A unlucky ton
I had heard enough of figure thirteen
When I was small and in teen
I made pertinent query as to why it was such belief?
How come one number can be unlucky to give no relief?
Today I laugh it out as it happened to be my thirteenth tone
So much water had since flown and gone
The river water had become calm to reveal nothing more
I too had stabilized in writing and very much eager to explore
It gives some inner satisfaction as to what has been achieved
To write few poems at the earlier time was always shelved
So many wrote me as if I was rude, illiterate and misbehaved
I escaped all the fury and the scenario was truthfully saved
Many times I was shown the doors to hell
Even though I promised them to fare well
They had some sense of superfine gift
I did not want to question their ability and create rift
I heaved a sigh of relief when so many started to praise
Encouraged me to write more issues and urged to rise
I thought it prudent enough to rise to the occasion
There was no use to pull back and ruled it out of question
The poet is not a divine figure to speak all truth
Neither he should know the facts or have proof
It is purely natural wave that is trying to emerge
It may not appeal all but certainly urge
It is all about glorifying the nature
Human nature, pain and agony to endure
The love and feelings to find place and secure
Its importance and make it to be felt as pure
I have done nothing as such in the field
I did get some foothold and thin position held
It may find some favor on any another day
I shall feel happiness when I will have sway
It is on going process and may not end soon
The garden may be full of flowers with natural boom
I do not know what color I may represent
But I shall try to be of simple flower of present
I may die out or fade in process
No one may prefer to read or gain an access
The creation may not find the light of the day
I may be standing alone on the way
It may be unlucky but may prove lucky for me
The collection is day by increasing like a big tree
It may bear fruits in spring and exhibit to all
The fruits are laden, ripened and ready to fall
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Natural Phenomena
The sea waves rises so high
With only aim to give high hope to fly
Even with so much helplessness and clipped wings
When birds watch intensely and sing
It is natural phenomena
Otherwise there won't have been fountain and flora
It is natural gift and no conspiracy
Nature has allowed you to enjoy with privacy
Why do rain come in time and dropp the shower?
Why earth is so eager to find an answer?
Why does she wait for it to fall gently?
So she can enjoy it with joy and silently
What does she conceive in gentle knock?
Complete attack is contained without any shock
Fertile seeds are given new lease of life to emerge
Come out in open with green color and surge
Nature allows you to mix and avail
Don’t curb your wish or curtail
It is natural to feel somebody’s company
This might have been felt by so many
Let us raise no doubt about nature’s ability
Let us find out the object with beauty
It will never disappoint us and show the way
Nature may pull you towards and not throw you away
It is like gravitational pull
It may attract you completely and full
It has its own rules to attract
This itself is real beauty in fact
Some of he changes we may not like
Its simple features may not strike
Yet it has all round show to prove
You may find its presence when move
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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From the outset
It may be known from the outset
Whether it is artificial or preset
Until it is given human touch
It may have same fate as such
Until you feel not safe and secured
Until you don't feel pain endured
Such things may emerge in mind
We all writers must certainly probe deeply and find
What we write for public consumption?
It is not wholly bases on assumption
It is linked to the ripples rising in soul
It is not wild cry in night by owl
Pure word jugglery may not help at all
It is responded purely to inner call
The thoughts in mind and try to reveal
There is no use to force or to conceal
Artificial flowers may not have fragrance
They may look good but won’t appeal even at once
Real flowers may be open with full boom
Mind is well opened with enough of room
I shall present the poetry with full touch
It must contain human feelings and pain as such
Not based on imaginary lines but on real facts
Where people are committed to behave with acts
I will neatly orange views in orderly ways
My inner songs should be aligned with hope rays
It must light other souls to synchronize with trend
Then only it may look as if refined with amends
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A poems are treasure
Neither poems are lost treasure
nor they are means of pleasure
they are meant to be enjoyed by others
We need not go into it and bother
they are never lost from mind
They appear in many forms and we do find
there is place and existence
it has no past but real presence
Why do the thoughts emerge?
Why do they compel and urge?
Some happy moments to bear the shape?
Though with some bitter moments of shame?
It has equal bearing and importance
They invade sudden and at once
We got to give them place and honor
They may represent reality with horror
It may not be appreciated or liked by all
It may not be able to bring down the wall
But it will definitely pierce through the mind
Where it will generate the feelings very kind
It is simple projection coming out from clear conscience
It is reflective mood of the presence
It might have witnessed many pulses of high magnitude
It may speak nicely of the individual's attitude
Can any one take notes on piece of paper and write?
Can that draw any attention when you call some one or invite?
It may be commented as good or nice
But no one may commit or assure with promise
Many may be writing with great skill and deep feeling
It may not be finding favor or end with reeling
It is not the simple tact of conveying the message
It is not usual to come with the passing of the age
The poems are reflection of the natural mood
It acts like nourishment and serves as food
It is phenomenal development of the mind
It is generally accepted for its rich kind
It is nice medium to feel and convey
It responds to pure feelings and obey
It is not just putting of the simple views
This fact is realized by only few
The poems must find and be read in real context
It must have unique thinking with powerful text
It has writer's mind with powerful couplet
It should not meet cruel fate
The poems are read with zeal
It is not fictitious but real
It may serve as tonic or meal
It can assuage your feelings or heal
It is reflective mood of the poet
He can compose all but can't keep quiet
The poems may serve as eternal ground
We may like it more with intense bond
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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An Art in Question
What does an artist see in female figure?
Is it lovely figure, beautiful face or natural appearance?
Nothing of that sort influences when he draws in art
It is something extra ordinary that appeals him from start
What nature has to offer to a man kind for surprise?
There are many landscapes and emergence of sun rise
What do bright golden rays play a part on globe?
That is not an imaginary scene or part of any probe
It is al around us and appeal most of the time
It may not be of paramount importance or subject prime
It is how that occupies our mind and we give it a real color
That is an art form and always stays as gift from creator
Nothing changes or alters the course of celestial bodies
Human nature changes with the advent of stories
We adjust the art form to suit our narrow end
It is present scenario and prevailing stand
The deception is greatest art we have inherited
It has taken importance and always merited
No one cares as what will be fate of other side?
Something has to be done by keeping angle wide
We are sentimental fools and make others too
Try to get them in sweet talks and deliberately woo
It may involve treachery, deceit and unbearable pain
It altogether remains our worry and well executed plan
Do any thing wrong that may sometimes be acceptable
It may be taken as human weakness and still respectable
If you try to lure somebody for your nefarious design
Then it shall be unpardonable crime and may not go fine
Let art stay as an art for all the possible use
It may bring dark patches if resorted to misuse
What if female is painted nude to attract cheap publicity!
How is it useful to our existence for any time of continuity?
Master orator, great artists, honest politician and all public figures
May have their importance as an extra ordinary creatures
Nothing prevents them from performing art in their respective fields
They need nothing to shine with veiled cover or shield
Love thou and love the simple art form
Remain ardent lover and appreciate it in any form
It will remain always as special feature to dominate
It may swing in form mix it nicely and resonate
We are simple art piece from His creation
Are can never be doubtful or in question
Nether there can be any undue favor or equation
It has got special attachment and relation
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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I write...
How badly a poet feels when his articles go unread?
Get no cooperation from fellow poets for further lead
How narrow interest has shadowed the real talent?
Old poets did so much but today we can only resent
There may be many reasons and probably the time factor
Who has the time to come out in and see the moon in sector?
The moon, stars, and sky have permanence in feature
So nothing to look at them as they don't make our future
What do we find when look at some of the creations?
Lot of confusion with innumerable questions
I find hard going with concept and logic behind
Even so much eagerness on their part but approach very unkind
I blame none but changing scenes
No one can exactly predict and prefer to be seen
Even though they may be interested and very keen
The confinement nature hunts mind or appears to have been
Poet may go on writing but may not find favor
Not that those articles are bad or find no natural flavor
Still some of the poets may go out of the way and appreciate
This gesture somewhat appears to be managing and relate
I would love if little time is spared for emerging poets
They come with full force but find no favor and then remain quiet
It is like river flow in monsoon when in spate
Nothing is sure about and left everything to fate
If stage is decorated for the performance of the artists
And find is no audience to clap each one among the lists
Then no one may dare and ever attempt for another show
The movement comes to standstill and restricts the flow
The creations may certainly find favor if not day then tomorrow
Yet mind should not disturbed and released free or allowed
There is substance in it and it may pull magnetic way
Sun may shine again and find the promising rays
I write with no reservation or wait for applaud
The work itself may speak in volume and very loud
Ears may refuse to believe when one day you may find surprises
The world may clap over your achievements and suddenly rise
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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In all colors
In all colors I visualize and see you
Clear reflection as that of thou
I dream of divine figure and rainbow
When in faith and belief head I bow
I can’t find favor with any color
It has its own sphere and flavor
I see reasonableness with its importance
As she has represented it at once
She has to be there for me as mother
I can think of nobody or other
I need not worry or slightly bother
You are everything in all the senses including father
I may be incomplete without you
This is not far from truth but very true
You are there as guiding beacon
I have no disbelief or any other reason
I have no picture in mind
Every God I pray and find
When you are little away
I go turtle and find no way
In nature I find future
In you I find refuge for sure
Where else I go and search
I find no solace with seers when they preach
I am safe and secured
Wrath and displeasure has never occurred
You were there with the entire smile
Whole world seemed with me for a while
This may be case with all
What sweetness in her call?
When she calls with little anxiety?
I laugh in the corner with pity
Such is a joy when she is around
I feel fresh fragrance from the ground
Same as it used to be after first rain
Completely logging area and expecting to drain
You bring complete surprise in spring
What a natural color you choose and bring!
In praise I may prefer your song to sing
The holier than holy melody when churches bell ring
Entire world is at my feet
When she runs towards me and greet
I find her grip around my chest
It is the thrilling experience and very best
I have to go no where and find gentle touch
Your presence is paramount and important as such
I am incomplete in all the sense
I feel elated and happy in your presence
Your innocent face gives me strength
Peace and love for all on same wavelength
You are embodiment for everything I wish
With your blessings I shall have perfect finish
Let kids of entire world be blessed
On not a single occasion they feel missed
What a unique joy when forehead is kissed
Complete inhaling with stop breathes and not being hissed
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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I may miss her
It left a deep scar on mind
I was in pain to feel and find
The naked truth about reality
The very much essence of life and quality
In young age if someone deserts
It does have little effect of flirts
You are not matured enough to feel pulse
You always want new and something else
I was pushed in corner at sudden departure
She was no more with me to endure
All my pains and agony to be shared
We both had challenged and dared
I would ask her jokingly about death
“Who will lay the floral wreath?
What would you do in such situation?
She would feel pain urge for discontinuation
No one is immune from death or immortal
It may be natural, simple one or fatal
This fact is known to all and almost dreaded
Any advice in this regard is silently heeded
It was ample proof of our happy stay
She was in good state of health and never went away
Not a day would have passed that she not beside
I felt so much elated to find her on my side
It was pleasant to say good bye daily
It was done in a good faith to find her happily
She would glance at all the members of the family
I too would smile at her and acknowledge it gladly
I never thought end may come soon
I used to walk miles in the burning noon
With the only hope that I will have to rush
As I had seen her last in morning with brush
She will keep everything ready for next day
Ad I had forgetful nature all the way
It was her routine to make it doubly sure
I was careless about next day or future
Such happy days won’t be back again
She is not likely to come back and regain
As she was laid there motionless and dead
I could still see worry on her face and read
I felt as if she would speak something
Though she was nowhere to miss anything
I was left behind to take care of everything
She was heavenly abode for nothing
I know it is inevitable part
Every living thing has to depart
It is destiny and ruled for all
No one can escape divine call
I will not cry over her death
As I have full trust and faith
Even though she has left early
I may miss her very dearly
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A crazy look
Everybody turns crazy and look
I am pretty and they want to hook
I am desert flower as they state
No fragrance yet noticed very late
It may be nature's law to be attracted
The concentration and all is affected
The eyes are centered around lovely posture
May be they have found in me the future
I do not resent such attitude
They fall for it and show some magnitude
It can be liked at any stage
After all it is tender age
I am not a single entity
Symbol of beauty and fine quality
It is how I have been painted
I have been praised and rated
It is not flash and color
They know it may turn sour
It can be repeat performance
But yes, it is mad romance
Who can stop from falling in love?
It has full of innocence of dove
The pond gives enough room
Where many flowers find boom
The calm water do not disturb
All wound heal even if rubbed
It is deep and close feeling
One wants to surrender and start liking
It is beautiful company that is desired
The outer body and face is always admired
No one cares to see the inner depth
It is interlinked with life and death
Who knows what is cause of pull?
What crates madness in animal like bull?
Is it nature's law of pull and push?
Why do we go for it with mad rush?
I blame no one for God's gift
We must enjoy it without any rift
There is no need to go for violence
It must be enjoyed happily hence
We are destined for such love one day
It may have different approach and way
Not necessarily everybody gets success
Lucky may have through fare with access
There is no need to cut sorry figure
You are destined for something sure
You get it in due course and at appointed hour
Even ordinary thing may be liked by you like flower
It is not the third sense that works
You are surrounded by thick smokes
You see the beautiful object with keen interest
It is almost attracted and loved by you as best
No one can claim it victory
It is not concern or worry
You have been gifted with precious stone
What best out of it can be enjoyed by you alone?
You have no reason to feel otherwise
There may always be surprise
You may get it without any trial
No one may dispute it or offer denial
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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I am cheater
I have friend who believes I am cheater
I catch hold of nerves and conveniently alter
The whole theme and suitable present in another form
It is presented to world as if new poet is born
I had no ready made arguments to offer
As from the beginning he had differed
He was holding different opinion with firm belief
I too was adamant and did not surrender to give him relief
He wanted to present the human problems in its original context
It was not to be mixed with any oratory to give it as presentable text
He had been in this field not for long but held firm views
I used to be at logger heads with him and asked for opinion review
He is or many may not fall in line with my presentation
I have avoided all the time the matter full of artificiality with sensation
I did not believe in presenting the views in trimmed way
The readers wanted an answer and in such absence preferred to go away
I have simplistic view about nature and its functioning
What else can I offer when they are in full boom and blossoming?
Some color has to be added to look as if the words too are natural
Some fragrance is in air and everything seems to be formal
Human sentiments can not be played at somebody’s disadvantage
How can we put it differently and later on try to salvage?
The poem is such powerful medium that one can reach out heart
It may not be any artificial things behind but possibly a good art
The human sufferings have different pattern and can be compared
The flowers too come on with different colors and adored
One is in boom for short interval and likely to be faded
The sufferings may be for longer period and can not be traded
Nothing remains here permanently and has to vanish
Whether it is time bound, to be completed or finished
They cycle may be repeated differently at every level
One must be careful and seize it with all means to excel
I have chosen the simple symbols to present human misery
The sword or automatic gun can not be shown in the hands of adversary
That may give the impression of violence and may reflect unnecessary
I may show the frowning face with cruel lines to vary
Such may be symbolic presentation of poems
Exact presentation may not be possible to present them
Still it will be better to present them in simple way
I shall control the flow in the ordinary manner with full say
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Friday The 13th
To many the number thirteen
is a number to avoid and beware of,
add Friday in front of the number,
and you have a very scary day.
To me the number thirteen,
has always been always been a lucky one,
and Friday the thirteenth,
even luckier still
Then again, if you are superstitious
any number can be unlucky.
If you want to think it so,
it just depends on how positive you are.
Now if you think negative,
you will be that way to,
so in your thinking,
just be like me.
Positive is lucky, negative is unlucky,
so train you mind,
to think positive
all the time.
13 July 2007
poem by David Harris
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George Crabbe Wrote Of
George Crabbe wrote of hardship and poverty and woe
In the England he lived in a long time ago
But perhaps his poems might be more popular today
Had he looked at life in a less truthful way.
George Crabbe wrote of children in dire poverty
The poor sad victims of Human cruelty
And the poems full of pathos and the poems full of truth
Of a poet who was blessed with the great gift of ruth.
He wrote of human cruelty to their own kind
A God in the soul of such a person you'll find
He did not write of mythological figures or monarch or squire
He wrote for the poor his type I do admire.
Of the poverty around him he was all too aware
But poets like George Crabbe they have always been rare
Though if you feel a bit down and a good laugh you do need
His poems lacking in Humor are not for you to read.
Of the poor souls of England George Crabbe did write
His poems not hard to understand or to read or recite
And though as a person and poet he was great
Such poets the masses never do celebrate.
poem by Francis Duggan
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You May Grow
You can’t break the barrier
We are simple love carrier
It will be lot easier
Whatever tall you may grow!
You may fall when winds heavily blow
Sand storms can’t mar sun’s glow
Why selfishness doesn’t excel all times?
Why it gives relief only sometimes?
Truth always prevail in real times
Desert too must boom
Humanity must find room
Happiness must remove the gloom
Love demands sacrifice
Life awaits promises
Next lovely life again after demise
Never cast desperations
Don’t aisle unnecessary questions?
Long for and pick up the aspirations
No gold, diamonds may ever come to rescue
You won’t get anything if they are not due
Land scopes and natural scenes are only for view
Pray the god not for long life
Knell down in feet not for future wife
Ask for trouble free world to escape the edge of cruel knife
Have enough of joy and fun
Dream of stable life with lots of run
Flowers in hand at person showing barrel of gun
You may find sweet water in desert
People may praise your honesty and efforts
Ship with all the gold may land at port
Thank God you are alive to see
Taking breathe under sky and feel free
Enjoy the fruits sitting under tree
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Top slot
I wanted to be number one poet
Controlled urge so much but how to remain quiet?
Something more was to be done important thing to write
Ideas continued to emerge and made me to fight
Consulted over friend as how to execute the idea
He laughed it out at my humble plea
He retorted by saying “Have you gone mad or insane”?
What you want to be air borne and fly in plane?
“Why you want to write and to become number one?
You may borrow few lines from here and there from someone
Add some few words more with sugar coating
You will adopt some unusual method and resort to fake voting”
“What are you talking about my dear friend?
This will kill poetry itself and bring it to an end
It is better not to write at all
Why simply to waste time for some body’s call”
“You will die as unsung hero
Nothing will change and you will be zero
Your poems may be read posthumously
Sometimes it may be published anonymously too” friend discouraged me
But this is ridiculous and unfair dear
If someone comes to know and hear
What impression they will have and bear?
Nobody bothers and no one will shed tear
So many have might try to become number one?
They will not be there as permanent number one
You may come or you may just go
It will be followed on same but you may just it forgo
I did not heed to his advice,
Became active on line but only to find surprise
“What the hell you are sending request”
Why not beg in street instead of going for request” blasted young reader
I shivered for a moment and remembered
This was for asking trouble and uneasy to remember
How person could be so rude and impolite? I thought
There was shock for simple instead of delight
I really felt for those who were resorting to unfair means
They did not deserve but went for easy win
However they may rated high and find top place
World may forget it soon about mad race
What are they trying to prove?
Is it for cause or for self image to improve?
Why all methods do is needed for?
Poems mean poems and are not meant for open war
I thought for a second and decided to quit
It was not easy to climb and sit
It may dethrone you at any moment
There is unhealthy competition fake movement
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Poetry Is Simple
Poetry is simple gift from almighty
Be at heart kind with pity
Feel pulse of agony and pain
And also that of breeze and rain
Cuckoo may sing as usual
You may write as casual
Day may emerge and set
So poems are part of the life never to be late
Poetry doesn't come off with pen
It may write but lack depth then
It will look artificial sans charm
May look descent but without effective arms
It may have metaphors
Nice words with river and shores
Ship or boat may float over water
But situation may remain same and not alter
Poetry is poet's cry
That has come from sky
Even if sky is barren
It will shower with heavy rain
It is all in mind but needs impetus
Right thoughts with belief and trust
It may generate love and compassion
So hatred is pushed out and remains out of question
Poetry is culmination of pure thought
As if divinely flowing and honestly sought
Which turns heart into loving arena?
Where flows only flora an fauna
It has meaning behind
That an ordinary man must find
Understand when it is sung in public
Observes in mind like holy relic
There is no craze for artificial presentation
It is out of context and finds no relation
If you make people to cry over words
Then think about spirit behind and look forward
I have seen people crying
Over effective words and underlying
The importance of being so fair
In its usage and lovely fragrance in the air
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A sixth ton
I stood half way with so much satisfaction
New scales were reached to generate lot of excitation
How could one ordinary man achieve poetry feet?
Was it not a simple occasion to wait and greet?
It has become routine now to count in numbers
It brought me to required level among members
It may reach many more hundreds in coming days
Many hurdles still there to be cleared on the way
“Story teller or novice” is fixed on my name
How it looks nice and beautiful when I claim?
Thoughts just creep in mind and I simply rename
Inter weave nicely with delicacy and frame
Is it final stop or beginning of new leaf?
Do I need fresh lease or an extra brief?
It is process of finding new refuge
The task is not difficult but very huge
I may not stand to gain at first stroke
It may vanish in the guise of thick smoke
I shall act as an ordinary and humble
The fame is momentary like water bubble
I shall be lost in crowd and never regain
It should not be seized with or refrain
No do or die situation in the holy task
Cool from outside but hot to remain in flask
What if I go on writing in the natural style?
Will it be stumbling block for a while?
Will it find a favor with reader friends?
Will it ring a death bell or bring to an end?
All mixed feelings and still to fear
Fine composition and smile to wear
Words to be soaked in style with tears
Sorrows and agony to self always bear
What I could give to millions who need?
Only words with deep feelings to read
It shall be deemed worthy if I can feed?
Best possible way to find a place and lead
I am not in position to express my deepest gratitude
I want to be placed at the bottom with my attitude
How sky can be measured with its altitude?
All are humble and can’t afford to be tough and rude
I wish to stand among all having entity as poet
Normal writings with ideas so specific and quiet
I may find its worth in coming days at any rate
Luck sometimes smile and annul the work of fate
I love to b part of small globe
Awakening of conscience without any probe
It may lead me to a place where I should be
Well wisher and friend with views to express free
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Her Laugh Divine
Ah, her laughter known to many
Though they know not what it is
to hear it by the innocent suitor
Happiness never known before
Till she laughs in her tone
the tone of her laugh divine
It's the tone of the lovers happy in life
it's the tone of the angel who passed from mankind
It's the tone of nature in the fall and the spring
It's the tone of perfection known only to those
who's heard her laugh divine
If only but a light chuckle
if only a quiet laugh
if only heard but a moment
joy for life obtained
the joyous feeling of her laugh divine
It's the joy of those engaged to be wed
it's the joy of a life once saved
it's the joy of the parents of a newborn babe
it's the joy of the men knowing the light
it's the joy of her laugh divine
So this is the feeling
nearly an obsession
this is the feeling of love
the love known to those
those only who's heard
Who's heard her laugh divine.
Unaware of the fact
I am totally unaware of the fact
As why it has deserted me to act
Why no words are pouring in as it used to be?
Why do I feel so helpless and not free?
Yes it is God gift to have grip on writing
No reason can be advanced for sighting
Everything is just before the eyes
One may not depict correctly even if he tries
Of course they may be deeply lying in corner
It has to come out later or sooner
But it has got no use if untimely composed
It will be simply rejected and totally disposed
Words can’t flow until it has free message
Water can not flow in river until has the passage
The well has enough of water in the belt below
It will remain there as it is and not allow
As the fingers move on the head in hair rings
It may generate melody and words may try to sing
It will send pulses to and fro and resonance may start
Align all activities in one action with live active part
As the earth has become barren
It may need fall of rain even
Dry words may find new energy in roots
The greenery may come up for good scenes to put up
Find it not hard to come out the songs
They may come at right time and not at wrong
Your heart and mind may keenly exchange
It will have good synchronization and able to manage
It will have full sweetness and melancholy
The depth of it may be felt and enjoyed wholly
Let artificial things cover as pure illusion
Poetry may flow with natural tune without any confusion
Poems are not just free flow of words
They are holy words spoken by lords
Not everybody can pick it with intensity
Only good poet may find its full use and utility
It may face temporary setback sometimes
It has too some lean and bad times
It may loose sometimes rhythms and tunes
The creator (poet) should not worry over it and fume
Give it a full justice to come out with some reason
Nature too functions well with every season
How the flowers boom in different colors?
The spring has quality to offer more flavors
Don’t be upset if some time the door is locked
Don’t lament if it doesn’t come up and try to click
It will find its way when cuckoo breaks morning silence
Your mind will be fresh and free from being tense
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love and Poetry; Poetry and Love
and right now, I’m spending most of my time
on the two matters of which I seem to know the least –
love; and poetry.
maybe it’s good I feel like this; after all,
they’re two pretty big things in their way;
and if it’s frustrating that
I don’t seem to get anywhere,
or understand any more,
maybe that’s good too since
it keeps me at it
and out of harm’s way
as they say
let’s take poetry first – that’s
relatively straightforward:
one day I love the freedom
of the current situation – there’s no rules
except, the lines are short –
but even that, you can break
with ‘prose poems’ (and leave it
to others to say when 'prose poems'
become ‘poetic prose’ etc…) :
tell the unvarnished truth,
tell it like it is; offer all your heart
ungiftwrapped;
then next day I miss the music
of a poem that – with some difficulty –
rhymes and dances in its rhythms,
catches you in its woven spell,
reads as if it wrote itself,
sings its own fair song,
even though of course
the rhyme then makes you deviate
from the theme – but that can take you to
more interesting places in the mind —
so - point of this - I’m none the wiser
about what poetry is; though of course
maybe there’s some benefit I just don’t spot
by kinda mixing thisnthat..
so, when I’m not writing this stuff
that I call poetry, if I call it anything,
I’m addressing the question
of love; in the hope
that thinking about it might just be
of some use; influence action; and
make me more loving; or help me
write poetry about it, ha..
well don’t ask me, not just yet..
though, we all know what love is...
when it’s on our side?
one day, I feel good that I’ve spent the day
reading inspiring words, like,
the whole Creation is one single act
of love; that it brought the whole universe
into manifestation; sustains it; merges all things into love;
that love is knowledge; holds all forms
through law, by law; that law and love
are always together; that love’s
the natural state of ourself; that
every creature has pure love within its nature;
that thus, it’s our very nature
to love one another; love
our neighbour as ourself…
even, love ourselves...
then the next day, I can’t bear
to read any more of what’s written
about love; just spend the day in love
with everything and everyone;
being still a little, listening to music a little,
reading inspiring poetry a little,
going out or not going out,
being just myself a lot; seeing things around
inside the house and out
so vividly, it’s like being high
without the before and after, and
I wonder why it isn’t
always just like this..
then the next day again, I’m just too busy
to give thought to thinking about love,
or being loving to those bloody neighbours
then the doorbell rings – and
I greet whoever it is before
I even look at them, as if
they’re the one person out of all the world
I most wanted to see again right now – and
it’s someone to read the meter –'hallo!
what, again so soon? I’ve only just paid
the last bill, and anyway, it always comes
as ‘estimated’, and too high…'
too late – I’ve loved them totally
in that first moment; I'm like
someone else; I find myself
treating them like an honoured guest;
see them out with a friendly comment; feel good;
a sorta indifferent, unthought, unshaped happiness..
maybe there’s something to be discovered
in all this love thing,
whatever it is.. maybe
I’ll go try to write a poem about it,
see where it goes
[This poem is dedicated to the memory of Bukowski, the poet
who taught us to write it like it is - even if his later work...]
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Acceptance Heals
Acceptance heals!
A willingness to just let go...
To be a part of a natural process,
Reveals an ability to face the truth...
For what it is and means.
Without the need,
Of foolish protective measures.
Some wish to stop to grow.
To direct with a decision...
To have things go their way.
Blocking the experience of a natural adventure.
As if the ticking of a clock,
Depends on a decision made.
Since time itself...
Is a creation of man.
And where man stands...
Has nothing to do,
With the evolution of nature.
And nature awaits...
Such dictates!
Acceptance heals!
A willingness to just let go...
To be a part of a natural process,
Reveals an ability to face the truth...
For what it is and means.
Without the need,
Of foolish protective measures.
And those foolish protective measures,
Keeps a wounded mind...
With no peace to find.
Acceptance heals.
Like one's faith,
Eliminates...
A stunted life that wastes away,
In anticipation to have a stubbornness validated.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Do You Write Poetry
There is a question I am often asked,
of which I have no answer for at all.
The question is a simple one,
how do you write poetry?
To be honest I haven’t got a clue.
With me the words just trickle out
one after the other,
if they rhyme that is great
and if they don’t, I just scratch my head.
I cannot tell anyone how to write,
for me it’s just a natural thing.
I write almost everything,
novels, short stories, poems and songs.
I have even written a couple of plays,
but that was a long, long time ago.
However to tell anyone how to write,
I would not know where to begin.
The answer I give to the question is simple;
write whatever you like good or bad.
It’s yours and be proud of it
no matter what anyone else has to say.
The more you write the better you will get.
However, the most important thing
that you should always remember and that is
that you write, write, and write!
9 November 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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