Within The Next 7 Days!
You and your poetry,
Me and my poetry,
Selected! !
In this world,
With your muse,
With my muse,
Of this honour,
Of this love,
Of this peace,
As a poet,
Of your new poem,
Of my new poem,
Within the next 7 days!
But, bering very excited about it.
cash, bash, lash, mash, wash, ash, flash!
of your muse,
of my muse,
The prizes,
The sizes,
Seizes! !
As a participant,
And like a friendly reminder;
However, being based on your previously published work.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Are Times/ When The Poetry Of The Poem
THERE ARE TIMES/ WHEN THE POETRY OF THE POEM
There are times
When the poetry of the poem,
And the poetry of the poet
Are poetry.
But there are too times
When the poetry of the poet
And the poetry of the poem
Are not poetry.
There are times
When all the poetry,
And all the poets in the universe
Do not make the world a poem.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem The Poem And The Poem Again
THE POEM‘ THE POEM AND THE POEM AGAIN’
‘The poem the poem and the poem again’
Isn’t there any life without poetry?
Why is it always ‘The poem the poem the poem’?
Let it be some other dream
Or some other small facet of our endless realities
Why always ‘The poem the poem the poem? ’
The poet who lives and dies for the poem
Is only one kind of poet
And perhaps not even a good one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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!
Bayla
The events have not well settled down,
But i have seen the nakedness of your muse;
And be very wise to criticize me on this muse,
Because it is all about your love.
You may understand my muse or not,
But poetry is all about you and i! !
And what you write down in the name of your country will not satisfy me;
But i have to accept your lines in the name of poetry.
I am not the one that you are looking for,
So do not be very angry with my poems;
For they are all there to teach others than you! !
Bayla my lover is still at home,
And like a star in the land of lovers;
But this poem was not writtien for you.
I am very glad to understand your status,
But why are not ready for criticism? !
Because we are all learning on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Making Poetry
Why did I make a poem?
It's more than you can imagine
It's not about black or white
Because the power of poetry that I'm dumbfounded
Look at the whole Bible, everything is poetry {not, but a holy book down from Allah is the truth}
Abstract ideas of science are all from the poem
Idealism actual human life is poetry
I'm just trying to be honest...
Creating poetry for me is more than anything
Not me want to be Jesus or Muhammad {but imitate their pious}
But I do not know what my purpose {paradise}
Only the most important is to produce poetry
I just write from the unreal world
Introduce something to people here
Are they willing to accept it or not does not matter
Since the poetry of the poem is the image of eternity
Who continue to fly and only revealed to the seeker
Poetry for me is more important than life
More important than my beloved
More important than my brother
Because the poem can represent any
Why did I make a poem?
When you reject the poem in your life
It has a form of poem to poem
Actually you can not escape from poetry
But you did not realize it, be aware of?
Indeed the poem is really real
Do you not believe how strong poetry
Look at all the countries in the world today
All poems must have an ideology
Ideology of all States is poetry
Do you still deny its power?
From now on, deep down consider
The poem is more than just blank words without the influence
(30 April 2002)
poem by Irvan Hermawan Saichu
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There Was A Poem About Poetry
THERE WAS A POEM ABOUT POETRY
There was a poem about poetry
Written by a poet whose name was hidden within the lines-
The poem about poetry
Became a song in the night
And a distant metaphor
For the incomprehensible journey that is life-
It became anything it could be made to be-
Love,
A world of a kind,
A mystery,
The holy sounds of light far far away -
All the poems we know are like this,
In the darkness they say one thing
But in the light in the light
Oh how dark and deep and far and lonely they are-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Knitted Well
The quality of this poem is knitted well!
Flow, low, below, blow, slow, cow, row;
Because,100 over 100 equals to 1.
The texture of this poem is knitted well!
Well, fell, bell, tell, hell, sell, cell, dell;
For we now see what is going on in Syria! !
War, tar, bar, star, car, gar, far, jar, mar, par;
With tangible images and tangible reasons,
And like a phenomenal man and a phenomenal woman!
But this war is killing many.
Clove, glove, prove, hove, strove, wove, stove;
And, what a nice poem that it is!
For, it is in it if,
It is with the muse of love!
And like the tender words of your muse,
But we now know what is going on in Syria.
100 over 100 is equal to 1!
But the poetry of life is always arouns us;
For the theme of this poem is fantastic! !
Bow, glow, how, vow, wow, grow, know;
And like the sweet muse of love.
Mow, now, sow, tow, throw, crow, show;
And like a nice image,
Shell, yell, jell, ell, quell, tell;
With its mystical muse like the melody of your music!
But the bombs are destroying everything.
Love, dove, drove, rove, shove, cove, grove;
With this superb peom to satisfy your muse,
But the poetry of life is always around us!
And we should find peace on earth always through this poetic life.
Sweet scent of freedom!
And like the modern songs in the land of your muse,
Because,100 over 100 equals to 1;
And this poem is knitted well,
But the poor moon weeps in the land of your muse because of this war!
When will these bombs stop falling on them? !
For the rich moon laughs in another land and,
The poor moon weeps in the land of Syria;
And the bombs are falling on them from every angle!
But, i do hope for peace in your land as well.
The philosopher,
Your choices,
The lessons,
Your actions,
And like my people being punished because of this war!
For, the mortal beings are now becoming immortal;
And, there are no graves to bury many of them.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Which Makes No Reference To Poetry
A POEM WHICH MAKES NO REFERENCE TO POETRY
A poem which makes no reference to poetry
And does not wonder who and what the poet is-
A poem that makes meanings of life outside the world of its own self- reflection-
A poem that is what life is
In some far and different way-
That poem
Waiting elsewhere
Written by someone else
So great in its beauty
And so powerful in its light
That poem written by someone else
About something I know nothing about
In a way I never dreamed or imagined
That poem is not written by me
And never will be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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It Will Touch Your Heart!
Muse, infuse!
This poem is for you when you read it;
Because, i love you.
This poem is very special and,
It has the ingredients of love than hate;
So, take hate out of you and,
Bring in the light of love! !
This poem is for you because,
I love you;
And, this poem is here to guide you.
It will touch your heart!
Because, it is from my heart;
This poem is the poem of love,
Without hatred that leads to war! !
This poem is all that i have for you because,
I love you.
Smile and, let me see you laughing with the muse of love;
Becuase, i am here to share my love with you.
This poem has the spices of love and the aroma of romance waiting for you!
Because, it is from my heart.
This poem will touch you when you read it;
Because, i specially wrote it for you.
Muse, infuse!
With the joy of your heart;
Because, this is the true love that i share with you;
And, this poem will touch your heart because,
I love you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Poetry
1
poetry can be
like a sky filled with wrangling clouds
or as a sky without a wisp
2
in poetry there are no
clichés in thought and phrase;
and what is left there is
the resplendent and the living
3
poetry leaves one
rich inside
and ordinary outside
4
the fool defines poetry
and poetry defies all definitions
5
poetry entertains, inspires;
poetry tickles, distracts, and shapes and frees -
but its true intent, no one knows
6
many lines, and countless lines
many pages, and thick volumes
don’t make poetry
7
if one had no coins
one cannot buy bread;
but not all the world’s wealth
can bring you poetry
8
Oh no!
Not another love poem!
Oh no!
Not another poem about oneself!
9
rhyme, technique and meter
and tricks of prosody
don’t make poetry: passion does
poem by Raj Arumugam
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I Wrote This Poem And That Poem And Another Poem Again
I WROTE THIS POEM AND THAT POEM AND ANOTHER POEM AGAIN
I wrote this poem and that poem and another poem again
The world of poetry was open to me
And I could go on and on in it
It was a dream come true
A world which opened when I moved through it
A place I wanted to be
A place of beauty and peace and spirit and imagination
A good good place
The world of poetry was open to me
And as I wrote my way through it
I felt God had given me a gift of life
And I should at least know enough to be grateful for it-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Egoism of Poets
We don’t write poetry,
Poetry writes us.
How can we make poetry,
If we are part of poetry.
The world around us is poetry.
Poetry is already defined.
Calling ourselves poets.
Selfishness in every line.
Egoism in every word.
Stealing poetry from the world.
That already exists in every form.
It’s written in every mist,
Every tree, every bliss.
Who are we to write?
Calling ourselves masterminds.
Trapping ourselves in believe
That we are creating something unique
The world at our feet.
Just too full fill our need.
Even this poem is an act
of a selfish deed.
Every letter in ink.
Created through love and sin.
Writing on a paper
But it’s the world’s skin.
Pressing on the surface.
To see blue blood is our purpose.
Thinking poetry is ours.
Poetry devoured
By poets every hour.
Poems all around us.
Turning grey to dust.
Turning brown to rust.
We have captured the most
But there is still so much.
Bleeding away in disaster, poverty
And war.
Ink to us all.
A poet’s only lord.
His only norm, his only home.
His precious and beloved poem.
We should be ashamed.
poem by Nadim Lost Soul
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The Poetry Of Confession
THE POETRY OF CONFESSION
The poetry of confession -
The poetry of self- indulgence-
The poetry of the ‘wretch con-centered all in self’-
The poetry of moods and feelings-
Of all ideas only as they relate to the poet himself-
The poetry of desperation-
The poetry of need-
The poetry of urgency -
And serving the poet first-
Not enough of the world
Not enough of others- of other perspectives
Not formal and disciplined enough-
The poetry which is not crafted and polished
The poetry in which the need of the poet
Is more central than the quality of the poetry –
The poetry which may be too selfish to be good-
Whose moral failure makes more prominent its aesthetic flaws-
The poetry which is not so good
And not great
But quite banal and commonplace –
A poet can give his life to his poetry
And that still be nothing at all-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Emell
This muse of love is like how to write a song,
This muse of care is like how to write a poem,
This muse of peace is like how to write a stroy,
This muse of joy is like how to write a book,
But, i am now delivered with the muse of your love!
Because, i now live in the land of your muse and,
You are called Emell.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Where Is The Poem I Have Waited For All My Life?
WHERE IS THE POEM I HAVE WAITED FOR ALL MY LIFE?
Where is the poem I have waited for all my life?
The one poem that would say to me,
“You are a true poet, at last”
Where is the poem
Which would make me be Poetry?
Where?
The years have gone
Have I labored in vain?
The darkness comes
Light will not come again.
I try and I write still
But I will never know
Poetry will live,
But I soon will go.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The 7th Edition Of My Love
This poem is about the muse of your love,
But many will still wonder why?
Because i was in the bush last night and i saw your tears.
The dog became a god and the rat became a tar!
But war was very raw on your side;
And to leap for joy was like the peal of your muse.
I saw you tears yesterday,
But you can't repel the leper and come to me;
For the heavens know who i am,
But this poem will say it all.
This poem is about the muse of your love,
But what have they done to you my love? !
For i have seen the tears in your eyes.
I have now won the race and,
I will come and save you from this cold;
So put your clothes on without any clues on my muse,
For this era of your love is like the net over ten houses!
But i need a nap for you to use the pan on my stove.
The gel is now on your left leg,
And the dam is now visited by a mad man;
But a man at war is like the sorrows of your muse.
This is the 7th Edition of my love,
But i will come and save you from the heat!
And like shiny leaves with sharp points,
But try to abide in me and live with me in my abode.
Abreast yourself to the matters of love,
And leave your door ajar and let me meet Raja my friend;
For the anagram of my life is all about you,
Because Elvis lives in the land of your muse!
Append to my works to enhance your love,
But things around you are like the era of war!
So live up to the expectations of this poem,
And i will be there to save you with my sweet love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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 Loses His Power For Poetry
A POET LOSES HIS POWER FOR POETRY
A poet loses his power for poetry
He can put down words
But they no longer have poetry in them
Something of the feeling of what real poetry is
is gone.
He strives
He writes again and again
He puts words down in the forms and in the shapes his poems usually take
But he has no poetry in him
He has lost what he is
And all he can do
is strive again and again
Word after word
Silence after silence
To hear within himself again
A voice he does not have.
The poet is writing poetry
And it is not poetry
The poet is dead
And he is pretending to be alive
Is this a poem?
Is he a poet
Is he dead?
Is he alive?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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