En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Faculty

Sometimes it seems so hard to work out the words,
and then again it seems not hard at all. Just write,
is as simple as that. There are times i can't seem to
work the words, other times the words come up
bubbling in my head with character and meaning.
At times i feel challenged by other writers, and i
begging to doubt my ability to work the words,
i simple read another writer and then i know i have
nothing to be worry about. I understand then that my
contest is with myself and not with other writers.
We all think about the same things, because once
in our life’s we all go through the same situations.
We all have the brain to create anything in our heads.
There’s nothing that i can't do if i focus and if i
don't focus; “you see” this word- focus is meaningful
in some ways, we need the focus, but in poetry we
need more the fantasy in our thoughts, the meaning
to our words, focusing can be important, but if your
head is not in the mood, there’s not going to be any
words bubbling up, even though you don’t need it so
much, because you can create a poem out of anything.
There’s one thing about writing, and reading poetry,
understanding the meaning behind the words.
Every word or phrase has a meaning behind, this is
where readers need to understand; for example-if i'm
drinking away my sorrows, it can mean, crying my
heart out, it can mean, i need to forget, it can mean,
a big hangover, it can mean, sleeping out in the porch,
it can mean, forgetting all you did last night; how many
things out of a phrase. Right know I would just like
to be in my cabin and sit right in front of the fire-place
with a bottle of wine and enjoy my pastoral life while
i write, amazing things.

poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Words Sometimes Take On A Own Meaning

Words sometimes take on a own meaning
and sometimes they are sharp and painful
as if there is much more to words

as if a kind of secret knowledge hides in them
that are sometimes something moving.
Words sometimes take on a own meaning

but somehow words can at times miss things
and are sometimes dependent on feelings
as if there is much more to words

when through it all love brings a kind of bonding
and so you and I are attractive to each other.
Words sometimes take on a own meaning

and daily a bond develops between us,
while you become more considerable to me,
as if there is much more to words

you constantly live in my thoughts,
while love becomes real through words.
Words sometimes take on a own meaning
as if there is much more to words…

poem by Gert Strydom
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Without you

I write words in vain,
words of which the meaning
you do not comprehend

and how to press love
into a few words
I do not really know

and you are away
and we stay a hundred miles from each other
and it feels as if

it is in different worlds,
as if every thing with time looses meaning
and I play the songs that you sing over and over

as if I can hear something in your voice,
read your poems time and time again,
as if it can bring something of you back to me

while destiny flattens me
and you run
like water through my fingers

and without you
my life is without meaning
and it continues aimlessly

and I do not know
why things at times do not work out,
why I am fighting life’s struggle in vain

and I cannot get you
out of my heart,
and cannot fight against you being part of me

and my blood is pouring, as my heart is broken
and my life falls to pieces without you
and I hope that your plans are only prosperous.

poem by Gert Strydom
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A Big Or Brief Poetry......!

Big or brief, what is poetry?
Poetry is......
Creating beauty out of blemish,
Making order out of disorder,
Producing meaning out of musical words,
Creating Universal truth out of trivialities,
Arranging points out of less known facts!

Is poetry just making rhythm and rhyme
Without meaning, life, force and taste,
Without free flowing musical words,
Without words of music, beauty, fun?

Poetry is free flowing river of words
With full of images, lively and lovely,
Transporting from this world to that world
Forgetting himself and readers here!

Just end rhyme is not enough to make it so;
Internal rhymes make music in rhythm
Making all enjoy music, meaning and ideas!

Poetry is the medium to say complex things
Not possible to say in other forms of language,
Saying unknown things using known things;
It is sound, substance, message and meaning!
And many more matters to many men in the world!

poem by Ramesh T A
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Writer's Drought

You've heard of a thing called writer's block and you've heard of writer's drought
But writers are never short of things on which they can write about
It's just at times their inspiration well does seem to run dry
And they cannot seem to pen a line though hard enough they try.

The writers drought it causes writers moments of self doubt
Till the words that seem locked in them eventually flow out
Through their pens to their notebooks their dry spells do not last
And on time lost out on penning words they seem to catch up fast.

Some writers in their writing drought cannot seem to feel inspired
To write even a single line they feel mentally tired
But when fresh inspiration comes to them much better stuff they do write
And feeling re-invigorated they sit and pen all night.

Most writers you will talk to of writers drought can tell
When there is no inspiration in their inspiration well
But when inspiration returns to them and their creative juices flow
They become much better writers and in self confidence grow.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Do it your way for Stephen Stirk

Sometimes the words that writers use
have different meanings and values.
For words don’t always mean the same
and common words don’t play the game.

Some words can mean their opposite
A writer must be explicit
selecting words in such a way.
Their meaning is as clear as day.

Avoiding in particular
the words that seem familiar
That sound the same when they are not.
Meanings can differ quite a lot

Like seams and seems or there and their.
A writer has to be aware
Simplicity is his finest tool
and that his readers as a rule

Are not concerned with the syntax
Your words should help them to relax
If they do not then you will fail
your efforts all to no avail.

Although your words are scholarly
perfectly composed grammatically.
Successful writers in the main
make sure they write to entertain.

They cater to the public taste
they haven’t got the time to waste
Writing works which won’t be read
That will not earn their daily bread.

Those who write professionally
research their market thoroughly.
The must be certain it will sell
and some of them do very well.

Amateurs, who post on the net
are not constrained they can forget
The publishers and critics views
and simply write the way they choose.

Though they won’t earn a single cent
it doesn’t matter, They’re content
with comments that their readers make.
They love to write for its own sake.

23/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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My Words

the art of expression
is what my words are penned down upon
the will of wisdom
and the essence of freedom
to bounce like a king kong
on the ping pong

glad or sad, is from within each or any
stanza of my words
from the top of my head
to the deep end of the membrane under my melanin skin
to the sensory nerves of my brain
coiled upon an ancient pane

my words,
that which mirrors my sense of thought and feeling,
that with an ancestor
that which the blood of my people
was shed for; just so simple
but my words are royal
because ‘am loyal
like an induna
and vocal
to usher-in a focal
point of the meaning of my words.

my needs
and deeds
have a lord
on board
to code my words
and shield my soul from the imp’s sword.

my words are so very simple
to understand
and overstand
‘t was my words
that kept the birds
away from the heads
of my corn
for i was born
and sworn
to live a life upon

my words are so very easy to grasp
the fewer that discern
the nobler i become
I need not to wonder
and ponder
over yonder
for such is unknown to you
and therefore you have no knowledge of me
nor are you, about my words

yes! my words is what i like
to write
for i write
what i like
to strike
a balance between
the psyche
and the mic

such is my words,
the art of penning down what is from
the mind
and rewind
to remind
my words to decide
my words

such is my words,
the art of expression
against deception
but inception
and intersection
of my words

i now tell you that
my words are the words from the art
that which i chat
to match what my heart
tells me; roger that
the art of expressing the knack of expression; my words!

poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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I read another poet I could not understand

I READ ANOTHER POET I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND

I read another poet I could not understand
The metaphors racing one after the other
The eternal thoughts taking on a new particular dress
Words and more words
Lines and more lines
Rushing toward meaning and beauty.

And in it all my simple not understanding,
My waiting to hear words that would return to me-
My understanding
That only by my own effort
By my reading again and again
By my willing to believe
Could I make another poet real.

But do I want another poet to be real
When I am a question,
And when there are already others real for me also?

Oh selfish little man oh poor poor reader-

Write your poem alone again
As if no one but you will ever be able to write
The poems which are real.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poet Tried To Shackle My Words

A poet tried to shackle my words,
as if from every poem
the message was stripped,
as if nowhere there was any mastery
of rhythm and sound to be found

as if I had sold my soul
to masses of people reading my verses,
as if I live in disrespect
to the expertise that a great poet
displays in his work

as if every line of mine
was just a wild cacophony
that I had flung together
in a utter hurry
to shower down on crowds of people.

Yet I while I swam against a tempest sea,
sticking to the truth and integrity,
trying to find answers to life’s mysteries
and problems
trying to expose injustice and oppression
there was boasting about a elitis clique
that totally excludes me

but they were going along the path
of political correctness and maybe indifference,
being far too scared to ruffle some feathers,
writing verses sixty times over and over
before they were becoming poems somehow,
before their words were catching some magic

believing that a great poem,
is like a jigsaw puzzle,
that you have got to unravel
with a dictionary,
where simple words can fuse together
with a own type of magic,

lacking in the ability
to find poetry in ordinary things,
to create poetry in lines
that by themselves fuses together
to create something great

but my words kept on coming,
falling into lines,
as if designed by a divine presence
and by themselves fused
into much deeper meaning
than I could find with my own abilities.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Poetry by Meena Mustafa

My brain is a recorder
It stores all black and white
Each time I write a poem
It throws a different light
It makes the reader happy
At times it makes him sad
The love of poetry
And the poems that I have
Words pour like fountain
Imagination takes its place
On a journey to knowledge
Poetry we must embrace
Poetry is my refuge
And keeps me on the path
Expressions take new meaning
And words pour out at last.
Poetry is a song that sings to the soul
The rhythm of the words that a pen can hold.

poem by Meena Mustafa
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The f word and me

The other day we discussed reasons
why people use
the magical f word.

a Young woman is of the opinion
that it’s because of a lack of imperfect language,
where a person’s vocabulary
lacks other words to use.

I think that there are many more other reasons
to slip in everywhere
and that vocabulary
has very little
or nothing to do with it.

One thing that can incite it
is exposure,
where people hear it
hundreds of times
every day
like in an army.

Subsequently without intention
it becomes part of your conversation
and your own vocabulary,
without drawing any attention
with yourself.

The word f is a power word
that give colour intensity
to the meanings of other words
and it can underline, emphasize
or lift some out.

You can also use it as a word
that has many meanings
and use it like a good shifting spanner
that shift for meaning values.

This word can also
be almost any word type
that gives bigger power
to other words used with it.

The thing that really matters
what others read
in the meaning of my words
and if I loose integrity by using it.

There are times
my mother wants to catch a fit
when I use the f word
and not from the meaning
of my words,

but from the negative context
that can be drawn with the word
and the easy transfer
of the word on children that hear my dialogue.

[With thanks to Skymaster, whose article inspired this poem.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Wake up Kavita!

Behind blurry, foggy windows
My 'wake up' words sit and wait.....
'Poetry..... Poetry'
(A reached for, flattened cuboid shape)
' Poetry....... For you it is early!
Here my lunch, I already ate!
Are you awake? '
(The words focus slowly)
' Kavita........Kavita?
Awake! , shower! tea!
Walk with me! '

Hearty steps steer
Legs walking me to work
As into your words I peer
In and out, the signal waits
For me to walk and catch its waves
With your friendly words in their wake!
'How your tea you take? '
Playful banter we make
But it's always over too quick
My peripheral on its obstacle avoiding task
My friend on electromagnetic magic received
My focus on your simple ask
(Blessed with a friend whom in me, believes)

Walking home, I know
the Indian Sun will soon be setting
A few sleepy words from you I may be getting
Windows with you, covered in sleepy fog, reflecting
Goodnight Sunshine!

poem by Stevie Taite
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Writing Frustrations I've Known

-It would seem, I've run out of words.
Nothing left to say.
I have lost my inner voice.
It's gone, completely astray.
Perhaps I should lay down pen and pad.
Never more write a rhyme.
On this poetry that I love
I shall spend no further time.
... not that I was ever truly a poet anyway
... it's just that, well, I did love it so;
... still, it feels the well is dry
... time to just let it go.

- So now, what of me shall be
Feeling empty in heart and head?
What purpose-without a word-shall be heard
With no way to express both hope and dread?
Where have the words gone
Must they ever stay away?
Who has taken my spirit's song
Why has the music of my soul nothing more to say?
... I try... seems of no use...
My mind torn asunder, literary abuse.

(this next part wrote a couple months later)

Listen, what do I hear?
Something is knocking at my gate!
A few months later now
But, not altogether too late.

A lonesome thought comes strolling in
From whence I cannot declare,
Just that it has arrived
With this simple message to share:

' What's a dime
To a lover of verse and rhyme,
And what's to fear
Of criticism drawing near?

For to write only for income
Would soon turn quite burdensome,
As surely as to not write for fear of ridicule
Would be to deny the voice within you.

The words may never turn a single head
But, don't dare believe they'll ever be dead!
God gives meaning to what he wants
Whether anyone else listens or not.

The way it is all spoke
By darling bards, or simple country folk,
Is well worth hearing
And so oft more than a bit endearing.

Don't worry about the rhyme
The perfect place or time,
Just give your soul in words as best you can
And those who should, will understand.

Those who don't
Just won't,
And that's o.k.
God speaks to them in other ways.

Trust his Spirit in all you do
Yes, this includes writing too,
Remember he promised he'd never leave you alone
Even in the simple words of your poems. '

-Pondering it over
I suppose this I've known all along,
Though thoughts may wander
True words are never gone.

Well, ya know what:
I believe I just might pick up paper and pen,
Good or bad, right or wrong...
Give it a go, once again!

poem by Smoky Hoss
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Crystal Ball

a crystal ball in your hand
foretelling my mood

stop it
the paranoia is a lamp in your mind

it is daytime
stop it

see the sun
feel the warmth

do not make predictions
reality is here

see the world for yourself
do not look at me

feel the grass
not my skin

touch the wind
not my words

fly like a bird yourself
do not think that i have wings

stop talking much
every syllable becomes a bar of your prison wall

try the silence
like licking vanilla ice cream

set me free
for i am free

live your life
do not be crippled by my own biography

focus focus
focus focus

write the words for your life
do not see my notes

be brave
as i am.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Live In A Hiding Place

There are times that I should try,
To be so much more alive
But if time was right then I would be with you again
Or do you worry that I try to avoid the point
And then deny
The time I spent deciding it was you again
It's when I live in a hiding place
It's the only way I feel safe
When I'm safe in a hiding place
(That's not hidden now)
I'm safe in a hiding place
It's the only way I feel safe
When I'm safe in a hiding place
And you're full of facts
But not things that could add up to words
Think about meaning more as an after word
As in afterward
I return but don't remain,
I'm impatient for a reason
To complain about winter,
Making me see through again
Or is it your damaged reply,
That makes me realize that
The more I try
The less that plans will help me comprehend again
So I live in a hiding place
It's the only way I feel safe
When I'm safe in a hiding place
(That's not hidden now)
I'm safe in a hiding place
It's the only way I feel safe
When I live in a hiding place
And you're full of facts
But not things that could add up to words
You think about meaning more as an after word
And you're full of facts
But not things that could add up to words
You think about meaning more as an after word
As in afterward

song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words between words

Words between words
~
I try and say most things subtle
To slip words between words
In the hope you will read and hear
Sometimes I speak with blunt honesty
Sometimes wish I just didn’t speak
Sketching in secret characters
Telling stories built on fantasy
When a subtle look reveals
The obvious biography
Those words between words
What I write, what I speak
I understand words more than people
Words always seem easy
We all have things we wish to say
Some are said, others kept
All that is written then spoken
Are words between words

poem by Matthew Holloway
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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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Aspirations To Be Met

Poetry is me.
I write about the struggles in life
and all my calamities.
The obstacles beset by and all of life's anxieties.

Or I may write of my success,
The fights fought and won,
How I would have raised my head above the water.
Things that I would have thought were stumbling blocks but turned into stepping stones.
I will write of how I became successful.

But I have a dream.
A dream that I will be able to write about the seemingly less important things in life.
Things that society did not stamp their stamp on as priority.
Like a ball, a tree, a toothbrush or even a bicycle-tyre.
To be able to write on the little things that add meaning to what it means to live.

These are things to be accomplished,
Visions to see,
Goals and aspirations to be met.
But I am a babe in the world of poetry.
I am like a kid who says-
'When I get big I want to be just like the poetic legends.'
I shake my head when I read the work of the professionals
Like Pablo Neruda, Maya Angelou and my favorite
Lawrence S. Pertillar.
I ask myself when will this be me?

But I have a vision
And I can see that I will graduate from being just a kid who writes to express herself freely
Into a Juggernaut of poetry.
The world will not be able to hide from my words.
They must hear me.
I foresee that my work will raise to the heights of the statue of liberty
And all of my sayings, all of my poems will shine just like that torch,
So radiantly.

poem by Apphia Garcia
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A poem for you...

I write a poem for you today,
to get a place in your heart for ever
A poem that could tell you my love for you
I write my poem with emotion and affection
for you to understand my deep thoughts for you
A poem to love and a poem to understand its soul
A poem to enjoy and a poem to understand its happiness
A poem to think and a poem to understand its way of life
A poem to learn and a poem to understand its content
A poem to sing and a poem to understand its melody
A poem to cry and a poem to understand its sorrow
There are poems I have written but this is specially for you
The poem could tell you how important you are for me
There are words comes out freely from my mind to write poem
but there are no words to find my love for you
Those words can not missed as I miss your love today
Let me have all those words put in to my heart and
say I love to write a love poem for you

Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka

Copyright ©2004 Ravi Sathasivam

poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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An Introduction To A Poetry Book

Poetry Is More Than Mere Words,
i agree
mere words do not make poetry
it is the mixture
of night
and day
and day
and night
when
you think of yourself
and the other
when the night
dragged
so slowly
and you forget
that
morning has arrived
like
an unwanted visitor
of you party

it's a profound expression of what's inside oneself.

oh yes, it is always the inside
that matters
myself wanting to get out
from the cave
of innocence
and assume
the form
of a bird
wanting to fly away and never come back
since
there is no home
anymore to
speak of

It's an impressive play of words with meaning and
depth through which the author shares his feelings,
thoughts,
and
ideas.

i agree, it is sharing
above all, reaching to others who take the same
walk with you
angst
depression
joys
bliss
nu mbness
and feelings
of guilt

a confession

Through poetry, he conveys his innermost self -
putting them into vivid
and vibrant verses
that tell stories,
express sentiments,
and speak of lives.

In this kaleidoscope of poems,
he gives focus on everything
and anything there is,
making this poetry
as diverse as life itself.

Enjoy

these poems, and

you'll find yourself inspired

to write your own.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My poems is not Poetry

My Poems are not Poetry
Poetry rhythm is essential part
Communicative act of rhythms
Where words created music
An effect on the reader’s and listener
Words beginning with the same letter
And achieve a poetically effect.

My Poems has no rhythms
For the first time I don’t know
What to say and how to show.
Many words is not my style
Let me say, I like your smile
I don’t think I should like you,
Unfortunately I do.

I'm not sure now how to write
I lost my idea how, where words
Are used in away similar
Creating Music, where you find
Languages of rhymes

I write Prose but not Poetry
Using a regular rhythm
Where vast majority
Of languages spoken and written.

I try to be a barn, the muses were believed and inspire
I try to hard without success,
you already know, I guess.
Anyhow, it doesn’t matter
Usually I do not write
Things like this, I never tried,
for the first time I don’t know
what these lines should say or show.

Allegory, metaphor equated
Meaning lie outside the narrative
Acrostic phase when read together
Alliteration words same letter for poetical effect
Satire is a form of humour
Limerick is a short humorous poem.
And Honestly, I don’t regret
Things I did and words I said.

7. January 2008

poem by Mary Wismer
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