is a prestigious place
where poets go in Calgary.
I had the honour of taking the open mike
and reading a couple of my poems to them.
However, what happen next took me by surprise.
When I had finished and left the stage
the poets at 'The Auburn' sang happy birthday to me,
then my friend Melvina read out a birthday poem
she had written especially for me.
It didn’t end there,
for during the interval they brought out my cake.
My two friends Sue and Melvina
kept the whole thing from me,
but what a wonderful surprise.
The whole evening was too wonderful for words
and something I will never forget
and yet another thing I have to thank
my two adopted sisters for.
19-20 June 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home, Sweet Home
Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gayly, that come at my call --
Give me them -- and the peace of mind, dearer than all!
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,
And feel that my mother now thinks of her child,
As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door
Thro' the woodbine, whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile,
And the caress of a mother to soothe and beguile!
Let others delight mid new pleasures to roam,
But give me, oh, give me, the pleasures of home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
To thee I'll return, overburdened with care;
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there;
No more from that cottage again will I roam;
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet, home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
poem by John Howard Payne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peace Poets
We are a bunch of peace poets
We hate war and sing songs of peace
Poets of the planet, come and join us
Our pens are now much stronger than weapons
It roars more than a gun.
Planet belong to peace lovers
Warmongers have no place on this planet
Days of warmongers are over
We are a bunch of peace poets
We sing songs of peace.
Oh poets of this planet
Come and join us
We shall make our planet a heaven
Warmongers are dead forever.
poem by Devil Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet 2 Poet
We all have different writing styles, and we
May not all have grace and poise.
But when we do write, it’s all to make some noise.
We want to be recognized by the co-poets
All fair and true.
For writing our poetry is what we all like to do.
So I welcome all my co-poets who take this beautiful ride
And all their dreams and visions, they do find.
We do not only write what comes into our minds
But we write from the heart
And this is where poetry gets its start.
So continue to write all that you see and feel
Because these are human emotions.
That from us, no one can steal.
WELCOME ABOARD THIS TRAIN OF POETRY.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home Alone Happy Without Working Computer
Home alone happy without working computer
I take my pen in hand
And slowly write these words –
Let the world click and paste and post
I am out of it for now-
I have before me an evening of any book I like
Of any page I want to write
-
Peace of Mind is one place of attention at a time-
Here weighing each word as I write
I am at home with my inner self-
I hear my own thoughts
I correct them at my own pace.
So many words and so many pages
Have been written in my life-
Now in this one
I am wholly at home
Peaceful, quiet happy
Each word a small blessing
As I write it-
This is the only poem I know
The only page I see
The only place of attention
I give myself and my soul to
At this moment.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Poets?
When a poem is read
A reader's home is entered
Where dwells a kindred spirit
You laugh…you cry
You groan and you sigh
You feel and taste and hear it
We bring tears to eyes
Smiles to lips…
Memories to mind
We make you think
With pen and ink
And open minds once blind
That music is a source of joy
Of that, of course there is
No doubt
But words and phrases
Ink on pages, of that
We'd ne'er do without
It's a gift given to very few
In truth, this game
of words and phrases
Of measurable worth?
Of real value none?
Of real time and of real places?
So why the need for you and me?
What place have we…Poets,
In grand schemes, of things and matters?
…It's because….
We give wings to words
That soar like birds
And oftimes leave your heart
…in tatters…
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poets! Who Are We / Why Do We Write
Is it our sub conscious seeking recognition?
Is it our search for fortune and fame?
Or is it that we enjoy the word game?
For every question there is an answer
And for every answer there is a question.
Who are we that we love to write?
So many reasons and excuses that we use.
Are we going thru this. Or feeling that,
or heard or read something that inspired us.
I have come to my own conclusion
As to what a poet is.
A poet is the dictionary, the encyclopedia of life.
Our poems give words - LIFE, DEFINITION
MEANING, FEELINGS, AND EXPLANATIONS.
Words to us is like food to the stomach
It is taken in, absorbed and then let out
For new food to enter.
For what ever reason that we write
We can or can not touch peoples
Hearts and minds, and we feel a peace sublime.
We become the voices of the voiceless
Who are afraid or too shy to speak.
We become the mothers, father, sisters, and brothers
The lovers, the homeless, and the abused.
But we do not mind being used.
New poets join us every day
From every country in the world
I’m proud to say.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Here
in here we come
without promises
of stars
we are free to go
leaving is not difficult
it is all in our minds
this dizziness about
our existence as poets
the last bulwark of
erotic thoughts
this is the place of
certain confidences
we write what we think
not what we are
we empathize we get into
the shoes of another we weep
as though we do not own any
tear we keep the silence sometimes
as though we own space
we move as though we are
the river we fall as though
we are the rain
this is this place
welcome back to this world
of words
bring in the emptiness
think that soon you shall be full
and then empty yourself again
feel the essences
of all these nothingness
i have come with empty hands
and i shall leave
without my face.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Welcome Home
In my life
I have seen
Far away places
Wild and serene
But nothing I saw
Prepared me for
The mat on the floor
Saying "welcome home"
Time flies
See the moon rise
As I'm makin' my way
Through another long day
But I'll go
To a place I know
In my heart I know
There's just no place
Like home
Welcome home
Welcome home
To that place
That's safe and warm
Always a shelter
From the storm
I'm going home
Welcome home
Roll out the welcome mat
For me!
I'm goin' home
Sometimes
I remember
All the days I never knew
If I would ever make it through
But just when
I'd give up again
I'd remember when the days
Were stormy
Home was always
Waitin' for me
Sayin'
Welcome home
Welcome home
Where there will always be
A welcoming light on
Just for me
When I go home
Welcome home
No place
That I would rather be
Than goin' home
In my heart I know
That someday when my time
Is drawing near
I'm gonna hear
Welcome home
Welcome home
Where there will always be
Somebody waiting
There for me
When I go home
Home sweet home
Everyone's smilin' just for me
When I go home
In my heart I see
Somebody waiting
There for me
Welcome home
Welcome home
It looks like a
Starlight symphony
I'm goin' home
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unicorn 4
What is known, is known – known gently,
meekly, mildly, sweetly; that’s the experience
that men bring back who’ve seen that creature plain.
But since the unicorn grazes in all our minds and hearts,
each has his image. Poets love to write of that creature
as they picture it; but what of those who met it plain
in forest glade, upon the hills, or white amidst the waves?
It’s said that, then, some poets put away their pens forever or awhile,
despairing that their word-hoard holds no words
that can describe those things invisible which
that creature brings to the mind, when met;
some can no longer give it even a name
as if that very word can seem to falsify.
They’re asked, was it, just, beautiful? – and hesitate,
because what yesterday, was ‘beautiful’ is a different word
today; that creature shows them that a word
means what it does; today, ‘beauty’ has done more in them;
it speaks a unity which is not static – can do all things
as Helen’s beauty, so we’re told, could make a war from peace;
so beauty can make peace from war – as poets prove.
And so, those who’ve seen it plain but wish
to say no word that might be less than truth
find that its subtle magic guides their pen
so that they may write with that same ease
with which that creature lives,
write of any, and of all things.
And all who’ve seen it – who’ve seen it move
within the utter stillness of itself
as never before have they seen a creature move
and hold that in themselves, wish, wordless, to return
to be again in that creature’s still shared self-presence;
the wisest of them finally to find
that it may graze forever in the poet’s mind.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Want My Poetry
(8/22/12)
I want my poetry to touch the hearts and minds of all who read
And on their emotions my words would feed.
To express to all people no matter who they may be
Or what schooling they may or may not have
That their voices will be heard and told
And their emotions will all unfold.
Every emotion known to man will be written
With a gentle hand.
We as poets can climb into your being
And see what you are seeing, and to feel
Your every emotional pain
For no two are ever the same.
To feel your hunger, your thirst, your needs
And feel the cut vein when you bleed.
To feel your sorrows, your bitterness, your hate
And also feel your religious faith.
We are you - you are us
And in our minds you put your trust.
Let us tell the future generations
That these words were our salvation.
I want to make you feel the splendor
And to my words you will surrender.
To make you feel happy inside
And with a smile you can not hide.
To make you see that ALL LIFE is worthwhile
As you look upon that newborn child.
To let you know that your life was given to you
Because the love your parents knew.
© L. RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
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Home Sweet Home
I need a home
A place that I can breathe away
No need too big, no need too small
Home that's not just a house
A place where I can live peacefully
Away from the storm, away from the rain
Home that warm without lighting the fire
A place where I don't feel lonely
The greatest place, the highest place
That could be in my dream
Please God help to find
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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