Gift from almighty
No one can define actual poetry
It is simple gift from almighty
No one can claim high on it
Not everybody can excel or fit
It can be felt at any point of time
You may be feeling very uneasy sometimes
The grief and pain evaporates in the form of words
The only way open for us is to forget and look forward
It is said pain may be felt less
If you reveal it to some other face
Sometimes it is fool’s paradise
Whole life is spent on false promises
The words can express what is going on in mind
Its melody and depth can be felt even by the blind
It needs no insight or long vision
It is easy and effective transmission
Some of individuals resort to poetry while facing grief
Their attachment to such passion is very brief
They will go back to original mood once it is over
They want only part time refuge or cover
Poetry in fact is worship to almighty
It is in different form and variety
Hymns can be chanted and songs composed
Broken hearts are brought together and faith reposed
This all can be done with the purity of soul
You will never go wrong or commit foul
You are on right track and can take credit
Your creation is original and need not be put to edit
Not all can strive for or become poet
One must be very serious, honest and quiet
It is to be explored for common good
The songs and verses should be properly understood
It is service to the mankind in large scale
Every where we may find the unhappiness and pain
The poems can inject new waves of enthusiasm
At least it can turn into optimism from pessimism
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Related quotes
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 Spirit Of Poetry!
when a spirit of poetry decent,
it came
In a form of dove
When it came
Jesus became first poet under sun
And Almighty God
Was already, first poet over sun?
Using Poetry in poetic foam
Almighty GOD spoke through poetry
And he is a poet himself
Now his poetry is everywhere, and anywhere
We interact with poets
Words are like soil, are everywhere
Brighter that Sun
His poetic lights lead the way
When he likes
He will come
He will be in poetic foam
To Re-arrange poems
Schedule them in a poetic manner
On a judgment, He will met poets first
And secondly meet
Those who haven't written a poem
To Discuss similes, metaphors and personifications
Future of poetry is in heaven
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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Poetical Injustice,
Poetical Injustice,
They say poetry is all the feign verses,
It's a lie,
A big lie,
Poetry liers and false prophets,
To write false feigned verses,
Maybe like poetic injustice,
The vices I hate,
Hate poems,
Never knew anything about optimism,
Poetical blasphemies,
The false samaritan,
The Jezebel,
I saw her here,
Telling me,
Poet is the lie,
This is a Blasphemy,
Poet came from the true prophets,
The Saint's of these verses,
Words are life,
To speak Poetry in parables solved the mystery,
Poetry in parables, ?
What was it's meaning, ?
It was written,
All about truths and lies,
Eventually written,
Now I see,
Poetry is the Euphony,
The enigma,
The Spirit of Realism,
Nihilism, all the diction,
Poetical Justice,
Taste's like a web on all hall that never fade or fake,
But increase with depth,
Depth of realness, Poetical analysis,
Lyrical genius,
Poetical liers got to end,
Tell the Stars all about these,
For my message will go everwhere.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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Poetry To Me
What is poetry to me- it is words of beauty-words of life
Words of love, pain and sacrifice.
Words of showing and growing and needing and feeding
Words of hope and despairs, wanting and cares.
Poetry takes you into the minds of mankind
From days of old to the present time.
Poetry takes you on trips that you've never been before
And opens up every door.
Poetry becomes a longing, a want, a desire, a need
On which your mind must feed.
It becomes a life within itself
And takes you to the heavens and down to hell.
Poetry becomes a flaming desire
And only writing can put out this fire.
I call it my passion while others say it's my obsession
Yet! No matter what they may think or say
Poetry is here to stay.
So many different types of poetry
For the different minds 'you see'.
You will always find one that will give you meaning
From a loving heart to one that's bleeding.
Jump on the bandwagon and take a hold
For with poetry ' life unfolds'.
poem by Louis Rams
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Drunk On Poetry
Poetry surges steadily
Through my veins
I grant it to stream through them
Day in and day out
Sleep and awake
I believe it's a healthy obsession
I get drunk on it
The more I inject in me
My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become addicted
Sometimes I absorb too much poetry
Reading, writing and listening
I become drunk sometimes
Poetry spills from my pen
Inking a piece of paper
And unto another and another
Constantly on every thought
Humorous, emotionally, romantic, tragic
Experiencing in life
Opinionated, factual, abstract
Political, any subject that's on my thoughts
Sometimes I become drunk
The more i inject into me
Poetry I live for
Eat, drink, sleep
Racing through my spirit
Poetry, poetry, poetry
I loose myself sometimes
When I digest too much
Poems that I write
I write for me
I share them with the world
I can't resist this urge
Poetry is what I crave
It happens to be my mistress
I become drunk
The more I inject
My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become so addicted
Breathing in too much poetry
Reading, writing, listening
I'm drunk sometimes
Poetry I write
Write from experience
What I've done
What I've heard
What I've seen
What I've felt
What I've known
Poetry I live for
Eating, drinking, sleeping
Racing through my spirit
Poetry, poetry, poetry
On my thoughts poetry
Loosing myself sometimes
When I inject enough
This is what I've become
A drunken poet
poem by R.K. Cowles
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Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
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What Poetry Mean To Me
What does poetry mean to me
Poetry is the air I breathe
Poetry is the words that feed
My soul
To make me whole
Poetry is what makes me blossom
In the middle of spring
Poetry is what grows my garden
And makes it flourish with nature
Beauty
Poetry Is
My magical whim's that supply all my
Fantasy and fills my hopes and dreams
Poetry is the strong desire that keep the
Flames of love burning
In the midst of the hour
And lights up the sky
With beautiful hues of colours
Spreads from one globe to
Another
To swim the ocean deep
Just because of love
Poetry is that and more, which I
Hate to carry this on and on
But
Poetry is the love of our life that visit
Us in our dreams
Poetry is
Me and the worlds that wakes every
Morning to bloom and blossom
Even after the death has played it last
Song that breaks our hearts
Poetry is tears and moans
Grief and pain that Hunt's the
Soul
Poetry is the rain crying from
The sky
The sun the moon with the golden
Light
Poetry is a child laughter at play
The tears a child shreds in sadness
They cry
Poetry is just a book of songs you
And I write down in our journal
Each and every day
We
Mix them together again and again
That is poetry
Poetry is life woes
Life happiness
Poetry is life
Here now and after
Poetry is you and I
poem by Carolyn Sears
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I and melody
It always formed as basic in my mind
It is hunted not from the mind of the blind
With such questions in mind it needed an answer
It could be found from genuine friends who were fewer
How melody can enhance the music in poetry?
What can influence more in its earnest entry?
It all invaded mind and made me restless
I was to find an answer and genuinely trace
I had reminded friends on my being as an ordinary poet
I normally preferred to remain calm and quiet
But one of my poetess friends forced me to explain
What formed hard core, nice poem and free from any pain?
“Poetry is strong arm of an art”
She asserted it with confidence to look very smart
I had fined her interesting at the start
I found her in tune with poetry touch and very much part
I added mixture of both to form basic
It looks then melodious and classic
Where else was I to go and find?
When Melody was always there to find?
I was in mood to elaborate as she remained at heart
The poems were right means and purest form of an art
It was berthing and spreading fragrance all the times
I used to enjoy it and smelt most of the times
She was to complain that it was music in absence of tune
How can you claim it flawless, without weakness and immune?
I emphasized it to be divine melody
It was not in the hands of anybody
Art is always in pure form
Only you should stay inform
The love and art definitely are inborn
In absence it may stand as if torn
I told her to enjoy lovely evening
Have full faith in art with clear leaning
In end it was bound to be always winning
As the rays are bright and shining
I asked her to be always nice
Stand firm in her promise
Poetry should not face sudden demise
As it is heavenly and divine device
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Only Desire Will Not Work
Only desire will not give good start
Feel from inner depth and start
Poetry and emotions start with tears
That speaks of your anguish to bear
Make those feeling to be heard in words
Do nothing and wait for blessings from the lord
Words have powerful impact
That makes you to cry with skill and art
You need no pen and paper
That may be like words on water
It may go away with one fresh wave
Nothing will remain in mind for others to behave
Inject emotions that must look real
Undergone with sufferings while making deal
It may then be felt by others same as you
This is principle when you are writing true
You need not ask how they feel about poems
Let it come in form of few words by them
Simple acceptance of facts may certainly make the space
You may then have satisfaction with bright shine on face
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Turn a great poet
You can turn a great poet
Only you should have an art of keeping others quiet
Keep group of four or five to support
Rest other poets may stand to deport
It happens in all the organizations
It becomes known only after some revelations
But exactly what cause we serve by doing so?
We make indecent entry for other poets to go
There is no yard stick for readers to prefer
Some of the ideas are pre set and is likely to differ
Yet some kind of favor reflects in trend
This is enough reason for good poet to buckle or bend
In new set up, he may find hardly any one to support
Where as few others poets may kill his chance to anchor at port
None may appreciate his effort to strengthen poetry base
Lot many of them may disappear without facing tough chase
I have hardly any reason to resent
But of course spirit of good poetry is absent
You go after established poets with so much to praise
And not a single word for simple poet to boost or raise
Poets are born and not made
As earth gives up nice crops when deeply spade
It is water and natural manure that cultivates fine
Green corps may stand in defiance to define
Do the words create all magic in verses?
Yes if that is felt within one honestly pursues
Poetry may be felt all along even if ignored
As sea waves rush unstoppable toward shore
Bank may feel greatly elated at striking noise
The sound is heard beautifully with sweet voice
As if music is created with each passing wave
Ups and down of journey surely represent the waves
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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We Have Lost
We have lost the body and soul
In every aspect it is smelt as foul
Where two square meals is reality!
The struggle has lost its teeth and quality
What reason can you give for up rising?
What have you to say for when promising?
Gone where the days when people offered voluntarily
Came out in open with chest for bullets readily!
Now men in street have come to know about the futility
The hollow words, false promises and behavior of poor quality
It is not the same time when leaders were found selfless
Speak of same value and stand for no duality on face
What do we have then as an easy option?
It is quite difficult to go for an adoption
The moral value is eroded and is for name sake
In depth study has revealed so much value at stake
There is too not much to claim from freedom
It is hardly seen in practice or enjoyed seldom
Everything is sold at fixed price and for asking
Any one with money, muscle and power can make staking
The time has witnessed changes so are the seasons
It has changed due to some known reasons
Eco balance is disturbed to an alarming level
There is not much to take credit and excel
We have mastered the art in lip service
Where no amount is to be spent for promises
You show them twinkling stars or moon in day time
Miss them all completely when see them next time
Now has the time for orchestrated trouble spots
Enough funds is spared and warning is fired in shots
It is now battle on large scale with selfish goal
The original charm is lost and definitely stolen
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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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
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All Poetry... All The Time
All Poetry … All The Time
I Love To Read In Rhythm & Rhyme
I Love To Write Of Wistful Wishes
And Lips Speak Of Love Like Bold Kisses
All Poetry … All The Time
Poetry, Is A Medication For My Mind
Poetry, Has A Power To Overthrow Pain
Poetry, Should Be Spoken, Again and Again
All Poetry … All The Time
I Am Really Thrilled To Find
More Poet Lovers, and Their Word Artistry
All The Time … All Poetry
All Poetry … All The Time
May Each Poetic Puff, Rise & Climb
Into The Clouds, Up To The Stars
(Or Maybe Just Linger, Where You Are) …
All Poetry … For All Of Time
Written & ©: 5/24/10
By: MoonBee
poem by MoonBee Canady
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A Poet Loses His Power For Poetry
A POET LOSES HIS POWER FOR POETRY
A poet loses his power for poetry
He can put down words
But they no longer have poetry in them
Something of the feeling of what real poetry is
is gone.
He strives
He writes again and again
He puts words down in the forms and in the shapes his poems usually take
But he has no poetry in him
He has lost what he is
And all he can do
is strive again and again
Word after word
Silence after silence
To hear within himself again
A voice he does not have.
The poet is writing poetry
And it is not poetry
The poet is dead
And he is pretending to be alive
Is this a poem?
Is he a poet
Is he dead?
Is he alive?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Passion
A passion found, is a passion to keep
A passion felt, is a passion to be kept
Poetry from the heart, poetry from the soul,
Poetry I have always felt,
There are many passions in
this world but none like this one, which you can
always return too when you feel lost or
feel you have something to say
I love thee yet, I love thee more
but with words I can express thee hence more
Sometimes life feels too complex to find the one with the same passion as you share,
Someone that understands you for you, not only the external you, but the inner you,
Someone that understands your thoughts and passions in life; pleasure is one thing but
Once that desire for pleasure with that person has been diminished,
what is there, nothing, a desire gone and lost,
yet to say I yearn, and can't wait till I find the one that shares the same passion and desires as I do
poem by Coker George
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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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Poetry is the Divine Part of Man
Poetry haters love to make fun of the touchy-feely stuff
as though that defined who or what poetry is.
Poetry is the last time the sun gets reflected
in somebody's eyes, when they're saying goodbye-
maybe for forever.
And it's that first dropp of rain, touches the new brides veil,
blesses her; as she's lifting it off her face
for the first time, after being kissed in the marriage ceremony.
And poetry might be that bubble,
over the sink.. keeps floating away, fully intact;
even though all the laws of physics and gravity may be saying
it ought not be able to go on existing;
And poetry in motion
is a baby, trying to walk and falling down
again and again;
refusing to give up, surrender
less painful though that might be.
And poetry could even be your hand over my mouth,
because you know that I can never really say
what I am trying so hard to say;
as there's another form of secret communication
connects soul directly to soul,
without confusing or complicated words.
And that is some of the invisible poetry,
lives in the eyes, the hands; the heart of the mind;
and all the hidden, inner recesses of a human being; and even though
something may be a form of poetry for one; it may not be for another.
Finally, if you balled up the emotions together, and then just threw them up
into the open air, not knowing where they might come down, or even if;
this too, could be one of the purest forms of poetry.
My words could go on flowing forever, like a stream, and that could be poetry;
or they might stop without warning and
poem by Patti Masterman
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Friend on line
My poetess friend is on line
Would love for poems to find day's shine
I was really impressed for keen interest
It was in general for best interest
A publisher is good link for purpose
Whole trust is to be put and reposed
I was falling to her proposal
It was new bond waiting for revival
She was touching heart and coming near
I too had had nice feeling of love and dear
I named her "Kajol"* as she had told me once
She was sure of having some resemblance
I told her name to appear in preface
Another mask for putting on face
She was anxious for being her in preface
I found some keen interest with feeling trace
She was thee making inroad
Heavily riding on mind with immense load
I was sinking with her brilliance
She was sure there to show up with intelligence
"She will buy it first" confident was her reply
I was hell bent to go her near by
She had consented to appear on the face of book
I disbelieved it and unwillingly allowed head to shake
The poems had touched 3000 mark
It was lovely beginning and good start
She was there to praise and take stock
I was waiting for some ticks from the clock
I was in fact growing old
But kept approach very bold
It is necessary to feel young at heart
Poetry is such good form of an art
She was quick at my back
Posted questions about what is at stake
Life is not simple like cake
It has to be honest and not fake
I wondered at her philosophy
She was plain but as if blessed by almighty
Right from day one she had clear vision
Not much to be left behind as confusion
I wished her success and good start
She was coming up with part by part
Touching simple way and putting across
I was very much happy and felt at no loss
Kajol… Indian famous actress
(To be concluded)
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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That Book Of Poetry....
there is no need
to pay
a semester of poetry
from any
teacher of poetry
who teaches whom?
can poetry be taught?
can poetry have
a dictated form?
no one teaches whom
and it cannot be taught
neither can it have a form
for poetry is here
deep in the heart of man
embedded in the mind
felt and then
whether you like it or not
becomes written
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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