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A Poem That Peeked Within

where do i belong
i seem to ask myself
more often than ever
as i float on the surface
of a yet to be titled world

i attempt to rise
above the familiar and not so familiar
world of your perennial touch
thinly poised on the cycle of birth and death
but only end up as an insubstantial shadow
on the fading life line
at the level crossing
as thousand hands
prepare to undress me
throwing up the ugliness
of the cactus hidden within
between the covers of
this dispassionate musings
that in general parlance
passes off as life

what is there to write poetry on
or paint a colourful picture
on this drab canvass
of cluttering emotions
of laughter and tears
that accommodates everybody's
biography or autobiography?

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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A Poem

Do I belong? I question myself
One more time anxiously, while
Waiting for permission to script
A preface to passionate musing
Called life..! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

My maiden flight into the
untitled world of desire
Lands softly on the
Flowerbed of compassion.

Nobody knows how long
I am going to stay here
And now at the level crossing
Of the dream road.

Like a few drops of dew
Frozen in wait for
The perennial touch of dawn
That is yet to dissolve the
Substantial shadow of doubts.

Ah! You didn't know? Asks the time
As i stood visibly confused
About the fading life-line
Caught in the cycle of rebirth
Preparing for its return journey.

poem by Arkay Drk
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Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.

quote by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vacant And Alone

They all go into the dark
The sea lifts and falls
The moon goes on
And the vacant go into the vacant

Shelley wrote:

'Poetry lifts the veil
From the hidden beauty of the world
And makes familiar objects be
As if they were not familiar'

So I pick up my pen and write
Sometimes well, sometimes not
But always well intended
And the veil lifts

But then somethin' turns
Sometimes of a sudden
Sometimes gradually
And I go into the dark

Perhaps a song, or a word
Or a memory, or a picture
Or a dream, or a feelin'
Brings you back

And I know you are gone
And you are not comin' back
And I am vacant
And alone

poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro
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Paint My Love

From my youngest years
till this moment here
I've never seen
such a lovely queen

From the skies above
to the deepest love
I've never felt
crazy like this before

Paint my love
you should paint my love
it's the picture of a thousand sunsets
it's the freedom of a thousand doves
Baby you should paint my love

Been around the world
then I met you girl
It's like comming home
to a place I've known

Paint my love
you should paint my love
it's the picture of a thousand sunsets
it's the freedom of a thousand doves
Baby you should paint my love

Since you came into my life
the days before all fade to black and white
Since you came into my life
Everything has changed

song performed by by Michael Learns To Rock from Paint My Love
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost

Searching in the crowd
For a resemblance
To no avail
No familiar faces

I once loved
A forbidden love
Oceans separated you from me
Virtually all familiar faces gone

I roam the dessert of life
Feeling all alone
Like a blind man searching
For a familiar face
The sound of your voice
The ringing of laughter shared
Of familiar faces
Barren, empty bossom
Swallowed by the dessert of life
All familiar faces
Passed with time...

06.07.2012

poem by Persian Khushi
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Familiar World

This world look so familiar
The air, I think I breath before
The music, I think I heard before
The journey, I've journeyed before
but all in 'once a life time'
It's my second journey into this unknown world
The journey I seem to have taken before
It look so familiar
Once in a life time, it seemed I was somebody
May be even the wealthiest man in the world
i don't know
Maybe a wretched, lonely man
I'll never know
But one thing I do know
is that I've lived once
And right now, It's my second journey
Into this very familiar but unknown world

poem by Olufunmbi Aransiola
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Paint Me Down

Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im walking into studio
Consider strange appeal
Paint me in the home
Im brushing up on sketchbook
Designs for love unreal
Paint me in the home
Oil and skin youll need to buy it
Consider what I mean
She sinks beneath thr moving pictures
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im soaking up the surface
Conceaiving new idea
Paint me in the home
Shes oiling up her subject
But all still life is here
Paint me in the home
All the boys with framed dimension
A cover up on lust
Hell take his pain and paint it over
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down

song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Explorations: IV

When the lights
In my world move
Farther away and
Flicker weakly,
I look to your
World of light
But where am I
in your world?
Where am I in this
World of fading light?

When laughter in my world
Is heard like fading music
At an unknown distance,
I look to your world
Of bubbling laughter
but where am I
In your world of laughter?
Where am I in this
World of fading laughter?

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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If

If a picture paints a thousand words,
Then why cant I paint you?
The words will never show
The you Ive come to know
If a face could launch a thousand ships,
Then where am I to go?
Theres no one home but you,
Youre all thats left me too
And when my love for life is running dry,
You come and pour yourself on me
If I could be two places at one time,
Id be with you
Tomorrow and today,
Beside you all the way
If the world should stop revolving
Spinning slowly down to die,
Id spend the end with you
And when the world was through,
Then one by one the stars would all go out,
Then you and I would simply fly away
If a picture paints a thousand words,
Then why cant I paint you?
'Cause the words could never show
The you Ive come to know
And one by one the stars will all go out,
But you and I will simply fly away
We'll fly away

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Horizon Closes In

I have touched the horizon,
And it no more recedes
Rather it closes in
And in a rare gesture
Hugs me with the warmth
Of a frosty December.

When my shadow gains dimension,
And I distinctly listen to
The perennial echo
Of a familiar lullaby,
Echoing softly in my ears
Like the falling of a baby step
On a sandy carpet.

I have touched the earth and the sky
With my bare hands
And strangely, no more
Can I differentiate the hue
Of the rising and setting sun,
For they look so similar
Against a similar sky.

I have seen roses
Changing their colours,
Winds their directions
And poetry its emotions
From sonnets to elegy.

Lo!
There is unusual greenery
At the neighbouring graveyard
And I can now recite
My epitaph and give music to it
Like an accomplished musician.

poem by Arkay Drk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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quotes From Poets On Poetry

** QUOTES FROM POETS ON
POETRY

The great Shakespeare in his ‘A Midsummer
Night’s Dream’,
Speaks of poetry as ‘forms of things unknown,
The poet’s pen turns them to shape,
And gives to airy nothing a local habitation
and a name’!
John Ashbery had always felt, that ‘poetry
all the time goes on in his head’, -
And ‘occasionally he snips off a length’!
For Coleridge, ‘prose is arrangement of words
in their best order’,
But ‘poetry is the best words in their best order’!
For Paul Engle, poetry is ‘ordinary language
raised to the N-th power’,
While for William Wordsworth it is a continuous
shower, -
And ‘a spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings,
Of emotions recollected in tranquility’, - is fairly
healing!
Shelley in his ‘Defense of Poetry’ sincerely felt,
That ‘poetry lifts the veil, from the hidden beauty
of the world’,
Making ‘the familiar objects be as if they were
not familiar’!
While Carl Sandburg speaks of poetry as, -
‘The journal of a sea animal living on land,
Wanting to fly in the air’, - as high as it possibly
can!
Robert Graves declared rather candidly, -
That ‘if there’s no money in poetry’, one need
not feel sorry,
Since there is ‘neither any poetry in money’!
I conclude with Robert Frost, who always felt,
That writing a ‘poem is discovering as he
progressed’,
Since for him, ‘poetry never had a pre-meditated
end’!
-Raj Nandy
New Delhi
26 Feb 09
(** The words of our famous poets/authors, have
been placed in ‘inverted commas’.)

poem by Raj Nandy
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Egoism of Poets

We don’t write poetry,
Poetry writes us.
How can we make poetry,
If we are part of poetry.
The world around us is poetry.
Poetry is already defined.
Calling ourselves poets.
Selfishness in every line.
Egoism in every word.
Stealing poetry from the world.
That already exists in every form.
It’s written in every mist,
Every tree, every bliss.
Who are we to write?
Calling ourselves masterminds.
Trapping ourselves in believe
That we are creating something unique
The world at our feet.
Just too full fill our need.
Even this poem is an act
of a selfish deed.
Every letter in ink.
Created through love and sin.
Writing on a paper
But it’s the world’s skin.
Pressing on the surface.
To see blue blood is our purpose.
Thinking poetry is ours.
Poetry devoured
By poets every hour.
Poems all around us.
Turning grey to dust.
Turning brown to rust.
We have captured the most
But there is still so much.
Bleeding away in disaster, poverty
And war.
Ink to us all.
A poet’s only lord.
His only norm, his only home.
His precious and beloved poem.

We should be ashamed.

poem by Nadim Lost Soul
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Paint Dimensionality Soul In Oils

if I painted pictures
I would draw you in charcoal
wash away drama tears in watercolours
paint dimensionality of durability soul in oils
span a universe of senses touch emotions thoughts

if I painted pictures
I would paint dream images
I would paint visions of inner mind's eye
I would paint life in veils swirling kaleidoscopic moods
I would paint canvasses imprinting fabric expanding universes

but I travel eons far
load canvasses are too heavy
I walk journey through many phase worlds
seasons landscapes in many climates beckon bled feet
I paint mind songs in words life haunting edges spaces

swallow flame words into soul at own risk
I paint distances between seen unseen at world's edges
I paint portraits above beneath mask as multi veils
I paint shift faces figures skin deeds intended done deeds
I paint poetry life in shifting kaleidoscopic images souls

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Animals

They do not live in the world,
Are not in time and space.
From birth to death hurled
No word do they have, not one
To plant a foot upon,
Were never in any place.

For with names the world was called
Out of the empty air,
With names was built and walled,
Line and circle and square,
Dust and emerald;
Snatched from deceiving death
By the articulate breath.

But these have never trod
Twice the familiar track,
Never never turned back
Into the memoried day.
All is new and near
In the unchanging Here
Of the fifth great day of God,
That shall remain the same,
Never shall pass away.

poem by Edwin Muir
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At a certain age, death becomes familiar to you-or a loss becomes familiar-the tragedies that are more commonplace in life.

quote by Jessica Lange
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Wheel Of Life Goes On and On

People keep coming
To the world
People keep leaving
The world
Birth and death
Are common to all
Life’s window opens
For one
Closes for the other
Tears flow and
Everybody remember
The one who has gone
Welcomes the one
Who’s new amongst them?
With smile and laughter
Wheel of life goes
On and on

poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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A Poem Written By A Confessed Bipolar (her Name To Be Revealed Upon Her Permission)

I write because I can
I write because there are so many things to be written.
I write because I can make a painting without a brush and paints in my hand.
I write because I can capture the moment without having a camera.
I write because letters and words are the only recipe I know how to cook.
I write because I want to read what I’ve written.
I write because I’m used to speak in silence.
I write because I have a story to tell.
I write because I want to strip off my flesh and live as a pure being.
I write because I can record my “voice” without having a recorder.
I write because it’s like a cup of coffee, it keeps me awake
I write because I want to live even when I do not exist.
I write because this is my throwing stones when I’m frustrated.
6/11/09 at 4: 42 PM
I write because I can flaunt my being when I don’t have clothes to show off.
I write because this is like making an encyclopedia to a coloring book.
I write because it’s more effective than my lithium medication.
I write because I’m tired of carrying these baggages on the road.
I write because I’m tired of talking too much.
I write because it’s a healthier diversion than smoking.
I write because it’s more therapeutic than analyzing my problem.
I write because I want to paint a thousand pictures with words.
I write because I can put colors to the letters and make a rainbow of words.
I write because it’s the key combinations to my hidden vaults.
I write because my ball pen is my best friend in the darkest nights.
I write because it surprises me with what I am capable of thinking&doing. 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because I like that ideas are popping like pop corns.
I write because I can wander in the adventures of my own world.
I write because I have to cleanse my collection of memories of an old home.
I write because like a mirror you need to do a lot of reflections.
I write because I want to fight the battle of life.
I write because I wanted my little voice to be heard.
I write because I want to run from the insanities of the world.
I write because pictures don’t talk.
I write because it helps me connect the dots when I look back in my life.
I write because it brings me back to my crib of silence.
I write because it makes a buzz to other bees in my beehive.
I write because unlike my bike my destination is limitless.
I write because I want to become an inspiration without extinction 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because like strumming of the guitar, it vibrates in my soul.
I write because I love to write.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Poetry Mean To Me

What does poetry mean to me

Poetry is the air I breathe

Poetry is the words that feed
My soul
To make me whole

Poetry is what makes me blossom
In the middle of spring

Poetry is what grows my garden
And makes it flourish with nature
Beauty

Poetry Is

My magical whim's that supply all my
Fantasy and fills my hopes and dreams

Poetry is the strong desire that keep the
Flames of love burning

In the midst of the hour

And lights up the sky
With beautiful hues of colours

Spreads from one globe to

Another

To swim the ocean deep

Just because of love

Poetry is that and more, which I
Hate to carry this on and on

But

Poetry is the love of our life that visit
Us in our dreams

Poetry is

Me and the worlds that wakes every
Morning to bloom and blossom

Even after the death has played it last
Song that breaks our hearts

Poetry is tears and moans
Grief and pain that Hunt's the
Soul

Poetry is the rain crying from
The sky
The sun the moon with the golden
Light
Poetry is a child laughter at play
The tears a child shreds in sadness
They cry

Poetry is just a book of songs you
And I write down in our journal
Each and every day

We

Mix them together again and again
That is poetry

Poetry is life woes
Life happiness

Poetry is life
Here now and after

Poetry is you and I

poem by Carolyn Sears
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Yet another Blast...

Strangely enough
This world is ridden
With vampires
Vampires not interested
In sucking blood out of you
But interested in spilling your blood
On the surface of the earth
To create gore and terror
Whether in stark day light
Or during a normal night
Their fangs are hidden
From all tech-savvy gadgets
They feign innocence
As they casually stroll
Amidst thick crowds
Once the job is done
They vanish as if at the day break...

09Sep2011
00.15hrs

***

I've turned insensitive
To death
I'm now sensitive
To life
Of late
I anticipate death
At every corner
To me theses days
Life is but a distant cry
Why shed tears
Over the inevitable?
And commonplace?
Why regale
Over what passes off
At an abrupt turn?

Somewhere
In some corner of the earth
Collective wails rise and fall
Deafening the earth's ears

08Sep2011
21.00hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Portrait of life...

Awakened to the rough sketch of another morning,
The birth of this new day but a canvass of new creation,
The pallette of life felt in every breath and sense I feel,
My portrait slowly takes shape as the day unfolds,
I am the artist painting life upon another days canvas,
The beauty I preceive has influence on those around me,
For I possess a power within known to all true poets,
The power to paint a beautiful landscape of hope,
Or to darken man's reality with visions of despair,
What picture of eternity shall you paint upon life's journey? ...

Spread the love... The peace will follow...

poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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