Hill top
On green grass near hill top sat one poet
Seized with serious thought but very quiet
He was lean and thin but on simple diet
He mastered an art in composing the duet
He had masterly skill but not looking smart
Thoughts were slowly entering part by part
It was not age of cars but small wheeled cart
This was only refuge where he had very good start
He wondered at God’s beautiful creation
Was it not serving right place for recreation?
Who has time for observation and thinking?
Hated and killing with moral slowly sinking
Will my simple creation serve the purpose?
If not serving well then what should I suppose?
Should I leave it to fate and continue?
Offer something concrete with ideas new
No one took notice of his presence
His presence on ground was not of any essence
This provided him peaceful and congenial atmosphere
Long vision, right decision with new sphere
He had hardly any means to go on
Paucity of funds and nothing of his own
Poor parent forcing to forgo and ready to disown
He determined to continue to achieve literary crown
Luck would have its way and he joined the college
Intelligent students welcomed him and joined as colleague
Literature was his ambition and brotherhood as an aim
So much to offer and nothing to claim
“No sir, this is not what poet thought in mind”
Professor turned back with gesture unkind
How can you say this is not exactly the meaning?
“I am the same poet who composed and had simple leaning”
This was shot in arm for newcomer and student
He had many ups and down in the freedom movement
Consolidated gain with slow and steady pace
Created position keeping others enough space
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Related quotes
A need to do
What do I need in life|?
A beautiful wife,
No fight with swords or knife
Peaceful co existence
No more insistence
Lively presence
True essence
Why can’t I have it?
Unnecessary dog fight in mind
No sympathy or good words of any kind
No love or attachment suitably finds
Suspicious mind with sick ideas
Unnecessary arguments and pleas
Simple unrest and …………..
Love to live with present
Superficial ideas always absent
Feet firmly placed on the ground
Congenial atmosphere always found
No to hatred and yes to fine gesture
Not to live in fast but look at future
How do I overcome?
No to worries and happy welcome
Peace at heart and stable mind
Simple march in direction of wind
No confrontation and compromising trend
Not to aggravate and ways to mend
No enemies but find good friends
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Within reach
I pray Almighty and rest,
No more questions and no more zest,
Continue to strive always for best,
Is it not the time for simple test?
HE has done all his best,
Provided us with very good nest,
Simple food but better than feast,
No botheration or worry at least,
With all good at our disposal,
Never we make simple proposal?
Always we demand and more propose,
Less he considers and quickly disposes,
What a beautiful and lovely creation?
Everything before us for recreation,
Doesn’t require any certificate or citation,
For descent living and more facilitation,
O merciful you created it within my reach,
Lovely sea shore and beautiful beach,
Nothing to learn and nothing to teach,
Confine to self and nothing to preach,
Nothing stops me from being an honest,
Sowing well and reaping rich harvest,
Life is mission and not merely a conquest,
Everything you get at simple request,
Eat well, think well and speak also good,
no complaint about nature or good mood,
All carving made from precious wood,
So I see him around whether sat or stood
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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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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Silvery Beauty Vavroovahana Patra
Innocent silvery beauty passes on the way;
Poet beholds the beauty of Beauty with gay.
The creation of Nature is alluring;
Innocent Beauty is dazzling.
Beautiful face allures passes by;
Allures lovers with gay.
Beauty is the creation of Almighty;
Beholding, poet derives gaiety.
Beauty tranquilises poet's mind on the way;
Poet derives profound peace with gay.
Curly crisp wavy long cloudy hairs entice the poet;
Mind remains in the world of peace with delight.
Innocent beautiful face allures the poet in evening;
Poet's mind is delighting.
With a little conversation mind is peaceful;
Her sweet talk is delightful.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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A magic figure of 800
What magic figure to multiply and add?
It enhances spirit and getting me so much mad
I feel like to act as like and display with innocence
It has brought me so much joy in poem’s presence
How child does feel happiness when gifted with toy?
You can clearly see on his face happiness and joy
It will be less apparent when he develops as grown up boy
The emerging poet may get same joy when others enjoy
I wanted to celebrate it with fire crackers and lights
It had shown me right way with vision and site
It may not be large contribution to the cause
It gave me enough room to think seriously with pause
I shall be considered as small fly in fray
Some one may come and simply flay
I have to accept at in good gesture
They are my asset and bright future
It is always good to accept criticism
It develops inner strength to act with wisdom
We have act as ear and mind of the people
Pure imagination may not help but land you in trouble
I was slowly advancing with caution
Every theme was considered and added with precaution
Freedom of speech and expression doesn’t mean unrest
It has to stand and wither the storm with endurance test
It may not go well with some of the section
You may invite wrath and reactive action
Sometimes passion may be inflamed to cause havoc
Steps might prove difficult even if taken as adhoc
I have to learn a lot from present environment
Good test must be developed to draw nice comments
It strengthens the belief in very nice creation
It is of course very powerful tool for the recreation
I don’t expect over night change
I will have to adjust and properly manage
It is public demand and that has to be counted
There is nothing like loss or gain which has to be amounted
There may be thousand of creations which may speak well
They might have different colors with imagination to tell
I may have my special presentation that may not go smooth
It is still worth try to stand in race and prove its worth
I shall be celebrating my wonderful creation with no much zeal
I have sense of humor and joy which may not be able to conceal
It speaks of great efforts on the part of individual poet
It is passing off an event which may go on unnoticed and quiet
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Prostye Dvizheniya
I continue simple moves
You continue my continuations
I am you, and you are me
I repeat, you repeat.
If you want -be silent,
Wait until it stops.
If you want keys,
2 turns around
If you want yours,
If you want somebody's,
If you want be like me
And I continue
Simple moves, I continue...
Simple moves..
We continue simple moves
Destroying irrigation.
Somewhere you find,
Somewhere you lose
I repeat, you repeat.
This is love,
Springs are jumping.
Tomorrow everyone
Can be smaller then snowflake.
We have to be on time
Not refusing.
We should be able
Continue to live.
Simple moves, continuing to live...
Simple moves...
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Simple moves...
song performed by by Tatu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Talent
How do we react and over come crisis?
Is there any document or written thesis?
It is purely positive thinking and talent
One has to seize opportune time, act or relent
It is God gift and purely mind’s production
Ideas shape in formation with induction
Its presentation is rare with application
Can’t be countered with dubious means or duplication
Everyone is taken by surprise or mesmerized
Its skillful execution is never organized
It is instant and comes as pure response
Rich layout of words in correspondence
Neither one can claim or inherit from parent
Nor it can be exhibited in any one particular event
It has its own merit and offer splendid show
Clear cut advantage as seen with river’s flow
It has its ups and down with tidal waves
He is till his own master and not acts as slaves
Course will be steered and reached to destination
Failure is ruled out totally and out of question
Talent, if executed properly, can lead to glory
Big fame and name may be circulated as story
You have your reputation in all sphere of walk
Every word is precious and not considered as talk
Many may be benefited by masterly skill
It may be augmented by powerful will
World may be eluded for want of chance
Powerful bid may help but not simple glance
Luck may prove as detrimental force
Talent only can’t play part or enforce
It may need powerful drive with determination
No need to prove worth even in examination
It has got its own testing ground
In every walk of life it is not found
So many may not succeed in first round
Its essence is felt and must be so sound
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXX: Good Vs Bad
Good is always in simple mind, bad always thinks how to trick
Good is always in simple way, bad always finds the escape
Good is always in simple manner, bad always fakes to cheat
Good is always in simple purpose, bad always has a catch
Good is always in simple reason, bad always uses layered lies
Good is always in simple trust, bad always changes the side
Good is always in simple life, bad always watches his back
Good is always in simple word, bad always talks complicated
Good is always in simple fun, bad always tired to understand
Good is always in simple hope, bad always tries to control the world
Good is always in simple choice, bad always looks what’s the point
Good is always in simple act, bad always counts the advantage
Good is always in simple thing, bad always exaggerates what have been
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A way to enter
“Welcome to our new world of family”
Words sounded me very good and not silly
It created deep impact on mind
I though of gesture to be so nice and kind
New entrants will find it very difficult
New environment with different cult
Readers, friends, pattern also new
May be new approach was definitely due
How to speak and catch about one’s mind?
People may not take it lightly and turn eyes blind
It may be possible they may not accept and rescind
Still it has to be honest attempt and way to find
I cut joke and call self as Jadia or fat
May not go in ground to play cricket with bat
At the most they may cut joke and hate
I have no reason to feel amused and state
I have always felt that jokes are good medicines
As disease disappear after taking vaccines
So jokes and loud laugh make blood to rush in vanes
Fresh air and wind make trees to bend in by lanes
Does the honesty pay in the long run?
Can anything be extracted at the point of gun?
What role does the comment and feed back play?
Beautiful ideas to float and make it relay
I may love to be part of large community
It will have its impact and continuity
New concept, ideas may find the real place
Right place and recognition without any race
One has to work very hard with dedication
Sincere efforts are seen as good indication
What is use of trying with no simplification?
Success may be ruled out and seen as out of question
Everything has its own time to offer the result
You shouldn’t blame anybody for simple fault
Luck or fate may play their own part
You may come out of it and look smart
Some people may make good use of talent
They may put all out efforts but not relent
“Come what may” may prove to be their ideal
Situation may prove to be difficult but may not prove real
One should be very careful at entry point
He should prove worth when initially join
It is said whose beginning is good then end too will be good
The ground must be covered and firmly stood
It is worth to stand in isolation than to loose
It has to be wise decision when you choose
It will have large impact for long time to come
Difficulties may arise but has to over come
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Poet not to remain
It is essence of poet not to remain quiet
Even though may not have knowledge considered to be basic
The thoughts and images must reach to the masses
As they may have enough of it to read in classes
The flower may not know what fragrance it has
There might not be awareness yesterday as it was
Still there may be bright tomorrow to celebrate
It may be simple try by poet to project and narrate
The poets are called crazy and thought driven
They do not bother for their appearance even
They eat whatever they get and stay wherever they are
The world is so close to them and not very far
They are part of each living object
They accept it in mind and never reject
They try to feel natural belongingness
And it is there as gift to feel oneness
Not all can feel the impulse of nature
Not all can see the well being of future
Only few can breathe with it and survive
They make it perfect and try to revive
It requires third eye to feel the real soul
You may witness it casually and not as whole
You get hurt when something wrong is done to nature
You express sorrow when over apathy to cure
Not that people are cruel and less sentimental
They may be part of bad set up and very much instrumental
Yet poet is different from others and feels grieved
He has the noble soul and her words are respected and believed
Everybody may be passing through critical phase
There may be mad race and long chase
Yet there may be enough of reasonability in approach
Poet may try to project but not attempt to teach or preach
Some of them may be called nationalist
Some one may be well known as futurists
Some may come out as strong supporters of the liberty
Some may prove very good at prayers of almighty
It is not that only poets do great service
People from many walks of life also suffice
Their contribution is well known and of very good standard
It is the basis for which to go ahead and look forward
But the rainbow can only be seen in poetic heart
By little appearance of natural beauty it will simply start
It will pen beautiful words to please old and young alike
Not all the ideas may occur to all or strike
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet not to remain quiet
It is essence of poet not to remain quiet
Even though may not have knowledge considered to be basic
The thoughts and images must reach to the masses
As they may have enough of it to read in classes
The flower may not know what fragrance it has
There might not be awareness yesterday as it was
Still there may be bright tomorrow to celebrate
It may be simple try by poet to project and narrate
The poets are called crazy and thought driven
They do not bother for their appearance even
They eat whatever they get and stay wherever they are
The world is so close to them and not very far
They are part of each living object
They accept it in mind and never reject
They try to feel natural belongingness
And it is there as gift to feel oneness
Not all can feel the impulse of nature
Not all can see the well being of future
Only few can breathe with it and survive
They make it perfect and try to revive
It requires third eye to feel the real soul
You may witness it casually and not as whole
You get hurt when something wrong is done to nature
You express sorrow when over apathy to cure
Not that people are cruel and less sentimental
They may be part of bad set up and very much instrumental
Yet poet is different from others and feels grieved
He has the noble soul and her words are respected and believed
Everybody may be passing through critical phase
There may be mad race and long chase
Yet there may be enough of reasonability in approach
Poet may try to project but not attempt to teach or preach
Some of them may be called nationalist
Some one may be well known as futurists
Some may come out as strong supporters of the liberty
Some may prove very good at prayers of almighty
It is not that only poets do great service
People from many walks of life also suffice
Their contribution is well known and of very good standard
It is the basis for which to go ahead and look forward
But the rainbow can only be seen in poetic heart
By little appearance of natural beauty it will simply start
It will pen beautiful words to please old and young alike
Not all the ideas may occur to all or strike
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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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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A Poet's Song
~♥ ♥ ♥ ~
I have read
Works of great men and women
Simple poems and stories
I also have written
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I love poetries
So too are stories
They are simple daisies
Filling my fantasies
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
It is my refuge
When in sorrow
My hopes and dreams
In my unknown tomorrow
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I am a poetess
With the dream of sharing
And with my knowledge and skills
Tomorrow, my dreams I will be fulfilling
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I and my works
May never be great
But I will never lose hope
In God, I place my faith
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
I will never surrender to failure
I shall never retire until I reach my goal
I will read and write literature
I will hear the cry of my hoping soul
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul
~♥ ♥ ♥ ~
poem by Belleza Edella Marian SwanCullen
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Poet At Heart
A poet at heart
My, My, how I love this art
I wish for this feeling of warmth not to depart
When down it lifts me up so lovingly to start
Makes me feel all the more smart
In a poet’s world when you’re ready with your shopping cart
Make no mistake about it, you can buy all you want at the mart
It fills your appetite, tastes just like lemon tart
Over time, has become my real sweetheart
I pray, may my quill and its words never part
And I remain forever a poet at heart
poem by Ruffled Quill
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Poet is free
Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Being A Poet
being a poet
is not an ambition
it is ironic
that i do poetry and
yet i do not want
to be called a poet
nor be identified with
any movement in poetry
nor take the challenge and opportunity
of being crowned by laurel leaves
and be dragged on the stage of
an island of light focusing my head and body
and they shall all clap and say
this is the poet, this is our poet
not in the figment of my imagination
not an ambition not a profession not a career in the field of literature
to be a poet on a certain degree
you see, i live in a crowded universe
i am a fish in the sea of people
and i, never imagine once in my whole life
that i will be swimming so meaninglessly in the corridors
of this vast ocean of men and mice and snakes
and goats and pigs and eagles
poetry is what i do but i am not a poet
this poet, that poet
their poet
the reason is here inside my heart
this is my place &
this is my only chance to be alone
to be myself to be human again for out there
i, we, you have become pillars
and dams.and walls and continental shelves
it is only here in this spot
that i become my island
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Breath Of Creation
Today, I breathed into the air,
two cups of moisture… as I do everyday
which was absorbed by the atmosphere
in some arcane, yet everyday way
To couple with clouds…the cold…
and a mote of dust…to take
The wondrous form of…
A crystalline snowflake
What in my most delirious dreams
Tis a heartwarming thought
To be a bit of the creation, of Nature’s schemes
My essence, and breath have wrought.
no one gives thought Of simple inhalations,
Of everyday breaths… ordinary inspirations
Yet in every exhalation… everyone takes
A part in the creation…of snowflakes
poem by David Whalen
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Years of hard struggle
It takes years of hard struggle
To survive in this competitive jungle
Everybody adore some position and smile
Some of the flowers have to stand alone for while
Who will notice them in wilderness?
Who will grant them togetherness?
They have to gain position for survival
No one may make the way for their arrival
Some one may up by their natural presence
They will be noticed easily by their absence
Everybody may miss rose and its color
Even though others may have good smell and odor
Poets are like “touch me not” and may not seek
Some may prefer to shy away and feel very weak
They want to put their presence on big scale
But small fishes are swallowed by big whale
How many turtle eggs survive in race?
Not many I suppose on rough face
Yet they march to race on for long time
I think over it silently sometimes
So every species has distinct feature
They are recognized and identified for sure
But where is the coming up of infant poets?
Have they been pushed to remain quiet?
This is toughest race in world
You can rule it with hot temper or cold
No sentiments or pure imagery may come to rescue
The highest slot is reserved for only few
The poet is beautiful animal with no horns
If he is passing on road people may warn
May give some piece of advice for ugly show
As he may unaware of self but in hurry to go
Poets are generally termed or knows as whimsical
Their tone may be literary and little musical
On stage they may put different and powerful show
The powerful oratory may excel like river water flow
Hardly few people may know about his existence
That too will be known on somebody’s insistence
The creative work may remain confined to golden books
As beautiful and testy food will not be enjoyed by cooks
I wish poets to have small horns
Small species not to be touched and warned
Let them groom in some unrestricted area
Not to beg to any body and making unnecessary plea
Let us create enough space and free air
Let them breathe in and find means very fair
Let them not bogged down in word jugglery
How the elephant looks giant with ivory?
I wish it not to happen
It comes to them one by one
Everybody has events in turn
How best can we offer in return?
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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