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Mood

What can be termed as mood?
Can that be called conducive for good?
Situation may not take you out of wood
You may not even like or prefer food

It is perfect condition to emit ideas
Nothing will be heard even good pleas
Good melody may also fall to deaf ears
Perfection may take longer or even years

Mind may set in and take complete rest
Emergence of constructive but thoughts best
Some times may prove hard or acid test
Right time to strike, write and paste

Don’t attempt when nothing appeals
Thoughts may cross and ideas repeal
Allow normal function with gate closed
Gradual entry with no more ideas forced

It is like child demanding toy
Nothing will convince even if you employ
Good alternatives with submitting to demands
Even if you threaten with severe remands

Childish play with funny acts
Got to know with basic facts
Simply arranging with current scene
Facts to be reflected as never before seen

Poets are whimsical and funny
Care not for any more penny
It is simple presentation of views
May not head to any more clues

It is not magic or creating words
Simple notes and looking too forwards
It may not have head and tales
Poets are many as sea have whales

Poets may create new concept and waves
Beautiful ideas which may produce heroes and braves
It may not be drive powerful wagon
Certainly a sharp and double edged weapon

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Poets and Bad Poets

Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.

Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.

Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind

Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.

Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.

Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.

Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.

All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.

Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.

Some poets take criticism and don't mind.

Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.

Some poets write poetry to get love.

Some poets love to write poetry.

Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind

Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind

Some poets live only after they die.

Some poets have much to say but can't articulate

Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand

So which one of these am I?

I guess I am all of these and none of these

and no matter what my description

I intend to keep doing what I do:

Write. Right

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Ideas For Walls

So many things in my head, Ive always had them before
No reason to be upset, theyre just ideas for walls
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing, demanding that the nightlife be called the right life
Like putting paint on my feet & walking sideways in rows
My walls could be so complete, complete with patterns of toes
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing the left side, right side, which is the right side
Now-ideas
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
A little m for the mirror, a double u for the wall
To make things perfectly clear, a great big h in the hall
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing, demanding that the nightlife be called the right life
Is everybody confused? (no) Im making no sense at all
You want a room with a view you need ideas for walls
Now Im standing inside, outside, which is the right side
Im standing inside, outside, outside, right side
Inside, outside, which is the right side
Now -- ideas
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas
Theyre just ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls
Ideas for walls

song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Anything in between

I can’t become anything even if I want to
I can’t attempt simply and pass though
It has certain norm and has to be met
Goal and priority should be decided and has to be set

Nothing materializes all of sudden
If you are sure of it then only it is done
You may get the success or fail
All your efforts may help you to sail

I know how to excel as good poet
I have revolutionary ideas but have to keep quiet
I may have strong will power to change the world order
It may some time result into disorder

How do the ideas enter into empty memory?
How do they develop into in to fine poetry?
Words after words may occupy different position
It may result then into fine composition

Can this lead into conflicting views?
Does the poet get its proper dues?
Can this land him into disarray/
Can this also take readers in to his way?

It is difficult to judge and visualize
Nobody can prejudge and lateralize
It may touch the inner core of the heart
It may land into garbage before entering mart

I have no time to think about all this things
It has to be an honest attempt at something
It may not find place today then possibly tomorrow
Some time has to be given to express the sorrow

It may have premature demise
No one can guarantee or promise
At every step it must be revised
Some new ideas to be set in and formula devised

The poets are small vanes of the society
It must pick correct mood and offer in variety
There s no use to present the which is obsolete
It has to be unique an din it self complete

The poets are not emerging in a day or two
They are subjected to litmus test and have to pass through
Not possible that it may find all the time good favor
The quality and product both must have flavor and fervor

If your ideas resonate with rhythm and synchronize
If it can meet the challenge and people too sympathize
It is certainly possible to have all glory and fame
Otherwise one common thing to share is blame

Nothing goes out of tune in the mind
You must have suitable words ready to find
I must altogether touch the reader’s ideology
There has to be common approach without any bogey

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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An ideas to reflect

There is abolutely nothing in mind
When I sit on key board for new ideas to find
No writing pad, no views and no feed backs
Some ideas just flash in mind and crack

I don’t know what does it represent
They may be lack vision with sharpness absent
But it is beautiful words formation to be sent
It is in harmony with mind set and never to repent

It is not the simple theory or views to inject
It may not find favor and raders may reject
It will me met with some crtical comments
But in fact it is nice to generate such movement

Readers are just mirror and reflect
It might have forced them to delete
Over all it is to be unique idea to select the theme
Wha is object to or what is praised stays as supreme?

How does poet’s talent come on surface?
It need not be lost in mad race
It has become now a open competition
No one looks backward and asks for revision

The ideas are well received and praised
Some times controvery is racked or raised
Generally speaking it is widely recognized
The platform is well received and organized

How does black stone is lying in earth?
The poets are there and ther is not dearth
Some good polishing and some incentive
They can prove spokesperson and real representative

They may prove fit, unfit or can be misfit
They will not dare for mistakes to repeat
They will certainly work for social uplift
There is absolutely no doubt or rift

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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An anxiety is seen

Writers and poets do not grow
They have their own course to follow
They may excel in their own way
They may be close to reality and do not run away

They are like new born or infants
Ideas come and go as quick and very instant
They got to be translated in real terms
They are always treasures as precious gems

They air their views without any pollution
It is their sacred task and resolution
It can set the major upheaval
It is their views and efforts to excel

They have their own fancy as small child
They can not afford o be wild
Thir approach should be dedicated and very mild
Their stand is appreciated and not simply filed

They have reputation and very good fame
They do not run after money or name
For child it may be fun or game
It shall never put him into shame

Some of his work may invite wrath
That may not go away with his death
He may be known for his radical views
He may be forgotten without getting dues

The life is short lived and end like butterfly
He may have discredit and only to feel shy
Still he has high morale to live and enjoy
He has many novel ideas to employ

He may not have standing army or weapon
His words are mightier and reflected in pen
The change is bound to take place and occur
He has to undergo personal losses and to incur

“ life thus moves on “

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thoughts and ideas - (Talking through my hat)

Break and husk
thoughts and ideas that,
without reason,
I smashing them like nuts
into my head – mortar with pig iron pestle.

Lay and hatch
thoughts and ideas,
and younglings,
instead of fly,
I keep them under latch
in my head – cage of neurons,
dendrites and axons.

Knead and raise
thoughts and ideas
but let me tempted,
and without reason,
instead of bake them, I play
“of thieves and bobbies”
with bullets of dough
shot from my head – automatic gun.

Pull kernels out of
thoughts and ideas
but I put not them to spring
and hundredfold harvest to bring,
I chain them necklace
that my poor mind
who walks nomad
through my head – ballad
to put it neck
in a night with moon
and than to catch
in a fairies dance
and hungry of blue
to soar in the stars.

***

Thoughts and ideas
are shrieking through my mind
as lost migratory birds
in an autumn of rains.
Thoughts and ideas
- arrow-shaped cranes with wet wings -
fall all at once
in my head – moorland
of thistle and mud.

Bevies of ideas
and useless thoughts
surround my mind
how ravens give wheel
carrions to be
through my head - waste land
by boiling and winds.

Thoughts and ideas
go round
like a pack of wolves
with empty bellies
through my head – winter of frost,
winter of sleet
with my mind
thoroughly frozen
by fright and a biting wind.

Pick
bunches of thoughts and ideas
caressed by the sun of mind
in bacchanal vineyards
planted on encephalic hills.
I squish them
and expect to get wine
and get drunk
in my head – tavern where the smoke
knife just cut it
and air is sourbitter.

Fog of thoughts and ideas
rises from my mind
as darkness on swamps
in late autumn.
Nothing to see
not hear anything
all still is,
just the small brain
flickers in my head – gray curtain
between movement and inertia.

Slacked thoughts and ideas
are resting on benches of mind,
nothing pulling them
with hands and teeth,
I can’t them gather
at work to bring
to get something good
from my head – chaos
where it lacks a poleax
and a stump of elm.

poem by Viorel Petru Trifan
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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

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

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

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Being A Poet

I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.

Or when I’m out walking, or sat on a train,
Words and ideas, all rush round my brain.
Sometimes, ideas just appear in my head,
Or may be a result of something I’ve read.

At fellow passengers, on a train, I take a look;
Some chatter away, while others read a book.
But, me, I’m sat there, quietly composing verse;
With dozens of ideas, my creative mind bursts.

If I compose lines on my way into town,
I repeat them over, until I write them down;
If they are not written down straightaway,
Around my mind, other thoughts then play.

There are many things which inspire me to write,
Such as animals, the seasons, and the sky at night.
If I try to force ideas, they just do not flow;
The poem itself, I find, just will not grow.

I like to write on a layperson’s level;
In too much information, I do not revel.
Having chosen a decent subject or idea,
I then need to get my brain in to gear.

Of a subject, I like to consider all of the aspects,
But I keep my writing simple; not too complex.
To make a poem rhyme, words I may change,
But I only use words that are within my range.

In using unfamiliar words, I can see no point;
A nice poem, tricky words, can really disjoint.
Words, within my head, I keep batting around,
Until the perfect combination, is finally found.

With poetry, I really love the creative process,
But over time, I’ve become slightly obsessed.
Sometimes I find myself talking in rhyme;
That I am a poet, this must be a sure sign.

Of my finished poems, I often feel proud;
One day, I’ll be brave and read them aloud.
Into my swirling head, ideas continue to pop;
I love writing poetry and never want to stop!

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ideas Concepts Which Intrigue

some poets
writers prefer to write
shadows echoes

imitations of thoughts
writers they esteem
have written which captures

their imagination expresses
ideas concepts which intrigue
imitations can be interesting variants

tributes to originals
or ideas a poet or writer feels
compelled to express

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Life Is Funny That Way

i trusted her with my secret but she had to tell
she asked him the question i feared
and now my life is complete
life's funny that way
now and then unentertainable ideas come along
and then good things happen
my mommy fell asleep when she had me
and now i have no parents but i'm alive arent i
lifes funny that way
now and then unentertainable ideas come along
and good things happen
mommy didnt know daddy
but after an hour of time together
i was made.
and now daddy doesnt want me
lifes funny that way

poem by Adriana O'Connor
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O, lord

Listen to my prayer O, Lord,
You are powerful and might God,
Give me courage and word,
Power to rule and sway over world,

I should have divine power,
Healing power and mercy to shower,
Pity on needy and blessings to poor,
Hear and bless to our urge sincere,

No misuse but application right,
Injustice challenge and rightful fight,
But will be good in hands of man?
Can earthly people act as human?

You may lament after giving power,
Complete chaos in the hands of wrong doer,
No more preachers and religious nun,
Seers, peers and God man on run,

You may be tired when facing alone,
I may prove honest and single one,
I may be your right hand and simple soul,
You will have no reason to smell foul,

Try at the outset and bless at once,
Declare it open and simply pronounce,
Rest my work will do and announce,
Not your word will ever bounce,

You might not have tried any more,
New ideas and ground to explore,
All human beings will sleep and snore,
No ill will and grudges bore,

I may still be the best bat,
It is simple but not ideas fat,
Neither has it had connivance of cat,
Nor it may wait hunt for rat,

You may not listen to my request,
Never may I claim it as conquest,
I thought it means honest and best,
Words to be kept amidst acid test,

I may look fool in your eyes,
Don’t intend to score run in byes,
I thought you may have one good hand,
Healer, compatriot and very good friend

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Lord

Listen to my prayer O, Lord,
You are powerful and mighty God,
Give me courage and word,
Power to rule and sway over world,