En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Want To Be Quiet

When a person wants to be quiet?
I don't know exactly as poet
It might have many reasons
But must be varying from person to person

Yes it comes to mind
When all of sudden you find
Your poems are neglected
Not read and not even reacted

That gives simple jolt
As if sudden blue from bolt
Either you are self driven
Or worth yet to be proven

Poetry as such is nobody's domain
It may narrate nature, separation and pain
More of self experience and some of the the facts
How can readers take it seriously and react?

I can judge their mood
But poetry is like food
If you go deep
It may certainly make you to weep

It has human touch
To remain friends all the times as such
Yet suffer some sort of mental agony
When not appreciated by so many

Not that poetry is disliked with its irrelevance?
Not that it has failed to take into account such grievance
The reader's mood is unpredictable like rain
If it comes then it may bring relief along with pain

Even though I have missed their nonparticipation
It speaks of very close affinity and relation
The view points penned in poem may not be suitable
Perhaps this is the only point for them not to struggle

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is The Mood Of A Poem For This Night

THERE IS THE MOOD OF A POEM FOR THIS NIGHT

There is the mood of a poem for this night
There is the mood of a love from long ago
That is forever lost-

There is a mood of a too rainy and too cold night
There is a mood of more inside than saying can mean-

There is a mood of many things-

And all these moods are not one mood
And yet in me now largely indescribable-

For there is a mood which takes the person away
Into a land of dreams and beyond
And another mood and another poem
Which simply stays where it is
In longing for itself-

So while I have many moods
And may write many poems of those moods
I know that there is no mood tonight
Which is the one and only one love
I would always have-

And no mood which can say again
All that a person may have when young
And never know again in old age-

There is a mood of being forever sad and forever regretful-

But considering how much Beauty life has
And how many different ways there are of finding it
I will listen to the music of the light tonight
And hear the poetry of many great souls
And in a mood of joy
Quietly go to rest
As if happiness really were the mood beyond and within everything.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The aged poet. For Kealan if

When he was young
and life was poetry
and poetry was life
and girls made poetry
in his heart

he’d showed his poems to
an aged poet who
was quiet a while then
nodded his head and
smiled and
said ‘keep writing’

and he swore that day
as long as he could hold a pen
he’d write some sort of poetry

and so he did and so he did

and when he was
too old to hold a pen
he spoke his poetry
some say in an Irish pub

and people came from miles around
and said sure it was a t’ousand times
better than to read his poems on the page
which was itself worth –
and that last phrase was poetry
for who is not Irish and a poet

and when he was too old
to walk down to the pub

they came and listened
at his door and at his window

and when he was too old to speak
they came to see his silence

and left as poets
for their head
had joined their heart

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Read my poetry

Read my poetry
My poetry is enough
My poetry is independent
My poetry creates itself.

Read my poetry
My poetry is not mine
Everything belongs to my poetry
My poetry creats itself.

Read my poetry
My poetry is psyche and
Alchemy in me
My poetry is independent of me.

Read my poetry
It agony its ecstasy
Its inspiration
Everything belongs to
My predecessors-poet
Read my poetry
Read my poetry.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Definition of Poetry by a 15 yr old

Poetry does not need a meaning or defintion.
Poetry is how the reader reads it,
Poetry is how the poet writes it.
Poetry is real,
Poetry is fake,
Poetry is everything,
Poetry is fate.
Poetry is rythm.
Poetry can ryme.
Poetry is anything, I make it mine.

poem by Eric Graham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Can A Person Ever Have Enough Of Poetry?

CAN A PERSON EVER HAVE ENOUGH OF POETRY?

Can a person ever have enough of Poetry?
Is there any end of making of Poems
For the true poet?
Can life really continue to the end
In true meaning through writing
Will I be given this great blessing by G-d
And all through my latter days
Feel in me a poetry
I need to say?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Great Poetry?

How could anyone ever truly
Define great poetry?
Factors are so many that contribute
To the way each person does hear-feel-and see.
The season, the day, the very time,
Along with each readers wisdom-knowledge-and mind.
A line read one day
May deeply stir the spirit
While the very next time read
The reader simply just can't 'get-it'.

Besides, who is to judge,
And who is to decide?
Who always speaks truth,
And who pray tell has never lied?
Let the one who has never struggled with emotion and word
Cast the first critical stone,
Let the pure, perfect poet
Read and write completely all alone;
Enshrined by himself
Upon his own empty throne.

After all, it is supposed to be
A bit (or more) of myth and mystery,
A little difficult to decipher, somewhat vague,
Meant to speak, but not brag.
For Goodness sake, it's poetry.
Not prose, not essay, and certainly not the news.
It's forms are many and free,
It's thoughts different and deep,
It's direction everywhere the heart can see,
It's origin, and destination, ineffable...

But to write, one must try, or die... such is the poems strength.
So, let the creator of words create.
With wild and wonderful words to decipher and debate;
And never let the beauty of it all
In trivial criticism suffocate.

What is great poetry though you still inquire?
I should have told you from the start;
(But, then you would not have listened)
Great poetry is always, and only,
Beautiful words written truly
From, and for, the heart.

poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry On The Chin

You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.

You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.

You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.

Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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There Are Times/ When The Poetry Of The Poem

THERE ARE TIMES/ WHEN THE POETRY OF THE POEM

There are times
When the poetry of the poem,
And the poetry of the poet
Are poetry.

But there are too times
When the poetry of the poet
And the poetry of the poem
Are not poetry.

There are times
When all the poetry,
And all the poets in the universe
Do not make the world a poem.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Appreciating Free Style Poetry, From The Loose Poet

for EVO e.i.c and his staff

poetic seeds germinate
above the 5 poetical quilts:
mood, imagery, thought
melody, rhythm

regardless of twigs sprouting -
matured poet reaps twists and surprises
immatured one duplicates

poetry is not a sole reflection of man's
damn imagination thru rhyme and metrical phrases

poetry is not a tone of
monotonous lines of ala-classical tounges of greatness
and hackneyed syllables, homonymous end-words

poetry is but a variation of
mute voices from artistic loose mind
puzzling emotions spill out in any wad of papers
in unlyrical odes, or sober sonnets
in rhyme or wild verses

then what makes my poetry
when read
to make my critics weep

they feed to every reader's mind
as they know -

my poetry has magic
most of us keep so well hidden
sometimes narrow
sometimes deep

poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry

Poetry.......
Poetry defines me

Poetry.......
A place where you be you and I'll be me.

Poetry.......
We are best friends for eternity.

My Poetry.......
Is the daughter of my emotion,
There I've said it, no need to interpret the connection.

Poetry.......
Where my pen and paper are sealed with a kiss,
So easy to write for my mind is a bliss.

Poetry.......
Poetry has multiple meanings,
An indescribable feeling when I realize others understand them.

My Poetry.......
It just comes natural to me.

My Poetry.......
Is out there, , , , , away from exile,
And style of writing is very versatile.

Poetry.......Poetry.......
P oetry.......
It speaks out to me.

poem by Anita Khelawan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Mood

A POEM MOOD

The thin clear ordinary mind
Is not for Poetry-

One needs a Deep Doubleness within-
A certain kind of Ironic Longing-
A calling out for Meaning
That knows it cannot ever Define itself completely-

A Poem Mood
Is a different kind of Being.

One can sometimes make it come-
One can sometimes respond to it,
And make the Poem with it.
But is not so simple
And not so easy.

I have the Mind and Mood of a Poem now-
But how many would – be poetic lines have I written
Including these perhaps
Without it?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A 500th poem

Why should I not celebrate it as an auspicious occasion?
Completion of 500th poem should not end my passion
I will have to struggle hard to make poems known to outside world
Even if I am cold shuddered, relations strained or turn into cold

How many inspired me in this holy drive?
How could I be stayed on for long and survive?
Certainly they captured my heart and soul in open
Why should I look back to unpleasant things and reopen

I am yet surprised how could I achieve it in good spirit
Who was leading me on path with little lantern dimly lit
Was she all the time leading me safely to destiny?
She held her hand and penned the thoughts with me

What can be remembered more on this day?
The person who led me to walk on this way?
Or the friends who inspired to me to express and say?
They counted so much in my life to find golden ray

I face no or little problem as writer
I need not convince anybody that I am good fighter
They made me strong with their conviction
To withdraw from race is now out of question

I couldn’t believe my eyes how I could do this
Everything went on smoothly without any miss
How important things could just flew in poetry?
Was it miracle or simple matter to find an entry?

I am firmly placed by the grace of God
Friends and readers have given good nod
I was nothing when put first step forward
Their love and affection is only my reward

I shall continue to Endeavour for close contact
Revelation of new development to the subject
I may not live more to witness the outcome
I am sure the new poetry concept will always be welcome

I shall not be bound by any restrictions
It must flow freely for any actions
It has to rise for the support of the poor
Rest all must find no favor or door

Poet must find space in real scene
It must have reflection and clearly seen
My work may be judged tomorrow
I must have simple ethics to follow

I shall strive hard to maintain peace
People must follow it with ease
I must be down to earth poet
It must not spark passion but remain quiet

Words may go down as natural flow
It will not deliver any unjust blow
Cordial relation and harmony must rule the day
My creation may find nothing or something to say

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The time I discovered myself a Poet

I wouldnt say I was patient
but I have an interest in poetry
Is it the dawning of a new error
or will the sky be grey
I write how I see life and it is not always pleasant

I like to write abou experiences that I have been through
my poetry has changed as I ave changed
I see it as a hobby as I write in my grange
My poetry is mainly fiction but I also write about things that are true

I am not a person that would share alot of enthusiasim
poetry is a work of art
on each sheet of blank paper
I put my mark
Poetry is simple in this world of sin

I am not into shakesphere
what I write is authentic
the imagination on paper creates magic
a poem can change an atmosphere

I would like to say my poems mean something
my poems are meant to sting a mind
I want my poems to create pictures for people who are blind

poem by Natasha Browne
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Zeke Snirer, poetry critic

Zeke Snirer.
he’s young. ish.
he’s got something to offer the world:
he’s the best judge of poetry. ever.
this is his sincere opinion.
so he’s obliged to tell you. often.
in case you missed it.

he’ll take on any other poet.
invited or not.
especially celebrated ones.
he’ll even interrupt their own poetry readings
tell them how bad they are
and offer to read his own poems
to prove to the audience
what poetry should be.

he’ll grade Shakespeare’s sonnets
and tell you the very few
which are nearly as good as his own -
perhaps, just perhaps, better in some ways
though of course not in others
if he were interested,
he would grade you Krishna, Moses, Buddha, Christ, Mohammed,
and himself,
if he got into that line of business.

he’s a great spectator sport –
you can read him now on the internet –
if you like that sort of thing
and if you’re not one of his punchbags

for he’s like a boxer who announces a title fight
(to which he’s not entitled)
against a heavyweight opponent
(whom he hasn’t actually invited) :
then in the ring, it’s him
and a punchbag with his opponent’s name on it,
he hits it for a round or two,
claims a knock-out,
awards himself the title.
and afterwards says the other guy’s a coward
for not being there in person..

Bur does his abrasive whizz-kid act
aid poetry itself? does it shatter
the undeserved reputation,
the accepted status of the famed,
the thoughtless infill of the poetry
that sounds like poetry, but is no more than that?
a fresh breeze blowing through
the stale and dusty air of the pedant’s library
in the Creative Writing staffroom of the University of Academe?

or would a poet who believed completely in himself
be content just to offer us his finest poetry,
and let us recognise it for ourselves;
and put aside this damning of all others?
even if he tells us quietly (as Shnirer does)
that ‘we’ will be reading him above all else
in five hundred years of poetry?

I wonder – deep inside this combative assailant,
Defender of the Faith and of the Muse,
is he so devoted to poetry
that he just can’t bear
anything to be written that falls short
of what he thinks is worthy of the Muse?

or does he really hate poetry
for allowing others to partake of it?

whichever it is, he’s not in doubt
that he’d be the best judge of that, and
you better believe it.

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Not A Poet 2

When I feel I am really a poet
I see my flesh is poetry
My pleasure is poetry
My pains are poetry
My feelings are poetry.

Poetry protects me
Poetry teaches me
How to fight back and win.

Poetry is my freedom
Poetry is my independence
Poetry is my flag
And an anthem
Poetry is my prophet
And a messanger.

But I am not a poet
Do not read me
Burn me into ashes
Let there be a flower
From the ashes.

poem by Devil Poet
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It Is A Habit

writing poems
when you really write poems
everyday and every moment of your life
even when you're in the middle of your
bread and butter eating thing
or even when you are defecating
writing poems becomes a habit
even when you sleep even when you dream
writing poems becomes a part of your system
you eat poetry you vomit poetry
you digest poetry you poo poetry
you breathe poetry you sweat poetry
you love poetry and you live with your poetry
and at the end you die with poetry

and your epitaph says: here lies the poet,
choked with poetry.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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My Poetry Journey

My poetry journey is nothing and nowhere to go
Without leaving a word or two
I need a companion along the way
With you in my thoughts each day

In this square box i learned a lot and send
To click, read and comment and bend
Making someone happy and heaven sent
Learning, loving, inspiring and content

In this journey, i learned the hard way
To be strong, and make my day
Never to become bitter
But a better person everyday

The heart prints you left behind
Will never be forgotten until the end
In my simple ways, you made me special
Thanks for walking with me
In my poetry journey.

When the dawn seems dark and dreary
I hope and pray that HE will never leave me
I have to walk fast in this poetry journey
Till you see me the person you wanted me to be.

Thank you, my friends in poetry
Nothing could take this love from you and me
Drop by, read, click and comment
Leave something of yourself, and make a little difference

poem by Meggie Gultiano
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