A Poem At A Memorial Meeting
He is a poet
A poet much misunderstood
Or not understood at all
Everyone gathered
To offer tributes.
Some said they're choked
Some read out from his books
Some stood at the podium silently
Some subtly made reference
To his emotional vagaries
And drunken ways
But all agreed upon his affection
And his humane side
For, the donation of vital organs
Suddenly put him on a different plain
For both friends, enemies and acquaintances
I sat there among the crowd
Silently feeling his presence
And seeing him attend his own memorial!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Related quotes
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
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This Poet Is Always Beside You
You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Innocent Face Vavroovahana Patra
The innocent face allures the poet in the morn;
The Beauty magnifies the beauty of the dawn.
Mind derives peace;
Poet lives with Divine Bliss.
Poet is a lover of Beauty;
Beautiful things enchant the poet with gaiety.
Loves Silvery face delightfully;
Loves innocent hearts silently.
Vernal chilly Breeze kisses the crisp hair delightfully;
Fragrance of Beauty bathes poet's body with gaiety.
Poet is inspired to remain in a world of peace;
Praying in the lap of Nature derives Divine Bliss.
Innocent rural Beauty proceeds silently;
Poet, a lover of Beauty, beholds enthusiastically.
Innocence provides delight;
Inspiration is a Brook of Delight.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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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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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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Still Silently
I see a shadow
shining through the moon
there is a reflection
and it's coming through
I hide my face
a silhourette
in my window
pitcures burning of you
It's just a memory
passing me by
in the midnight sky
after a pouring rain
with troubles I can't forget
still silently
I'll wait one more day
I hear the sound of the wind
howling through the trees
with echoes of your voice
that whisper to me softly
just like jasmine
it was such a sweet smell
but it was just the pain
that took your place
still silently
I had to walk away
Their was a teardrop
that fell from these eyes of mine
as I stood on that montain top
watching ghost dance
off in a distance
as we died
still silently
we had to try
But what would it matter in time
when their was no other choice
I changed every direction
to escape your affection
such an addiction
still silently
I stood alone on this stage
I hear your name
still in the breeze
but I won't be coming home soon
sickened by your disease
turn yet another page
for a new destination
still silently
we feel the same
(spiritwind-2000)
poem by Spiritwind Wood
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The Poet
The poet can only utter the word fine
The poet has to bear the sorrow and the sin.
The poet can only say I am happy
The poet can only say I feel no aches no pain
The poet can only say I am not in loss
The poet can only say I am in the side of only gain.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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I Am A Poet
Iam a poet
ı was born a poet
ı feel that frommy childhood
why the storks
chatter on the chimneys
and nest there
their young beak black
their eggs catch cold in winter
ı am a poet
but sometimes ı am misunderstood
that upsets me
very
sometimes people scold me
why the hell you look at me
strangely
they say
do ı resemble someone
do you recognise me
ı am just a poet
ı cannot say
ı s ı t my fault
to be born poet
ı wanna write a poem about you
so ı look and try to understand
your attitude
why does this bother you
ı was born so
ı watch a little child
leaving her mother
throwing herself to the water shower
in the pool in spring
then ı ask the child to return to mother
cause she is looking eagerly looking AFTER
does not like a stranger
she does not know what a poet is too
and lives plain and direct
ı am a poet
ı wish
ı were not born so
ı long for a humble and simple life
living may be in poverty
cause understands me nobody
even the closest around me
poem by Metin Sahin
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Silently
Silently waiting
for that first kiss,
silently wishing
that cupid won't miss.
Silently pleading
that you won't leave me,
silently hoping
for you to see
that you belong
completely to me.
poem by Faith Franklin
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The Poet and The Angel
The poet woke up in his bed, he dressed and faced the day,
Not knowing what lay just ahead, he paused as if to pray.
Then suddenly, the angel came, right there within his room,
So how could things then stay the same? For that none could assume.
'Write down the words that I impart! ' the angel told him straight
And thus the poet made a start, in fact, he couldn't wait!
'Repent and mend your ways on Earth! Repent and start again!
Repent for every soul has worth. Repent for God not men! '
The poet nodded his consent, the words now on the page,
For this was always God's intent, as seen from age-to-age.
'The choice is yours and yours alone! The same for every man!
And Jesus waits the ones who've shown they wish to serve God's plan! '
How true, the poet sagely thought, there's no excuse at all.
We ought to do the things we're taught, or else we're bound to fall.
'You still have time to do what's right! Repent and serve the Lord!
Arise, stand fast, walk in the light, or else lose your reward! '
Of course, the poet's heart agreed, for that made perfect sense
To each lost soul that saw the need and each one that repents.
He asked the angel, 'Who's this for, lost Gentile or lost Jew? '
The angel shook him to the core, 'These words are just for you...'
poem by Denis Martindale
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Temporarily Pissed-off Poem
Why the hell should I respond to
'I'm new to this site, please read
all my poems and
comment (you'll enjoy them) '- when
you haven't the courtesy
or even the guile
to read just the odd poem
of mine? Why should you
trust the judgement of a poet
you don't even admire or
despise?
OK I'll have cooled tomorrow but
I'm glad I've let off steam
and
by the way that first bit applies
to older acquaintances too.
'Lousy poet but
good for a comment', huh?
(OK, guys - the moment passed...)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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With Nothing Underneath
You should've called out,
made amends, broken hearts breathe unison.
I was trying to gather mine.
All my tragedies are my enemies,
all my enemies are mine.
And we carry on, just to lighten the load.
Never had I been such outsider,
eyes of the blamed,
while I was trying to reclaim.
All my tragedies are my enemies,
all my enemies are mine.
And we carry on,
just to lighten the load,
and silently we sleep with nothing underneath.
With weary hands and driven nails,
I begin to rebuild myself.
The bruises uncover the scene,
the taste of the clean.
And we carry on, outlasting,
just to lighten the load,
silently we sleep
with nothing underneath.
With your voice I keep you.
Never used like this gently.
song performed by by 36 Crazyfists
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0095 The title of this poem comes at the end
If you’ve read
136 poems
by one poet
in, uh, an hour plus,
which is a stupid thing to do
normally
to any poet
and insulting
if you think that way
at least when you do this
you get an aftertaste
of a sort – you get
tired beyond boredom, or
the guy has only three things to say
again and again or
he’s posing as a poet or
subtly unloading his negativity
or his hatred for life or
exploiting your emotions or
even more subtly pleading
for your sympathy
but no
I don’t feel any of these things right now
I just feel
a huge huge love which
somehow isn’t
just focussed on you and
I’ve even tried to set against this
cold lit-crit sorta thoughts
but no
I see you as a man
who looked the ordinary
in the face
and didn’t want to alter it and
asked nothing of it but was
contented in a way
beyond definition that
I can understand
would piss off anyone
with ambition or
so-called American values
although many of your poems
are the stuff of ordinary Americans
in the bar chatting about life
over a beer in B movies
but I’m thinking that maybe
this is the way God sees the world –
‘this is what you’ve made
of what I gave you and
so be it’
I’m a little scared too
that if I met you face to face
unexpectedly with that
wise beat-up face like a
thoughtful ape I might
recoil or something
and be ashamed afterwards
but I hope not
I just hope that
somewhere deep down
you loved yourself
as much as so many people
and you can read them here
love you
for real
and as is
the title of this poem is
A Homage to Charles Bukowski
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Silently
Take my hand and walk with me.
Let us do this silently.
Let us take in nature's view
before the day at hand is through.
Hold my hand and look at me.
Will you do that silently?
All the sounds within this world
go unnoticed when you're with me.
Squeeze my hand and promise me.
Can you do this silently?
Of all the words that you can say
I'll remember them everyday.
Let go my hand. Let me be free.
Let us do this silently.
Let the thoughts be 'I love you.'
and I'll walk alone away from you
silently.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Poet's Soul
I read the poet's souls in the poems,
I read the poet's inner world.
Pulse beats louder, then duller,
And all my doubts are just hurled.
The sadness sometimes a kiss cover,
Then suddenly curled at my feet,
Giving the whole body a heat,
The warmth of a true lover.
Fever passes through nervous points,
Chill runs through the whole body,
I read the poet's souls in the poems,
And feel that the soul is haughty.
I delve into the words and their nature,
Understanding destroys the walls,
Now I would like to capture
The main idea and the poems calls.
I read and my joy is in full swing,
My own soul gets the wings,
I am ready to fly with the singer,
Like me the poet is a swinger.
I am with that one who dared
To plunge into the holy spring naked,
I am with that one who shared
An inspiration and was not faked.
I read the poet's souls in the poems.
But do I read the souls of reality or dream?
Let's deem that no one here and there lies,
And the law of poetry is always precise.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 4th of April,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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In the steps of Rumi 86: The Mirror
This mirror.
She has stood in front of it for many minutes;
this; that;
finally asked the mirror silently
its opinion.
The mirror agreed with the perfection
that she saw in herself now, in front of it..
Now she leaves the room.
The mirror has nothing to reflect.
While it’s reflecting nothing,
steal up to it from the side,
admire it. Maybe praise it
by polishing it. Wonder, how it is
that it has an in front of it,
yet no behind it.
Wonder how it is
that it never lies,
always tells the truth,
yet agrees with all we see in it..
Wonder too, how it brings
all who stand in front of it, to silence..
bestows this rare blessing upon all,
which is beyond the ability of men,
of books..
Somewhere where ideas emerge
from nowhere into somewhere,
then roam anywhere and everywhere,
mind and mirror were given a secret which they share.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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One Unto The Other
What can a poet do for you?
Open up your heart
to let the sunshine through.
What can a poet say to you?
Words so powerful
to put your past in review.
What can a poet give to you?
A moment of prayer
to make you feel brand new.
What can a poet make alive in you?
A picture of your soul
as it comes into view.
What can you give the poet you read?
The chance to reach you
with something you need.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Sonnet: the Master Poet
’Tis God who inspires in me fire!
He is the Master-Sculptor and Poet!
I play a melody with strings well-set;
God-kindled heart of mine becomes a lyre.
Every poet speaks to God in his mind,
In ways so strange that both can understand;
The Poet is a singer in his band;
To God’s tenets, his songs will always bind,
With time, he communicates very fast;
The Poet takes up every word of His;
And so the poems get very well cast;
As if God gave the poet’s mind- bliss.
To thee belongs my poems, O my Lord!
They are made great byThy divine accord.
3-3-2000
poem by John Celes
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Some Silence Hanged Wordless Between Us
Next to a silver river, a clear stream
you were dreaming against a willow,
with a small smile, silent and satisfied
as if something great happened in the past
when your bright eyes suddenly caught mine,
words hang silently between us.
In your eyes light sparkled like stars,
a leave fell and glided away
when suddenly a plover called from the marsh
with others answering from far away
when your bright eyes suddenly caught mine,
words hang silently between us.
Where the water flows endlessly
you got quickly to your feet,
your glance went deep into my soul
and we could not evade our feelings,
when your bright eyes suddenly caught mine,
words hang silently between us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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
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