Names disappear
You are your own master
As thoughts flow faster
You should worry for none
As you have to go it alone
Let words flow from you mind
They may exactly suit and find
The place where they must affect
Crate the impression and act
They all come from inner strength
As you have picked the length
It may wait for no theme
As they have natural rhythm
You are destined to be bird
So your voice is likely to be heard
Not when you are live and prominently read
But there after when you are gone and dead
Flowers fade and lay scattered
Your poems are remembered and uttered
With all that messages you had planned
Read and reread as they were beautifully penned
Names disappear but not the poems
As they are all meant for them
Someone may adopt it as model
The message will be clear to tell
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Poetry
To those of you who've never read poems
there is a vacancy in your homes.
For poets dream
and poets scream
words that should be said
and never left dead.
They speak of love in artful wonder
and even love that's torn asunder.
They tell the stories that affect the people.
Their hopes, their fears,
the ageing years
their laughing times,
their weeping tears.
Poetry has its own special flow.
If you've never read it you don't know
its magic with word
not silent but heard.
To evoke in the mind
something you find
with rhythm and cadences
allowing your senses
to come alive.
Alive.
Most poets are quiet except with their pen.
They become quite vociferous especially when
conveying to you what they deem to be true.
For poets are sensitive
to all they see.
They speak from the heart
and hope to be
inspirational, controversial
to awaken in you
a picture or image
for your mind to view.
Poems are music and praise for the soul
that hungers and thirsts
for you to become whole.
All of the poets who've come and gone
have left their thoughts and then moved on,
moved on to pursue loftier goals
accompanied by words to soothe their souls.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stevie Smith reading her poems
She was not yet really 'known' -
but asked to read by this small group
of older Jewish refugees and eager youngsters,
talent destined for a fame,
at the tiny Gaberbocchus Press
which did not affect at all
the self-contained aloneness
that walked up the aisle from door to barely stage
and in a clear dry voice neither apology nor hope
read her poems that gave a meaning
to the new word 'throwaway' - they were her,
she read them, threw the invisible sheets away,
and if you caught them as you laughed
which was easier than crying tears,
so be it.
Her voice at the poems' end
was herself: as if, not waving, no, but drowning, neatly,
with a certain acceptance,
in the incomprehensibility of life; she read
as if when the poem ended
you might quickly but quietly rise from your seat
and leave, not rudely but because
there was nothing more to say
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poems in her
Poems in her
It has become now a journey
Crusade against no one but a turn key
Almost with single thought in mind
Something new to search and find
You can call it divine injection
Penetrates in mind for lovely action
To transform thoughts into words
And create poems to look forward
Not all objects provide some clue
Some birds and natural objects are over due
Seasons and sadness come to my rescue
I think, rethink and make periodical review
Black color fascinates me so much
Not because of its color but quality as such
Its worth is precious and can't be counted in terms
But it provides enormous joy and returns
Such is my love for poetry
I consider it prayer to almighty
As words pour out to strengthen his prayer
I become mere tool and conveyer
At first sight I get enormous signals
The thought floods mind with its arrival
I look at face and it clearly impresses
I find its real worth to write poems
Can any one not read what goes on in her mind?
I certainly do when come across to find
She is certainly extra ordinary and truly gifted
Almost with same views and never shifted
I would love to dwell at length about character
The color may not play an important factor
Yet it leaves ever lasting impression
I write the poems with true confession
She is an every inch poem with message
If you look at her closed eyes in page
You may sum up with final note
Poems and poets certainly relate
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Take My Poems With Me Wherever I Go
I take my poems with me wherever I go-
I write and read them inside myself
Sometimes I try to recall them and cannot
And most are forgotten
And live elsewhere on pages little or never read -
But inside myself
I have poems
I write and rewrite
Read and reread.
I am poems
And wherever I go they are with me
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.
Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How Are My Poems Made?
I get a theme like bolt from sky;
I rack my mind to word aright;
I write it down by scribbling first;
I type it when I find the time;
I wring my heart to add feelings.
I check the rhyme and rhythm fast;
I read aloud to check the flow;
I edit flaws and tinker it;
I read / redo till they look good;
I thank the Lord for His kindness;
That’s the way my poems are made!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-25-2006
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Do not read my poems…. [for YOU ]
Do not read my poems…
After I am dead
As a lament, a wail
An elegy, a requiem
Do not read my poems…
After I am gone
When no more I can
Hear your velvet voice.
Do not read my poems…
Alone without me
To comment along
And read with you
But, do read my poems
When I beside you lie
With my head resting
On your supporting arm
Listening to you read
In whisper, in kisses
In silence, in love
In sleep, in dream
Watching you feel
Every word I wrote
I’ll close my eyes - Love
Brush aside my hair
With your breathe
Which half veils my face
Sleepless fevered I wrote
Read me my poems
Now sing me a lullaby
Rock me to sleep
On your broad chest
Diving into your eyes
A thousand times
I am refreshed
By your smile
I’ll write on you a poem
Traced by my fingertips
To be etched in your heart
And burnt into your soul!
So, do not read my poems…
poem by Angelina Pandian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poems About.
There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
289
Read the poems and meet the words
Like they are strangers
They do not know you
And you do not know them
But then you
Get to know each other
With how you feel
And what they feel for you
They flow into your mind
And float there
Then they sink because
You rock them in your
Blood and thirst and
Loneliness, and you ask
If it is you in the poem?
Did I not tell you the magic
Of my poetry? Or of poetry itself?
I will tell you again
You read them and then feel them,
Then they become you
Because now you see yourself
Inside them
And the poems own you
Because now you own them too.
is it you? yes, it is also us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Is it you?
Read the poems and meet the words
Like they are strangers
They do not know you
And you do not know them
But then you
Get to know each other
With how you feel
And what they feel for you
They flow into your mind
And float there
Then they sink because
You rock them in your
Blood and thirst and
Loneliness, and you ask
If it is you in the poem?
Did I not tell you the magic
Of my poetry? Or of poetry itself?
I will tell you again
You read them and then feel them,
Then they become you
Because now you see yourself
Inside them
And the poems own you
Because now you own them too.
is it you? yes, it is also us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Gratis Et Amore
for the poems that i have written
and which you read
by heart, i bless you with a prayer for luck
for another year
for the poems which i have not written yet,
i wish you a longer life, so you may read them
when they become finally written
for the poems i have in mind and which i will not write
i wish you patience i wish you some prayers
may these poems realize their worth
may they decide to become truths
with you i pray that God may be also kind
for those still unspoken
and may God bless your mind
may they open up like tight buds to become the flowers
of the world, the sun to warm them, the rain to shower them
may these poems live and linger
may they be like grass always unswerving to grow and cover everything
alive and loving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Lesson On Poetry From My Five Year Old
I sat in bed one morning
With a note pad on my knee
When in wondered my Charlie
And he snuggled up to me
He said, 'You writing poems?
We are learning that at school
I know a lot about them'
I said, 'Really mate, how cool'
He stared at me intently
As he stretched out on the bed
His legs crossed at the ankle
And a hand propped up his head
After I had sorted through
And read back what I'd penned
He slid off of the bed
And peered up at me from the end
He stayed there quite transfixed
It kinda put me off my flow
I looked over my glasses
But he wasn't gonna go!
'Mum' he said ' has it got all
the things a poem ought
It should include good rhyme and rhythm
That's what I've been taught
Does it have some repetition
And patterns that are clear
What theme have you gone for? '
I smiled from ear to ear.
My Charlie, you've remembered well
It's Impressive, what you know
What else have you been taught then?
His face with pride did glow!
He ummed and arghed a little bit
To recall all he could
'Oh yeah, you need some 'wow words' too
They'll make it really good! '
I nodded with an 'oh I see,
Well thanks for all your tips'
He came and leant his head on mine
And kissed me on the lips
He left me to my writing
How adorable he'd been
And I put my first idea aside
And wrote one about him!
poem by Stevie Taite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Read and Reread/ The Poets I Love
I READ AND REREAD/ THE POETS I LOVE
I read and reread
The poets I love-
I seek new poets
To love poetry more with-
I write my own small poems
And read them again occasionally-
Sometimes I find in them lines
I want to return to
And remember.
If only I could be such a stranger to myself
That I in reading a poem of my own
Would know it belongs to Literature.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Like So Many Poems I Read
LIKE SO MANY POEMS I READ
Like so many poems I read
These poems I am reading now
Are not poems to me.
They are too detached
Too abstract
Too up in the air.
I want to hear the words
Make a music of feeling
In my soul.
A poem must move me
If it is to be real.
Why then do I write these words
as if a poem?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: Unique Are My Poems All
Who knew the kind of stuff, I was made of?
Who thought would flow my numbers, this much fast?
And now, the world around me dare not laugh;
As Indian Sonneteer, my spell is cast.
My other poems too are very good;
Simple, direct, they often have morals;
And write most poems in fast-track, I could;
And most of them will bring many laurels.
I writ my poems for all men to read;
They have the answers, they had been seeking;
And some do happen to be hybrid seed;
And they will find many to their liking.
My poems will help them to live better;
And Doctor John Celes is trend-setter!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A real poem
What is real poem?
Is it flow of words or natural theme?
Does it echo sound of water?
Does it have capacity to alter?
To reduce the agony and pain?
To give honest call to rain
Words to flow in the direction of sea
Mix with the splendid music of tree
No words of differing
No more suffering
Helping hand with some offering
Music to their help in altering
The complete scene in harmony
Bees to sit at once place with more honey
Peace and calm with flow of words
Is it not the message of lords?
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0009 Favorite Poem
and you can’t remember much
about the first time you read it except
that it held you to the end, but most of all
this one line, which seemed to hold
the key to the whole poem
as if you were opening the closet of your mind
to bring out something which you knew was there
but instead something way at the back
called to you and you remembered
a moment from way back you thought
you had forgotten
and then you read the poem again
in company with the poet and
yes that’s it, and the two of you
became friends for life, almost
related.
So, now you’ve read all their poems,
feel some more than others but
as if you wrote them all in the same room
where you read them together
and you wait for their new book with
a sorta family pride
and like family,
you leave the poems for a spell,
grow up a little, then
come back to visit -
they mean more;
can it be,
you've both grown?
each time you come back to them
you carry them more close to you
in fact you feel that you could write
poems very much like theirs
as if you’d inherited, too,
the family gift
and though you wouldn’t of course
seek them out in person except
in a reading where you’d
have to share their warmth
with the rest of their extended family
but not say much since
you are a, well, close relative,
if you happened to be driving a route
not far from them, you’d detour,
park a little distance from their house,
but have it in your sight,
hope you might catch a movement,
wait a few minutes, then
start the car with almost a sigh
half relieved that you didn’t have to try
on their cautiously polite doorstep
to find words to say
you love them in their words,
which you almost wrote together,
lived them together;
love them like life itself,
love them
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Poems Come Out of the Soul Of What I Am
MY POEMS COME OUT OF THE SOUL OF WHAT I AM
My poems come out of the soul of what I am
They are small
And they do not remain forever
They return and repeat themselves
Before leaving me alone.
My poems come out of the soul of what I am
But they do not really know me
Somewhere in another universe
They are read and reread endlessly
As if their meaning is more real
Than I can ever know it to be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
12 Midnight
Now the master sleeps
Leaving you some of his poems
Now it is midnight
Now the master has to sleep
Take care yourselves
Take care of his poems
They are now yours,
All his disciples
The master sleeps.
Now, see, how the master breathes
Listen to the rhythm of his sighs
Some poems are coming out from
His nostrils some poems are coming out
From his mouth and ears
The master poet is asleep
Even in dreams he weaves some images
Dreamy, surreal, ephemeral, his sleep
Has rhyme & rhythm, he is a soul breathing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Short Poem Written At The Moment When A Rising River Looked Like A Rolling Ocean
I was stubborn by nature and addicted to perfect lines,
fought to the death to find words that startle.
Now in old age my poems flow out freely, the way
flowers and birds forget deep sorrow in spring.
A new water pavilion has been built for fishing with a rod.
I choose to use a bamboo raft instead of a boat.
If only my thoughts were guided by poets Tao and Xie,1
we'd travel and together write poems.