Simply Be....
less words,
more truth.
undressed,
no images.
raw,
do not carve.
be,
simply be!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Beyond Words Beyond Images
it is ironic, these words claiming
that one day, these words will be beyond words,
that these images will be beyond images
that i will be like those who went their way alone
not befriending anyone but keeps on writing
in the middle of the storm
and cyclones and typhoons
and quakes and volcanic eruptions
beyond destruction, beyond words, beyond images.
smart man.
unlimited.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poem's Truth Is That It Says More Than It Knows
THE POEM’S TRUTH IS THAT IT SAYS MORE THAN IT KNOWS
The poem’s truth is that it says more than it knows
That it goes beyond its own intention
That it means in more than only one way
The poem’s truth is its hidden music
And the melody it plays through and beyond our listening
A poem’s truth answers itself in endless questions and ambiguities
No wonder no one simply reads these simple words
As if they were simply written.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Undressed for winter
12/28/88
Island Pond VT.
Looking
Past the window
My mind is caught on the snowy day
You can look across the road
And see the maple trees have undressed for winter
Wondering how they might stay warm
The evergreens come into view
In a clump of a dozen or so
They all seem huddled against the edge of winter
The white birch is small, undressed as well
The evergreens are evergreen
They wear their name well
While the maples and white birch
Have undressed for winter
Undressed for winter
poem by Dicky Cantrell
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Proggramed poems!
Man for his own
Creates words
To depict image
Of his emotions
Poems are one of the images
Image plays with the words.
Now programme plays with the words
Words are programmed in poems
Images after images without human touch and emotions!
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Words
Flowery words may tickle the ears; even delight the person who hears.
Flowery words are not what I choose, if you desire to just be amused.
For I am truly not a poet my friend, and poetry is not my ultimate end.
Poetry is simply my chosen venue, this to share God’s Truth with you.
The words of men who went before, these are the words I underscore.
They may not be the poet’s choice, but they echo that important voice,
That one who spoke words of Life, The Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
Words echoed today for you and I, and this long after our Savior died.
Words of Truth are what I impart, hoping to comfort or change a heart.
Changing souls one heart at a time, for this is Christ’s humble design.
His words are not meant to enthrall, but be a hope and comfort for all.
The words not meant to entertain, but address the issue of sin’s stain.
I will continue to write as I’m moved, for friend I have nothing to prove.
And friend you have nothing to lose, as it is His Truth that you choose.
His words of Truth are tried and true, the words that I share with you.
My friend, the end of each poem, for me, is one page closer to home.
It is simply a poem at the start, but then The Spirit moves in my heart,
And The Spirit’s words fill my pen, with The Savior’s hope for all men.
As I echo all these men of the past, it is a Hope that will eternally last.
When I enter my heavenly abode, a place above I’ll forever call Home.
(Copyright ©03/2006)
Images of Time
The images in my mind is like my thoughts.
Expressing my thoughts is like expressing my feelings.
Words are spoken.All my images are broken.
Broken down into pieces, which can never be made into new dishes.
Those images of past.It takes time to last.
It will last forever for met to take over.
All those images wore my past life.
But it has nothing to do with my past life.
Those images can be forgotten.But not those people.
Those people who are in your images.Can be in a real image.
When you see those people in front of you.
You like to say 'How are you'?
If they say I am fine.Then you will think of those time.
poem by Yash Pradhan
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Images
I think images are worth repeating
Images repeated from a painting
Images taken from a painting
From a photo worth re-seeing
I love images worth repeating
Project them upon the ceiling
Multiply them with silk screening
See them with a different feeling
Images, oh, images
Images, oh, images
Some say images have no feeling
I think theres a deeper meaning
Mechanical precision or so its seeming
Instigates a cooler feeling
I love multiplicity of screenings
Things born anew display new meanings
I think images are worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, oh, images
Images, images
Im no urban idiot savant
Spewing paint without any order
Im no sphinx, no mystery enigma
What I paint is very ordinary
I dont think Im old or modern
I dont think I think Im thinking
It doesnt matter what Im thinking
Its the images that are worth repeating
And repeating, oh, images
Images
If youre looking for a deeper meaning
Im as deep as this high ceiling
If you think technique is meaning
You might find me very simple
You might think that images boring
Cars and cans and chairs and flowers
You might find me personally boring
Hammer, sickle, mao tse tong
Mao tse tong
Ooohhh, images, images
Images
I think that it bears repeating
The images upon the ceiling
I love images worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, images
Oh, images, oh, images
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Silence Of The Morning...
in the land of truth,
no one writes and no
one reads,
one simply knows where
love makes its own fire,
one simply knows where
the spirits meet,
the words are not experts
eyes become closed to these
glories, morning light
shy cheeks, pale lips.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Indelible Images
Idelible Images
That first day of school
That first friend
Indelible Images
That first play
That first fight
Idelible Images
That first graduation
That first car
Idelible Images
That first drunk
That first sober
Idelible Images
That first love
That first forget
Idelible Images
That first death
That first realization
Indelible Images
poem by Scott Tetreault
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This Is Mumbling This Is Rambling
do not care to read me carefully, just skim over
some words that may call your preferential attention.
do not mind the smaller ideas, or the images that
you find hard to imagine. They may not be images
after all but just blotches of my stains, the negligence
of my trembling fingers, the lapses of my brains,
the slip of my tongues, the cliches of humanity,
seeking meaning in the meaninglessness of words.
this is mumbling, this is plain rambling
do not ever mind what i am writing. this is not about you.
or myself, or the society that like sheep simply graze on the grass
not knowing that on the next step is the landmine that kills them,
or why look for the meaning of loneliness in words or lines or poetry.
are you going home tonight? on a train. sit there. look over the window.
see the line of trees, do they shout at you? No.
and move your eyes, as though you are scrolling for names on the
cell phone, like roving camera, you do not have to look that far on the
20th person sitting across the other side.
someone is sitting next to you. listen to his silence.
feel the vibrations of all his problems. try to unmask the cover of his face.
are there words covering his face? none.
or if words cover his face and body, try reading them all silently.
most of the truths are not said. Not even written. You always see them
next to you. Be it on the train, the bus or the plane. Or simply when you
walk along the cemented paths of the park. Here comes another
lost soul. Talk to him. Do not write poetry.
this is mumbling this is plain rumbling. Do not speak poetry.
write them and let them cover your face. That is the best way to speak.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Silent Conversation With Myself
do not care to read me carefully, just skim over
some words that may call your preferential attention.
do not mind the smaller ideas, or the images that
you find hard to imagine. They may not be images
after all but just blotches of my stains, the negligence
of my trembling fingers, the lapses of my brains,
the slip of my tongues, the cliches of humanity,
seeking meaning in the meaninglessness of words.
this is mumbling, this is plain rambling
do not ever mind what i am writing. this is not about you.
or myself, or the society that like sheep simply graze on the grass
not knowing that on the next step is the landmine that kills them,
or why look for the meaning of loneliness in words or lines or poetry.
are you going home tonight? on a train. sit there. look over the window.
see the line of trees, do they shout at you? No.
and move your eyes, as though you are scrolling for names on the
cell phone, like roving camera, you do not have to look that far on the
20th person sitting across the other side.
someone is sitting next to you. listen to his silence.
feel the vibrations of all his problems. try to unmask the cover of his face.
are there words covering his face? none.
or if words cover his face and body, try reading them all silently.
most of the truths are not said. Not even written. You always see them
next to you. Be it on the train, the bus or the plane. Or simply when you
walk along the cemented paths of the park. Here comes another
lost soul. Talk to him. Do not write poetry.
this is mumbling this is plain rumbling. Do not speak poetry.
write them and let them cover your face.
That is the best way to speak.
This is what is life is all about.
Speechless. Alone always.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Opinion
There is no truth of any good
To be discerned on earth ; and, by conversion,
Nought therefore simply bad; but as the stuff
Prepared for Arras pictures, is no picture
Till it be formed, and man hath cast the beams
Of his imaginous fancy thorough it,
In forming ancient kings and conquerors
As he conceives they looked and were attired,
Though they were nothing so: so all things here
Have all their price set down from men's conceits,
Which make all terms and actions good or bad,
And are but pliant and well-coloured threads
Put into feigned images of truth.
poem by George Chapman
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Sometimes In Wanting To Be Civil
sometimes
in wanting to be civil
i close my mouth
i suppress the
exact words
i prune what is in my mind
like some bonsai
under the sun
what appears are
remnants of
beauty
sometimes in wanting
to endure
our inevitable sufferings
we simply close
our eyes
to the truth
we pretend we like the way
we live
we surmise these do not
last anyway
then we forget to tell the
truth altogether
we even forget
that we are its bearers
simply because
we too want to survive
a flood of lies
a catastrophe
of ingenuinity & falsities
but with you
i am honest enough to admit
i lied
because i am afraid
to lose you
that you must remember
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Are you like God, breathing life with your words?
welcome ladies and gentlemen
with poems written
in your palms
in our own humble beginnings
we take the mission
of creating and building words
putting up images
of full moons & stars
on dark nights like these,
the images move
like a circle in our lives
glistening
without ends
the words too become
alive
as we breathe them to ordinary
things
insignificantly tasteles
to the tongues of people
with mouths ungaping
that we resuscitate
so they may too live,
there is life in what we breathe
we touch and
motions begin
in a sense,
may God forgive
us
as we imitate Him,
and i know,
God loves poets like us,
we are not just few
we are many
we are holy
and we shall flock like angels
singing by His side
these poems, these songs
of love, of beauty,
of truth in the quest
of holiness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If The Truth Is My Due
I would prefer praise to criticism any day
But for as long as people their truth to me do say
And with lies not defame me in any way
I will 'cop it sweet' with me 'twill be okay
Yet some people even whilst speaking the truth
By their words alone do seem lacking in ruth
Even the truth spoken crudely can leave a mental sting
The great power of words can be a hurtful thing
Yet the truth is the truth and can never defame
It is with your own actions that you sully your name
Due to jealousy or a sense of revenge some with their words are cruel
And with their words to character ruin light the fuel
I will accept the truth if the truth is my due
For as long as you say of me of me what's true.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Let me recite you a poem
Come on
Let me recite you a poem
There are no charming words in it.
Nor there are soft loving words
Nor it shows dreams
Nor it talks sweet
It is very rough
It will agitate you
‘cause it tells the truth
Truth, which is very bitter
Truth, which irritates
Truth, which we dislike
This poem is the epic of truth
Truth, which is always being defeated
Victory of bad over good
And truth thrown out n’ marginalized
But never surrenders
It is never centrist
It questions
Seeks answers
Never confuses in the maze of words
It solves the knots
Itself suffers- never subjugates
Since centuries
In every age
Since the birth of man
This poem remembers them all
Who died for the truth!
poem by Pankaj Prasoon
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Images
Images.
Images invented.
Images invented to cement.
Images invented to cement and limit,
To give images purpose and intent.
A reason to solidify limitations that prevent,
A bombardment of unrestricted imaginations.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Truth That Sets You Free
Words expressed to you and me, that the truth will set you free,
Not simply truth of any kind, but, Truth which leaves sin behind,
The Truth spoken of is Him; The One Who saves many from sin,
The Truth available to all of us, is the Lord Himself, Christ Jesus.
Friend in the Bible you shall find, God's Truth of an Eternal kind,
Truth that is beyond the world, Truth which Jesus Christ unfurled,
A Truth that's meant for everyone, coming from God's Only Son,
His Truth, which sets men free, from the present through eternity.
Common truths known on earth, for man, are of no eternal worth,
All common truths known to man, access not God's eternal plan,
They are better than lies for us, but, have not His Righteousness,
Common truth won't get us to, Eternity, prepared for me and you.
The only Saving truth, in this life, is Truth, in the person of Christ,
God's saving Truth all men need, His Gospel Truth all must heed;
Common truth will not set you free, or give you new life eternally,
For man's word shall fade away, but, God's Truth is here to stay.
The Saving Truth, you have heard, is there for all in God's Word,
The Way, the Truth and the Life, is the Living Word, Jesus Christ,
Whose Word comes from eternity, Truth, that saves you and me,
Reading His Word reveals proof, He's the author of Eternal Truth.
Truth Through Repetition
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poem by David Keig
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It's Never Shown
Long ago I submitted a poem
That has never here shown;
And I don't understand why...
It makes me cry.
Perhaps, had it shown
Then I would have known,
The spirit of pleasure
That words of another, alone can measure.
Perhaps the ache
It's missing did create,
Was simply the burning desire
To give and to feel soulful words, on fire.
Do these honest words make me insecure and small?
I believe, not at all.
For has been by Wisdom said:
Truth shall set a person free...
This speaks of both the heart, and the head;
For all who have words to share, even a mere dreamer such as me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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