A Valentine
For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure
Divine- a talisman- an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
The words- the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet's, too,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando-
Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Related quotes
The poet's page
Like a band of beggars
Revealing to each other
Where to find the bread
Is the poets page
An open line
Where poets reveal what's
Inside their heads
A platform of
Artistic exchange
Where an accompany of poets
Express what should be said,
As the
Words seems to take on life
For they are poet read
Poets can feel one anothers pain
As well as relates to each
others shame
Emphasizing on a topic is
A poet's personal lane
Poets dvides the spoil
As they expand, due to
sharing their gain
This is partly my analogy
Of a poet's fame
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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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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Naughty Words!
Often words are but tiny turds of humor and of wit,
Flotsam in a poets mind…“Oh my, what junk, what shit! ”
Alas, it’s true at times words can form a perfect line,
“How wonderful, how clever” the words are so sublime
When all is said 'n done, its truth that’s clear 'n real,
By writing what we see 'n hear...especially what we feel
Write on poets!
There be no rules that we must heed or follow
Drink in the gifts of words sweet chums...
But don’t forget to swallow!
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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The End Of The Chapter
Ah, yes, the chapter ends to-day;
We even lay the book away;
But oh, how sweet the moments sped
Before the final page was read!
We tried to read between the lines
The Author's deep-concealed designs;
But scant reward such search secures;
You saw my heart and I saw yours.
The Master,--He who penned the page
And bade us read it,--He is sage:
And what he orders, you and I
Can but obey, nor question why.
We read together and forgot
The world about us. Time was not.
Unheeded and unfelt, it fled.
We read and hardly knew we read.
Until beneath a sadder sun,
We came to know the book was done.
Then, as our minds were but new lit,
It dawned upon us what was writ;
And we were startled. In our eyes,
Looked forth the light of great surprise.
Then as a deep-toned tocsin tolls,
A voice spoke forth: 'Behold your souls!'
I do, I do. I cannot look
Into your eyes: so close the book.
But brought it grief or brought it bliss,
No other page shall read like this!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Oh These Poets And Their Sounds
OH THESE POETS AND THEIR SOUNDS
Oh these poets and their sounds
Their distant rhythms
Which take your soul away-
Oh these poets and their sounds
And the longing to be
One of them-
Oh this poet
And all his cry of loneliness-
Oh these poets and their sounds,
And he in his own small voice
Crying out lonely words
Before his own lonely page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Clash Between Truth And Love!
Love has a spell over everyone!
Who is there not swayed by love?
Truth I say friends take as advice;
But words of love they accept as
Decree of divine dispensation!
Love wins what truth struggles.
Same thing happens with poets too;
Poets are overtaken by poetesses
by being ladies of beauty and love!
Poets however sincere they are
Are left behind poetesses often!
Intellect can be used to say truth;
Imagination can be used to do so!
Dry intellectual truth falls on deaf ears
But sweet imaginary truth reaches all!
Wisdom lies in maintaining silence
Believing that truth will prevail finally!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Poets
Poets write
and when the poem is done
they search for words
to write another one.
Poets write
and when the poem is through
they search for thoughts
to write another two.
Such is the life of a poet.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Poets Improvise
Pardon this poem's tale, warp w[r]it it be,
Old mind aims meets, binds word games into gear.
Ever scanned art, we let wise thoughts come clear,
Their end to share here, setting spirit free.
Some see spun verse with risibility.
I through revealed art relink lines sincere
Motifs realigning show in masked mots here, -
Pleasure discover in jest play, planned key.
Run round rhyme lines, read riddle's energy
Opens up house, home, renews one’s cheer.
Voyage take, see thread wed verse appear
In enchanted ave twine, idyll see!
So rhyme dare meet, as all bestirs joy's pleasure
NET treasure to men awe, as we spend leisure
© Jonathan Robin Polyacrostic wrriten 12 September 2005 and revised 3 June 2007
external acrostic: Poets Improvise
internal acrostics
ABLE WAS I ERE I SAW ELBA
Poets Improvise
HANDS HEED HANDS
TREASURE PLEASURE MEASURE
poem by Jonathan Robin
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I Write Poems For Poets
I WRITE POEMS FOR POETS
I write poems for poets
Our situation as poets-
The longings the feelings
We so need to express-
The love of language-
The hunger for recognition-
The frequent rejection-
The kind word of a reader that moves-
Poems for poets
We as we each are
All so different-
And we as we share
Words and worlds
We hope to have read.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Fear Through Words
It is through fear I write this
Through fear I dare not speak these words
Or name the muse of who I pen them to
I hold a gentle and honest love to my heart
Such a love as yet untried and unknown
What good are my words when I cannot speak them
To my muse so beautiful so sweet, so divine
I fear I may lose them so completely
That I stay silent, bide my words so well
And watch with abject despair
My muse, object of my whole desire
Grow more distant with each passing day
And I fear I may lose all together
By speaking these words, these cursed words
I asked myself once, what I search for
Is it what I want or what I need in life
And there I saw my muse, a world of beauty
More than I could imagine or ask for
A gentle heart and loving nature
Those warm soothing eyes I look to
Do not see me as I would wish
I fear if they were to, see my innermost soul
My passion and my love for them
They would turn away and be lost completely
Which is why I write with fear
These words I dare not speak
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Great Write...
Every poem is an invitation
for the readers to use their imagination
a vehicle licensed
to carry passengers
who sometimes have a greater imagination
than the poet
even perhaps get more from the poem
than the poet knowingly put in
which you must admit
if with a slight embarrassment
as you read the words of praise
is a divine joke
and from the divine viewpoint
very practical since
every reader is an invitation
for the poets to match their imagination
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Unaltered pages
so many want
to be poets
they let words
guide them
(take the lead)
writing in
a high fashion
for the glamour
i suppose
for me
i let my
humble heart and soul
guide me
to my poem
the first words
human uttered
were born there
and still are
for poets
who string verses
that lift readers
to the unaltered
realm (pages) of their life
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Scraps
There's a habit I have nurtured,
From the sentimental time
When my life was like a story,
And my heart a happy rhyme,--
Of clipping from the paper,
Or magazine, perhaps,
The idle songs of dreamers,
Which I treasure as my scraps.
They hide among my letters,
And they find a cozy nest
In the bosom of my wrapper,
And the pockets of my vest;
They clamber in my fingers
Till my dreams of wealth relapse
In fairer dreams than Fortune's
Though I find them only scraps.
Sometimes I find, in tatters
Like a beggar, form as fair
As ever gave to Heaven
The treasure of a prayer;
And words all dim and faded,
And obliterate in part,
Grow into fadeless meanings
That are printed on the heart.
Sometimes a childish jingle
Flings an echo, sweet and clear,
And thrills me as I listen
To the laughs I used to hear;
And I catch the gleam of faces,
And the glimmer of glad eyes
That peep at me expectant
O'er the walls of Paradise.
O syllables of measure!
Though you wheel yourselves in line,
And await the further order
Of this eager voice of mine;
You are powerless to follow
O'er the field my fancy maps,
So I lead you back to silence
Feeling you are only scraps.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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God's Poets, Love & A Good Poem
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
EVERY OTHER NIGHT
If it was left to me and my desire
I would seek satisfaction every other night.
I would enjoy your divine, God given love
And hold you forever close and tight.
Every other night would be Heavenly for me
Though I must respect and honor what you do and say.
My need for you is far greater than your need for me
As I patiently wait for our time of play.
I will always remain watchful, loving and caring
Not to hurt, destroy, mistrust, dissatisfy or offend.
Out of all God's blessings from Heaven to Earth
You're my greatest treasure, passion and friend.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
Tom's 465 Poems Are Free To Share!
By God's Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!
Tom Zart www.internetvoicesradio.com/t_zart/
Pavers Of Life
I must make a trip to London
and walk on the pavers of life.
I must feel the death of the poets
that endured the mental strife
of not enough time to ink the page,
for death came early during that age.
I must feel their messages in my mind
and experience the force of words
coursing through my body, my soul
and in my heart like a thousand birds.
For I feel the call to reconnect
and praise these poets with respect.
For poets live in the hearts of men
and paint pictures over and again
with eloquent phrases one by one
filling their pages until they're done.
I must make a trip to London
from whence my journey had begun.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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To the spirits of Abn 'Arabi, poet, and Averroes, philosopher
The philosopher asked the poet,
Does what the poets and the mystics
find in their hearts, agree
with what the philosophers have discovered
or reasoned to be true?
The poet answered
Yes, and No
and between the two
is a place, a space, where
the mouth is silent,
the pen hovers poised above the paper,
the eyes sparkle,
the heart leaps and rejoices,
and the mind soars on journeys
beyond anything that was known before
and lives experiences never before experienced;
finds words behind words
that were never spoken before,
sounds behind sounds
never heard before,
a knowledge beyond love,
a love beyond knowledge..
a place where poets and philosophers
meet together in a world of wonder.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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God's Poets A Good Poem & Love
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
The Truth Within
The Violin in his hand, His mind is at a far
The tears held within: the winds resemble his sorrows
The strength in his voice, the pain in his soul
Why hold it all when the truth lies in your soul
The smiley face fades like the watery paint
The thought hit him like a dream in broad daylight
Patient was his virtue, but sorrow was to overcome
Why hold it all when the truth lies in your soul
His silence got the best of him
Now his pain cant be faded by her words
He would rather hold her than leave her,
His words wont change her mind
Why hold it all when the truth lies in your soul
She was a treasure worth keeping
but the wrong treasure for him 'she once said
Healing the truth, Healing the wounds
Regret is unbearable, Time is at its essence
Why hold it all when the truth lies in your soul
Sometimes the truth makes us walk away without a word
Sometimes it avoids us hurting the treasures in our lives
The best he hopes times forgives him
But it never does it reminds him the constant mistakes of his silence.
poem by Sylviah Salima
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An Apple by any other Name...
“The apple, reddish plump,
hanging from rooted branch
beckoning to be taken, tasted
to savor deep, sweet, sweet flesh.”
Now these simple words penned
in poetic form take meaning more
as readers ponder the hidden core.
Surely a metaphor they surmise…
Maybe a lady… virginal and all
waiting to be taken in whatever way
or the sinly sin, snake charming bites.
On the mind goes, pondering poets play.
And timid hands keep downward pose
as the poet posts and waits replies
but one lone soul does venture forth
and braves a response to poet’s prose
“I think it is about eating an apple! ”
A Few Words
A few words
Could bring more than a sound
Touch the ears turn wry to golden smile
or sharper than a glass to cut into pieces
Misunderstanding,
Winding up a road between us
Separating emotions out of mind from the case
Would be wrong to let ego reign the grace
How ignorant sometimes heart could be?
Deaf two ears, and blinding opened eyes
Pretend the silence is your voice
Avoiding you is not a choice
Misunderstanding
A curse of few words
Lead a way to stray from the truth
A plead for apologizing replied by ignoring
A few words used for fighting and shouting and hurting
You............Silence
Standing still but beautifully broken
I looked into your eyes and surprised
In a mirror of a story without lies
Heard...listened a word...'sorry'
Encodes a meaning of 'Forgive me'
No, your lips tightly sealed
It is your voice within sent to me
A few words
I used as the sharp glass tease
Cut you deeply, and you bleed
Saw it all behind the naked eyes
But you still standing to hold me
Never mind how wrong i can be
How i can find a magic in a few words
To heal your pain stained and clot
Regretting how wrong i did to you
To believe unreal and count your tears
I never thought so hurtful this way
When i thinking of myself it linking to you
I hurting myself whenever i hurt you
A few words
I tried to search for proper sorry
Would you blind your eyes, deaf two ears?
Words crime sound nothing but now i fear?
It fears me as i don't to lose you
...Forget the past and start a new
we never meant to be hurt...
You replied with A few words
In form of softness creating golden smile
Your sweet words neutralize the voice of bile
I learned how to speak when i was a child
But just understanding 'A few words' now
Misunderstanding
Lesson of learning to understand
If i can turn back each time i hurt you
Will avoid this bruises stamp on you
Now, between this winding road
As i standing at the aisle of choices
Picking either Emotions or Mind
Decided to fuse, balance these two
A relevant choice for not to hurt you
Sanity tell all to me,
We meet not to wait this end
We born to be happy till the end of time
A few words
Powerful or hurtful
Time to choose...
: : : : : : : : : : : : : : Theme: Power of words: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
The twisted story just for a write to point what
words can do..for me it's better silent than let
people hurt by our words, unless we make say it better
: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
poem by Unwritten Soul
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