En.Citatepedia^®.ro

When I am Gone

Someday if people find my words
what will they think of me?
Will they scratch their heads and wonder
how I came to be
obsessed with thoughts that came alive?
How sometimes in the morning at five
I could not sleep nor wanted to sleep
and had to write 'til my time would end.
For words to me became my friend
and walked with me with a gentle step
and brought me peace when I had wept.

Or will they cast away my words
and think upon their own?
It would not sadden me at all
for I had always known
that poetry is for the soul to feel
and became for me my way to deal
with life.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Other one's words

We all go to sleep
With someone’s words
In our minds

Words of kindness
Words of anger
Words of every kind

They carry us off to sleep
And perhaps temper
And shape our dreams

Words said in caring
The most soothing
it seems

In anger or sadness
In calm and in madness
Words in our minds, we’ll find

As we drift off to sleep
Be it fretful or deep…and
Our mind slowly lowers it’s blinds

We all go to sleep… be it shallow or deep
Hearing some other one’s…
Words in our minds

poem by David Whalen
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Poetry in Me.........

Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
Anger writes the feelings in the speed of thought,
I swing the axe to split the block of inspiration
Mind Pictures in my words sleeping under dreams.
Happiness and sadness hold hands in the whirlpool of words
Metaphor movies flicker in my brain,
Venting feelings to flow from my pen,
Celestial images punctuated live as
Syllables jostle for rhythm’s flow.
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
I find comfort deep within as we write together
With your silent guide my friend,
In the cutting room snakes strangle the ‘odd’ word

Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
I find comfort deep within as we write together
With your silent guide my friend,
In the cutting room snakes strangle the ‘odd’ word
Then wonders mark unfolds, originality leaps forth.
My eyes close feeling tired the hour is late
On this session I must close the gate,
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts sleep,
A silent friend to keep.

poem by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Can I Sleep?

How can I sleep when the nights are long,
too long to be in bed?
The pull of the pen is calling me,
too many words in my head.

There's not enough time. Why waste it on sleep?
too many things to write.
I hear the words call out to me
too often in the night.

But what care I about the time?
It's the words I care about.
For the body when tired can always sleep
and my thoughts would probably doubt

my sincerity to this purposeful quest
to connect my mind with the page.
I have dedicated my waking hours
too often as I age.

How can I sleep when the nights are long,
too long to be in bed?
That can be left for a future time
when I've nothing left to be said.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Words

Words on this paper
Words in my head
Words while I'm texting
Computing
Unsaid
Words between people
Words on the phone
Words upon words
Even when I'm alone
Words from the Bible
I question
Don't mesh
Words from pornography
Making them flesh
Words with flat letters
Written in black
Good words and bad words
You cannot take back
Words that are shallow
Words that are deep
When they're too many
They put me to sleep
Words that I'm writing
And rhyming you read
Whatever I'm saying
There's prolly no need
Words from the alphabet
Words that can't be
When you are blind
And it's Braile that you see
Words that are worthless
And said on the fly
My words or your words
Are most likely lies
Words in a sentence
Wise words or fair
The only words earnest
Are those said in prayer

Written by Sara Fielder © 2011

poem by Sara Fielder
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words

Words are my weapon
words are my shield
Guns and knifes just ruin lives
so words I keep concealed
Words are all I have here
they help me struggle on
Words are here forever,
when all I have is gone
In my thoughts or in my poems
Words will help ease my brain
I write down what is on my mind
Expressing love or feeling pain
Not that many I can trust
But words I can depend
Words wont turn there back on you
Words are my only friend

poem by Nic Hillen
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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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Words strung across the sky

Words strung across the sky
~
Words strung across the sky
Waiting to be heard
Talk of peace and love
Building a heavenly utopia
To aid our sleep, to ease our guilt
To answer a call to faith
Wealth matters not to words
The class of man falls away
The only judgment is by the self
The words chosen and used
The words listened to
It is people who make a place
And words which bring them together
Let them be written or spoken
As they are found
By the soul of man

poem by Matthew Holloway
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I Wanted A Poem In The Early Morning-Even Before The Darkness Had Gone

I WANTED A POEM IN THE EARLY MORNING

I wanted a poem in the early morning
Even before the darkness had gone-
I wanted to hear words
That meant music
That said I was alive and could write-
I wanted a poem in the early morning
So that I could be justified
For the rest of the day-
Time and again I have written that poem
I write it now -
How wonderful when it flows as if it is real
I may never know that it is
But in writing it, thank God, I feel alive and blessed

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Just Another One Of Those Poem Thingies...

Well as you can tell,
This is just another one of those poem thingies.

But I ask you,
'What is poetry? I mean,
Do people just write words in wierd orders.'

Well, poetry is an expression,
An opinion, well I guess it could be,
Anything,
From a very 'sensitive' piece of writing
To an essay that you wrote three years ago.

The definition that you find in a dictionary
Has nothing to do with poetry.
It is just a summary,
No an assumsion of what those fools writing the dictionaries
Think it is.

Poetry is whatever you want it to be.
So next time some person who thinks that they're too cool,
And that your so stupid because you like poetry,
Weather it's writing it or just reading it,
Tell them that they write it too,
Weather or not they consider it to be poetry,
It's their opinion and anything,
Can be poetry.

I have a love for poetry,
That can not be described.
I know,
That sounds obsesive.
But I really do love poetry.
I feel like I can say anything and,
It doesn't have to be serious,
I mean it can,
But it is not required.
Nothing is required of you when you write poetry.

It is relaxing,
A chance to step aside from life,
Even if it's just for a few minutes.
I do it for my own enjoyment an relaxation.
Why do you?

poem by Maddy Macleod
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And I call her 'Just Meggie' (Meggie Gultiano)

I know you'll find it hard to believe me
If I tell you that they describe you in there poems perfectly
I could hardly understand how I can describe you
Knowing that I really don’t know
What literal perfect words that will fit for you
I've never been like this before
I really love to give my friend and mentor
The words she will cherished eternally
I just don't know how to pour out my feelings for you
I wanted to find those wonderful and bizarre words
To make you realize how much you mean to me
But words continue to elude me
What would they be?
Something poetic?
I'm sure it should be heartfelt and out of the ordinary
I'm afraid it's no use; every time I see your name and your poetry
The words came out the same
Ahhhh….. This woman will always be my Just Meggie!

poem by Rommel Filoteo
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0008 A Love Poem in a New Old Language

Wilfrid Chin Sue says that poetry
is about ‘about’, and thank you Wilf
for that, and thanks too from us poets all
to e.e.cummings for reminding us
that lurking in the words between
the words we give most value to
like nouns and verbs and adjectives
are the words that hint,
about the presence of the subtle

so here’s a love poem about your about

because when it comes down or up
to it, it’s all about just what’s about
you – like the scent you loved to use
which brought and brings
you into an empty room

and the things you left about
which speak of you
more subtly even than your scent

and your near… ah yes, your near…that's never far from me

and your around
that made eyes light up, with life and joy and love

and your between
which I shall not speak
(about)

and the because of our true together
which I could write (about) endlessly
because of its endless, its inexplicable,
its because

which reminds me of your beyond,
which I would not write (about) in case
I wept, or failed, or failed and wept

oh so many other, being one
but most of all

I miss your
around

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Writers block

At times I say to my pen
write dear pen
and scribble or scratch,
but whatever you do
write down words
and make sweet poetry
out of them.

But the pen lies silent
as if it’s ink is dry,
like a broken violin
that cannot play anymore.

So I go to my thoughts
and say think dear man
and dream and sing,
but I have forgotten everything
and every hymn
that I use to know
is gone out of my memory
as if it never was there.

So I try to dream
and to see pictures
of scenes of how
the words in the poems
should be,
but they grow stretching
away from me.

So I talk to my Muse
and no Muse answers me,
but when I pray
a thunderstorm flashes past
and words comes gliding down
like drops onto a thirsty soul.

poem by Gert Strydom
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There Are Days No Poem Can Be Written

THERE ARE DAYS NO POEM CAN BE WRITTEN

There are days no poem can be written
Grief and worry frighten the poem away
Yet the poem lives hidden
For our darkest moments our loneliest fears
Too need their poetry.

Poetry is a way of saying all we need to say
It is our deepest feeling most deeply expressed
It is all we are
The whole of our being
In words.

When a poet dies
Words die
When I will die
All I am will no longer be able to write
One more poem.

How afraid I am in the night
And how dark in the early morning before I rise
But now that I am here
Writing this
A bit of hope begins in me
And I can dream that
When I walk out the door
a few minutes from now
A new day will begin.

How many days I have left
How many poems to write
I do not know.

It is not light yet
And the darkness is still here
But I will feel the morning again
This morning
Thank G-d
You have given me so many poems.
A few small words
help me believe
I truly am alive.
.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Song For Mary

Written by: james henman
When I try to find
Words that wish to rhyme
I will never write this song for her tonight
We have stood alone
We have walked alone
Wont you help write this song for her tonight
Help me write this song
Help me write this song
Help me write her song
Tonight
When I try to pray
I cant start to say
All those things I wish to say to her tonight
When she hears her song
She will sing along
She will know the words her heart for me to find
Will you help write this song
Help me write this song
Help me sing her song
Tonight
All these words Ive said
Lyin on my bed
Will they help me sleep alone again tonight
And we have walked alone
We have talked alone
Will you help me sing her song for her tonight
Will you help me sing her song
Help me sing her song
Help me sing her song

song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Things You Say

Words
Said in a careless huff as you walked away
Hurt
Words
Said in a whispered excited voice
Caused electricity in me
Words
Said in a caring loving way
Were a balm for the wound in me
Words
Said in an angry menacing way
Felt like daggers thrown at me
Words
Said like sugary sweet morning due
Caused my knees to go weak
Words
Words, Words, Words..
Your words have so much power over me
Words
Said like a magic spell
Have enchanted me
Words
You throw around those words so carelessly
Do you know
Words
How they have been affecting and inflicting me..

poem by Rabia Minhas
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If I Had A Poem This Morning

IF I HAD A POEM THIS MORNING

If I had a poem this morning
And I could write it
With all my soul,
Then I would feel somehow
That I and this day are worthwhile.

But what I have
Is for the moment
Only these words.

And these words slowly emerging on the page
Feel awkward and lonely and slow and prosaic.

Still they are my words, my thoughts
What I have now to give.

And what if we so much want to give
And what we have to give
Is of no value to anyone else
At all?

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
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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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Words of liberation for my nation

Chains of slavery are still over my people.
Notorious minds still over power innocent minds.
What can free the black child, what can free my nation?
I ask in pain and suffering in the dark jail cells,
What can free me from mental slavery?
How to know right from wrong?
How to think free and build a free society?
The solution is in the words of liberation, the words of wisdom.

I write and recite a revolution, my revolution my poetry.
I do n’t need praises or worship but only recognition and understanding of the people to words of liberation, understanding of poetry.
I stand before you to present poetry,
I stand before you to present the words of liberation to my nation.

Poetry that builds, poetry that destroys.
Poetry that destroyed the impious minds of colonists in Rhodesia.
I speak of poetry that built freedom in South Africa.
When I speak of poetry I mean the true meaning of words.
Words of wisdom,
Words of freedom,
Words of liberation,
Words to free my nation.

The words of liberation to my nation
Words of liberation to free my generation
Poetry-poetry-poetry-poetry-poetry.

poem by zimi Nakeni
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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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