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I wrote a verse and thought no more

(to the Afrikaans poet Louis Esterhuyzen)

I wrote a verse and thought no more,
will I write, not another thought to paper put,
and I will be free from petty critics, who with words do cut,
be free from elitist poets who my work deplore,

who claim that I write faster than they can type,
that no real expertise is found in my art,
that I have sold my soul to every reader in parcel and part
that I am the stereotype

of the rubble that are trying to become something
and when I put my pen down
while my thoughts were wandering,
You reminded me that I am Your very own,

that my talent, the words I do impart,
flow freely from my heart.

poem by Gert Strydom
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thoughts Whirling

The need to write
Get rid of these mixes mass of thought
What to write?
Yes, something is amiss!
Talking is not enough
Yet thoughts whirling in my head
Unaware of revelling in the words
Which flow from this pen
Still no words
Not sure what to write
Yet here it is
A whole massed mess of words
For all to read
Thought this medley of words
Brought some calmness
Shoulders more relaxed
Fragments of each thought
Clear as daylight
This muddled mass of thoughts
A verse created
By, a whirling mind

poem by Persian Khushi
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Thoughts Whirling

The need to write
Get rid of these mixes mass of thought
What to write?
Yes, something is amiss!
Talking is not enough
Yet thoughts whirling in my head
Unaware of revelling in the words
Which flow from this pen?
Still no words
Not sure what to write
Yet here it is
A whole massed mess of words
For all to read
Thought this medley of words
Brought some calmness
Shoulders more relaxed
Fragments of each thought
Clear as daylight
This muddled mass of thoughts
A verse created
By, a whirling mind

poem by Persian Khushi
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Lunch With a Poet

I had lunch with a poet, just the other day.
A poet who has written fine and lofty verse,
Conveying his experiences, emotions and his ideas, in
Vivid, imaginative ways, condensed in simple language,
Choosing words for sound and power,
Rather than impressing readers with poetic adulterations.

Almost apologetically, he said he uses 'nickel words'
To write his inner thoughts. It was as if he were at fault,
As though he thought those simple sounds
Had lessened the intent of his poetic worth.

I emphasized how wrong he was, and tried
To make clear, a poet writes in sympathy with his reader,
Overleaping the barriers of understanding by the simplicity
Of his language, and of his words.

To write with words of misty meaning does not make
A mystic.
To write with vulgar words does not lift up the poem
On wings of song, it only floats as high as the poet's
Commonality who, mistaking flatulence for inspiration, becomes
Enmeshed in a literary byproduct of the foulest of excretion and Smells.

My friend failed to intellectually understand,
But spiritually Accepts, as his writings reveal,

That clarity of thought and mind is the poet's
Highest point of the poet's integrity.

poem by Lynn W. Petty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writer's Block!

Yes, these two words came into mind...
Wordpad opened again,
New Rich True Format Document,
Followed by Arial ten...

No text displayed as I perused,
The cursor blinking still...
In readiness for brand new words
My thoughts were yet to spill...

I typed the title, first thing done,
Two line gaps then the verse...
With not a word to lead the way,
It couldn't get much worse...

But then I thought, I'll add my name
And copyright as well,
Then type the date, as if to claim
There's nothing left to tell...

The poem stands, no words at all,
To summarise the theme,
As if the empty heart and mind
Had nothing there to dream...

But then I thought, that's such a waste!
I'll let the reader know,
That even nothing has its place
Before the words can flow...

And so, from nothing came these rhymes,
These thoughts upon a page,
Or PC screen each time I type
To reach another stage...

Who knows? The poem I write next
Could be a great success,
That may grant tremendous insight,
Some cherished happiness...

So Writer's Block, I've beaten you!
I've conquered every doubt!
God gave me something that's brand new
And now I've typed it out!

Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2012.

poem by Denis Martindale
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My Poet Time Travelers

I thought of it all day and well into the night
That for you a poem I would write.
What words can you use to describe a person
You’ve never seen.
Then a realization came into my mind
I’ve been writing them for a very long time.

Every time we write about GOD and his begotten son
The words flow freely and never left undone.
So it matters not if it is sight unseen
We write about everything- it’s a poets dream.

Poets go into worlds never traveled before
Seeking all that GOD has made
And come back with knowledge that they’ve gained.
Into the realms of mystery, love, excitement and fear
So that with you these words they could share.

They see the realities of today
The dreams of yesterdays
The future of tomorrows
And the pains and sorrows.

They are the time travelers of the mind
Their eyes are open - they are not blind.
So when you read what they write
It’s because of this time travelers insight.

So to my time traveling co-poets, this I must say
I am proud to have traveled this road with you
Into the minds of man, and writing
The stories that they all understand.

poem by Louis Rams
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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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THEY ARE POETS TOO, You are a poet!

THEY ARE POETS TOO, You are a poet!

THOSE who misspell
And those who are still coping up
With their metaphors
The techniques
Of rhyme & beat
Those who think
They do not
Know how to
Write poetry
And those
Who fear
What to say
What to write
What the others say
About their poetry
And those that doubt
Their writing
Abilities
Their thoughts

Their feelings
Their feelings
Their feelings
Yes
Yes
Their feelings

Or those who simply
Fear that they may only
Be displeasing
And disappointing

And those whose
Sense of confidence
About this thing
This poetry
This poem thing
Those that still
Hide what they
Feel to what they
Think

Is prose

Those who think that
Their life
Is not worth
Sharing in the
The beat and
Rhyme of poetry

Behold
The mere thought
About life
About a beating heart
The pulse
The eyes that blink
The fingers fidgety
That type the words

Of feelings
Of feelings
Yes
Yes
About feelings
It is all about feelings

The genuine feelings
Of your life
You type them
Each word
To another word
A chain of words
A long chain of words

Like playing the music
To the piano keys
Like strumming
The strings of a
Flamenco guitar

A certain music
A certain beat
To the sound
Of your computer keys
Hear the beat
And the rhyme
Of your computer keys
Each word
To another word
To a chain of words
To a longer chain of words
You are running a chain of feelings
You are chasing a chain of feelings long chained in your hearts wanting to be free

To be free
To be free
Yes
Yes
You, feeling to be free to run free to be all free

Like you were scattering red rose petals to this pedestal
Like you were sprinkling waters to this garden
Like you were splashing waters in the sea
Like you were bathing playing dancing in the rain
Like you were humming a tune to a trek on a hill
Like you were making love with your beloved the whole night

Behold
A poet in you is born

Behold
You are typing
A poem

You are
Feeling

And you are
By all means

Now a poet

I hereby baptize you
With that name.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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Indefinable?

I can’t define with certainty
what is or is not poetry
There are so many schools of thought
but I recall what I was taught.

When I was young and still at school.
That there was but one basic rule.
Most everything you write is prose
but poetry you must compose.

You choose your words selectively
so that they say efficiently
exactly what you want to say
but in a smooth and flowing way.

In common with all forms of art
sheer inborn talent plays its part.
All artists need to learn the rules
provided by the different schools

of thought which proliferate.
Study past masters of your art
so you learn to appreciate
artists who are worlds apart.

All poets write in their own way.
Free verse, free style or formally.
Some styles will last some fade away.
Why do you write primarily?

What is it that you wish to do?
What is it that you wish to share?
Your feelings or your point of view.
Are you afraid or do you dare.

admit that you don’t know it all.
That other folks know more than you
Pride always goes before fall
I think you’ll find that this is true

You can of course choose to refuse
all helpful offers of advice
and disregard all other peoples views.
Though in the end you pay the price.

I can’t define with certainty
what is or is not poetry.
Though I can say with confidence
that poetry should make good sense.

3-Sep-07

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Free verse

I want to write always in free verse
In free verse there is no pressure.

I do not want to keep any goal
I really do not want any roll
I also do not want to play any role.

I want to see this earth free from hunger
Free from poverty and I do not want to
keep anybody within an artificial boundary.

I want to write always in free verse
I want to move freely from place to place
To see people in various glaze.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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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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Dawn Of Reasoning Interconnected Mind

At the traditional age of consent,
I found a great undeniable love
for poetry as I strove to make sense
of this world with its nightmare,
of ignored unresolved problems.

I never had the chance to write,
most of my thoughts, down in
poetry. To reflect my reactions
to the events of my era. Life did
not allow time for contemplation.

It is my ardent hope that economic
circumstances or perhaps a more
focused determination; will allow
you to succeed in writing out more
poems of vital importance than I did.

I wrote when time allowed maybe
one in ten of my poems and often
the easiest. While years passed by
sometimes with nothing but work.
The gap in thought record haunts.

Ignore constant discouraging critic.
Your success now is mine your failure
mine. Therefore keep focused and let
at least some of your poetry, address
real issues. And write write write now!

You are in a time and place that requires
strong young poets from within. Past great
American poets would be devastating with
words writ in this era. I am not American,
you must be our voice from within, voice

proclaim and publish your insight! Pray or
meditate as you will and write that which
I lacking your knowledge cannot. The words
will come because the age topics demands it.
We are united in poetry and desire to express

difficult thoughts and concepts, hopefully to
be a voice of positive change! Tools are at
your finger tips, I never had contact with other
poets, in an electronic interconnected web of
minds, at the dawn of righteous determination.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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Let This One Poem Be About Me

Let this one poem be just about me
Let this one poem engulf all my beauty
Let this one poem define my soul
Let this one poem consume me whole
My soul was earth bound
And my heart lay in a place that it would never be found
Let this poem be what entangles my mind
Let this poem be where people will find
They will find that missing link
And this poem it will make them think
They will wonder how this girl came
They will wonder how I avoided fame
I didn’t write these words to please
I wrote these words to tease
My heart it’s the type that beckons for ease
And my taste will not accept the flavor of peas
Let this poem describe me in most simplest of ways
Let this poem show how I get through these days
And I know people will read this and say…
This girl she knew where heart lay…
Let this poem eat me whole
Let me entire heart bleed its luscious love into a broken bowl
My soul wanted only to be free
And this poem only pushed it back into me
I never will lose any part of my soul
Because then this world will swallow my inner being whole
Let this poem be what I hate
Let this poem describe with who I would mate
Let this thoughts become my ways
Let this poem be where I stray
Let this poem show how I lie
Let this poem describe how I will die
Yes I am human I cannot avoid death
Yes I am human I chose not to use meth
These words they dance upon this page
These words they have no age
These verses have lost all meaning
Because I revealed my demeaning
Let this poem describe what I deem right
Let this poem that I will always fight
My age floats through these words
And people will never understand why I want to be heard
Let this poem be only about me
Let this poem be what sets me free
And I know some day people will look at this and say…
This girl, this girl she knew exactly where her heart lay…

poem by Victoria Martinez
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Why Do I Write

I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go

I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain

At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down

I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it

I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am

poem by Wilfred Mellers
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My Poetry

Through poetry,
I am set free
Better able to reveal
The secret part of me
That hides beyond the shadows
In my eyes

Every poem that I write,
Tells my life in different parts
I bare my soul, although vulnerable,
I share with you
What's in my heart
Exploring the corners of my mind
I mold into words,
The feelings I find

Each thought expressed
Is uniquely told
Wrapping itself around
The meaning it holds
Emotions are endless
It's understanding that I seek
It's simply easier at times
To write the words I cannot speak

poem by Erika Wingo
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Lost Treasure

poetry should
not be for sale
for it is beyond price
it's an art to free the heart
of limitations, restrictions
the ideal prescription
in a psychiatric ward

string all your answers
to the psychiatrist
and you would get
the greatest poem
you would ever write
truthful, raw, echoing
from a real heart

they could even
prescribe it to prisoners

just listen to
Afghan gem dealer poet
Abdul Rahim Muslim Dost
- he soared to paradise in a cage cell
in Guantanamo Bay, he vowed

the innocently branded
al qeida terrorist wrote
verses at the bottom of his
Red Cross letters,
scratched them onto
styrofoam cups and
latter with rubbery pens
- some 25,000 lines of his
prison experience -
now in American hands.

'I would fly on the wings of my imagination, ' he recalled.
''Through my poems I would travel the world,
visiting different places. Although I was in a cage I was really free.'

those who write poetry
try to find themselves
in their own maze of words
to free their trapped soul

those who read them
need a heart of of patience
and a headful of knowledge
and inquisitive spirit
to track the poets down
his thoughts, personality

m eagerness to lay hands
on abdul's lost treasure.
Will the United States hand them back to him?
everyline of them?

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Why I Write?

My child you ask me why

And so I give a sure reply

The reason why I write you ask?

I do so to unveil a mask -

To state a claim my dear

And dry these noble tears at last

The reason why I write

Is to be free -

As that young lad's kite

To flee from charmless grips

And stray from harm's lustful flight

You ask me why I write today?

I do so that you go away!

To a place, within my space

That way I'll have a worthy say

I write my dear to tell a tale

Of places that I once had sailed

The promises that were never had

The eluded dreams that made me sad

The reason why I write a verse

Is to soothe this soul I thought was cursed

To trod with care through lonely roads

And pray my troubles be reversed

The reason why I write to you

Is so you ‘ll see my point of view

That in all things, there is a verse

A spring that takes away all thirst

Copyright © 2012

poem by Godfrey Morris
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Brephos

Although it is easy for one to think, it is not always easy for one to write
Not all thoughts can be expressed into words, nor should they. Rousseau said in his solitary walks or was it his confessions? That his most beautiful thoughts died in him as quick as he thought them and how he at the time wished he had a pen in hand to write them all down. Those thoughts are dead, but perhaps those same thoughts are born in others written down somewhere in all of infinite time. Some thoughts like some lives are not meant to be born. The seed of this thought, watered by my serene tears, germinates in my soul as I write this letter. Still I can't find the words to express its beauty, its paradox, its mystery. The seed germinates but no plant is born, no flower blooms. For every child that isn't born, for every thought trapped in the moral order nature's thought; the ineffable, the unborn, the unknown, I hope one day you find expression and tell the world what you are and what beauty really is—To eloquence that never speaks, to thought that never thinks, to life that never lives, in my heart you speak, think and live.

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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