It Was He
It was he!
the
beautiful
poet
with
compelling
words
bringing
me
to
admire
his
writings.
poem by Heather Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
I Am Not The Poet's Poet But Perhaps The Would- Be- Poet's Would-Be Poet
I AM NOT THE POET’S POET BUT PERHAPS THE WOULD- BE- POETS WOULD – BE –POET
I am not the poet’s poet-
The one poets of name and fame admire-
But perhaps the would- be- poets would be – poet-
Who tries to be a poet
And tries to understand what it means
To love poetry and live by writing it
Even when the world does not recognize me..
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Writings On The Wall
The writings on the wall brother
Your life is in your hands
Its up to you to see the writings on the wall.
It looks you in the eye mister
Its time we stand up tall
Go see and understand the writings on the wall.
Strange we hold on to things that have no grace
Or power
While death holds on to us much more with every
Passing hour
And all the time you thought it would last
Your life, your friends would always be
til theyre drunk away or shot away or die away
From you.
Theres nothing that you need sister
The lord is in you all
Life is designed to see the writings on the wall.
The musics in the air mothers
You may have heard it call
To you that you may see the writings on the wall.
Be careful going home sister
Be watchful down that road
Youve got a lot of love sister
More to grow.
The writings on the wall brothers
Your life is in your hands
Its up to you to see the writings on the wall
I hope that you may see the writings on the wall.
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The epic poet has behind him a tradition of matter and a tradition of style; and that is what every other poet has behind him too; only, for the epic poet, tradition is rather narrower, rather more strictly compelling.
quote by Lascelles Abercrombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sometime Love Is Metaphor...
Many times writings of love, are for the most
part, a metaphor for a dream. A love
that one has searched for all their life.
The writings is all one imagines them to be and
all the words one longs to say, to one
they have never known.
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beauty Need Not Be Truth
A beautiful house need not be a home,
a beautiful person need not be humane,
a beautiful book may have writings profane,
a beautiful office building may be rife
with dishonesty and shame.
A beautiful dress may not impress,
a beautiful bag may be filled with trash,
a beautiful ornament need not be of gold,
a beautiful car may never get sold.
We all know too well -
“All that glitters is not gold”.
Keats said: “Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all…”
But beauty need not be truth -
We need to realize this before we fall.
24 June 2010
1: 30 pm
poem by Gita Ashok
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beautiful Eyes
As I gaze deeply into your eyes I cry
Your eyes so stunning for those I would die
Just a simple look back would send me heaven bound
Words need not be said nor the utterance of any sound
No matter what I say nor what I could ever do
Could ever come true to one day hear I love you
You are as the wind can only be felt
Monetary gains can never prove your wealth
Your life is rich even if you don’t see it
Your beautiful smile and your clever wit
Your figure I still desire
Your hips I still admire
Beautiful eyes full of pride
Beautiful eyes my arms will be always open wide
Beautiful eyes I still care
Beautiful eyes forever I will still be there
poem by Wilfred Mellers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This is A Place Where In My Argument I Lose
A writers anger without the vulgarities of the modern time.
How it is so hard not to say curse words where they would fit so well.
To understand as only a poet would with a passion would.
Denied the American vocabulary I know so well I seek out means and words
To bring you down to my hell.
To express the hatred, and meanness that takes over with thunder
It has been taught to me by a society who finds it only offensive in public writings like poems.
In a books one is aloud, to say what ever they want.
I have read entire sex scene's in book and one word of such a nature is wrong in a poem.
Defined by those who believe all poems are met for kids.
Look at some the best lyrics describing anger, the rawness of them it the ability to use vulgarity and speak your mind as you so choose
But again in the poet world this is a place where in my argument I lose.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poetothemics
No magician can make
Moon: A beautiful lass.
A poet can............
No device can grasp
The language of celestial
A poet can.....
You know! He dug out the beauty
From sorrow and melancholy
Mixed it with wine and enjoyed.
And He, enjoyed the song of her,
language was not known to him.
And He, depicted spirit of revolution
As a spiritual bird.An Albatross.
Bursted he and questioned to me.
'What device a poet has?
How they operated the device? '
I replied..
When a vinsect bites to a poet
Poetothemics activated.
'Never heard such words before! '
Now you heard from me!
He said...A poet can...
............***...........
poem by Aftab Alam Khursheed
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Recapture That Innocence Of Loved Missed
To recapture that innocence of loved missed,
May be easier done by a poet doing it.
But when a poet isn't sitting to compose words of love...
The wish for it may be stronger than words can express.
Since words may touch emotions.
But to caress one's flesh...
In an anticipated mutual acceptance,
Is what the poet envisions as best.
For those who are poets,
In a loneliness desired to forget.
Or deny to mask in alibis.
And a poet can decide,
Whether to expose this or hide!
'So what have you chosen to do? '
Lie.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Morning Sunshine
This poet is so seductive
This poet is now strange to me
This poet is so bold
This little girl doesn't want to see
The little girl has known this poet
ever since
But the little girl is already
tired of this poet
She just wants to play.
Not any passing minute
She hasn't have
any word of
allegory
metonymy and
simile
Take me away from this poet yet
the little girl must empty first
the words of this poet
Before she is free to play
in the morning sunshine
and go away from this busy poet
Do you think I'm too young to see?
Do you agree?
This poet won't let me
play out in the middle of the rain
This poet won't let me
see the afternoon sway
This poet won't let me
see the morning gay
Let me see the Morning Sunshine
Let me see!
But this poet
Won't let me
I'll just watch t.v
and sing
her poetry
poem by Mary Jesusa Villegas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Metaphor?
Many times writings of love, are for the most
part, a metaphor for a dream. A love
that one has searched for all their life.
The writings is all one imagines them to be and
all the words one longs to say, to one
they have never known.
©Joe Fazio
Admire, I Do...You
Admire,
I do...
You.
Admitting it is not as easy.
This feeling I have is new.
Over the years it grew.
And one day out of the 'blue',
I just knew.
Admire,
I do...
You.
The way you walk,
With your head held up.
Your eyes so wise and bright.
Your words direct,
I now respect.
With my mind more open.
And more prepared to accept.
Admire,
I do...
You.
Those times we shared.
With you there caring.
And I then unaware...
Just how much you cared.
And today I reflect,
Upon my attitude.
And those awful moods you met,
You did not let upset you.
When you could...
And perhaps should have left,
Me.
Admire,
I do...
You.
And after all those things I put you through,
You stayed.
With me,
You stayed!
With me,
You stayed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beloved Beautiful Soul
Beautiful soul,
Why is it that you do not speak,
When it is the beautiful words you utter which I seek.
Oh beautiful soul,
Why is it that you do
Not seem whole
What could have possibly struck you,
Leaving a painful hole.
Dear beautiful soul,
You have altered to
What one may call a
Tormented soul.
My darling once beautiful soul.
How could you let the
World make you so.
When your spirit is much
Broader than the universe itself.
Now tormented soul,
Do not be cold,
Upset, disappointed
And bitter.
You've turned your light out
Which was once greater
Believing that you couldn't
Glow brighter.
My beloved beautiful soul,
Let faith and courage
Be your angelic showl
That shall lighten
Your shoulders and
Uplift the burdens
That torment your soul.
Beautiful soul,
How much I do admire
Thee so.
Break the chains that
Have withheld you
And let your wings unfold.
poem by Pride Mokhele
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Address to Shakespeare
Immortal! William Shakespeare, there's none can you excel,
You have drawn out your characters remarkably well,
Which is delightful for to see enacted upon the stage
For instance, the love-sick Romeo, or Othello, in a rage;
His writings are a treasure, which the world cannot repay,
He was the greatest poet of the past or of the present day
Also the greatest dramatist, and is worthy of the name,
I'm afraid the world shall never look upon his like again.
His tragedy of Hamlet is moral and sublime,
And for purity of langucge, nothing can be more fine
For instance, to hear the fair Ophelia making her moan,
At her father's grave, sad and alone....
In his beautiful play, "As You Like If," one passage is very fine,
Just for instance in fhe forest of Arden, the language is sublime,
Where Orlando speaks of his Rosilind, most lovely and divine,
And no other poet I am sure has written anything more fine;
His language is spoken in the Church and by the Advocate at the bar,
Here and there and everywhere throughout the world afar;
His writings abound with gospel truths, moral and sublime,
And I'm sure in my opinion they are surpassing fine;
In his beautiful tragedy of Othello, one passage is very fine,
Just for instance where Cassio looses his lieutenancy
... By drinking too much wine;
And in grief he exclaims, "Oh! that men should put an
Enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains."
In his great tragedy of Richard the III, one passage is very fine
Where the Duchess of York invokes the aid of the Divine
For to protect her innocent babes from the murderer's uplifted hand,
And smite him powerless, and save her babes, I'm sure 'tie really grand.
Immortal! Bard of Avon, your writings are divine,
And will live in the memories of you admirers until the end of time;
Your plays are read in family ciFcles with wonder and delight,
While seated around the fireside on a cold winter's night.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Resonate You?
Resonate You within me?
His words resonate sounds as well sayings?
His writings resonate for me?
bombs exploded in beautiful love!
My lyrics resonate for you also?
Or silence in my paper is silence in your soul?
Do not tell me that
Or silence instead on my words.
poem by Mirna Morgan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Humility
great poet
i can never say more beautiful words as you
for i am but your shadow
and i have long been muted by the greatness of your words
i have become nothing
but your mimic.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!