En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Oddity for friend Thad

He suffers from a rare condition
advanced and chronic erudition
There was no end to what he knew
and every day learnt something new.

He learnt at a prodigious rate
it seemed almost impossible
and never did he hesitate
or seem to be uncomfortable.

Consultants came from far and wide
to study this phenomenon
and went away dissatisfied.
He just ignored them, carried on.

He could converse in ancient Greek
write poetry in Arabic.
In all the world he was unique.
A savant or a lunatic?

Assembled experts disagree
on whether it’s a malady.
Requiring treatment urgently
or should they simply wait and see.

Though none have the ability
to treat or even diagnose.
But still they wrangle bitterly
They can’t admit that no one knows.

They all dispersed and went their ways.
He never noticed they had gone
he has enough to fill his days.
He much prefers to be alone

to think deep thoughts he cannot share
because nobody could debate.
Although he finds this hard to bear
he’s used to being isolate.

26-Feb-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Hard Way

If I could do it all again
I wouldn't change a thing
I'd have you back the way I had you then
But one thing that I know
This time I wouldn't make you go
I'd have you back I wouldn't lose you again
But I learnt the hard way
I can't have it back what I had then
Yes I learnt the hard way
and I know I won't have that chance again

Some nights I sit on my own
with a feeling of alone
wondering if your ever coming home
but I know why your gone
I'll be the first to say I'm wrong
but it's hard to spend another night alone

Cause I learnt the hard way
I can't have it back what I had then
Yes I learnt the hard way
And I know I won't have that chance again

Yes I learnt the hard way
I can't have it back what I had then
Yes I learnt the hard way
And I know I won't have that chance again
Cause I learnt the hard way

song performed by by Kasey Chambers from The Captain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mate can do no Wrong

We learnt the creed at Hungerford,
We learnt the creed at Bourke;
We learnt it in the good times
And learnt it out of work.
We learnt it by the harbour-side
And on the billabong:
'No matter what a mate may do,
A mate can do no wrong!'
He’s like a king in this respect
(No matter what they do),
And, king-like, shares in storm and shine
The Throne of Life with you.
We learnt it when we were in gaol
And put it in a song:
' No matter what a mate may do,
A mate can do no wrong!'
They’ll say he said a bitter word
When he’s away or dead.
We’re loyal to his memory,
No matter what he said.
And we should never hesitate,
But strike out good and strong,
And jolt the slanderer on the jaw –
A mate can do no wrong !

poem by Henry Lawson
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I Have Learned

I’ve learnt to understand that….
A prohibitive degree of inner freedom –
Not a caprice but a strain.
Up to the end it will remain!

I’ve learnt to understand that….
The tales we dream up
We write out of our own head.
And…. we should cherish that!

I’ve learnt to break up the rules,
So that no one should be hurt.
Using my own tools,
I would like to avoid the dirt.

I’ve learnt to believe that….
There are no ideal relations.
They can be sometimes a brief,
Very often with a frustration.

I’ve learnt to feel that….
Striving for harmony I love disharmony.
Loving in everything the truth
The lies sometimes sooth.

I’ve learnt to be patient,
Though not everyone knows it.
It’s better to be absent
Than to throw a stone into a shit.

I've learnt not to be afraid of any competition,
There is only right or wrong choice,
There is only someone's ambition,
There is only strong or weak voice.

I've learnt to understand that....
Love can't be found where it doesn't live,
If love exists it can't be hidden.
A true love can't be forbidden.

I’ve learnt to understand that….
Love can't be found where it doesn't exist,
Love can't be hidden where it is.
A true love you can persist.

poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Twice Times

There were Two Little Bears who lived in a Wood,
And one of them was Bad and the other was Good.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times One -
But Bad Bear left all his buttons undone.

They lived in a Tree when the weather was hot,
And one of them was Good, and the other was Not.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Two -
But Bad Bear's thingummies were worn right through.

They lived in a Cave when the weather was cold,
And they Did, and they Didn't Do, what they were told.
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Three -
But Bad Bear never had his hand-ker-chee.

They lived in the Wood with a Kind Old Aunt,
And one said 'Yes'm,' and the other said 'Shan't!'
Good Bear learnt his Twice Times Four -
But Bad Bear's knicketies were terrible tore.

And then quite suddenly (just like Us)
One got Better and the other got Wuss.
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times Three -
But Bad Bear coughed in his hand-ker-chee!

Good Bear muddled his Twice Times Two -
But Bad Bear's thingummies looked like new.
Good Bear muddled his Twice Times One -
But Bad Bear never left his buttons undone.

There may be a Moral, though some say not;
I think there's a moral, though I don't know what.
But if one gets better, as the other gets wuss,
These Two Little Bears are just like Us.
For Christopher remembers up to Twice Times Ten ...
But I keep forgetting where I put my pen.*

* So I have had to write this one in pencil.

poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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The Class Muses

The class muses as they gather
The like ones do flock together
They stroll through each verse
Unable to swallow many words

Be it a sonnet or an elegy
It sure makes an empathy
But doesn't go so deep
Yet do not seek any help

It makes their heart ache
Though they jerk and shake
But thoughts are to go deep
Yet some prefer to go asleep

A teacher can't be rude
Nor can he so elude
It is an art to enter
Where the thoughts wander

I do wonder how at times
Some grab thoughts at once
They sure are more receptive
But others are so deceptive

Neither can poetry be learnt
Nor can poetry be taught
By the mastery of the mind
But by mystery of the heart

*******************************

poem by Varghese Kuncheria
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Airborne for philip housiaux

Always airborne an Albatross
can easily vast oceans cross
They eat and sleep upon the wing
and rarely land for anything.
But even Albatrosses mate
although more often isolate.
They come together as a pair.
You cannot raise chicks in the air.
But once the young have learnt to fly.
Received the freedom of the sky.
They the resume the seperate
life style they appreciate.
An Albatross prefers to be
left alone completely free.

18-Apr-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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What Makes Us Human

I believe ability makes us intelligent, it distinguishes us from animals
I believe all have the ability to learn, to create art, to love
I believe we can let our ability go to waste, or we can let it flourish
I believe our ability that makes us human is our intelligence and good judgement
I believe many choose to ignore this ability and rely on animalistic instinct
I believe some humans treat animals better than humans
I believe to make this world peaceful we need to let our abilities flourish

It is curious that many people advocate humane treatment for animals, but treat actual humans inhumanely

poem by Lenore Lee
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Most Of The So Called Literary Experts

Most of the so called literary experts are dismissive of rhyme
They say 'tis the poetry of a long gone time
Yet the poets that they laud the poems they do write
Cannot be put to music and are hard to read and recite
The rhymer of today is not looked on as a poet
Or is not seen as one worthy of literary note
By the so called literary experts with literary degrees
Though their judgement on what is or is not poetry not everyone does please
They never will convince the old style rhyme buff
To him or her well written rhyme is not throw away stuff
In well written rhyme are the words to a song
And good rhyming poetry to music belong
Yet the degreed literary experts who on poetry like to have their say
Dismiss rhyming poets and their poetry as of yesterday.

poem by Francis Duggan
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I have a dream

I want to write real poetry
But I’m not sure how I should start
I need someone who can teach me
the basics of poetic art.

I do not know if it should rhyme
and meter is a mystery.
I have the will I have the time.
I somebody will please help me.

I have the urge I have to write
I really want to get it right
What makes it poetry or prose?
there is a difference I suppose.

I know there’s different schools of thought
an ongoing controversy.
I’m simply looking for support
to help me with my poetry.

I have the basic writing tools
a pad a pencil and P.C.
I need to learn the basic rules
which turn prose into poetry.

I am willing to study hard
and heed advice that’s offered me.
By any older wiser bard
who’s skilled at writing poetry.

26-Apr-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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You're My Inspiration

I know I never thanked you
But in my heart I always do
For all the inspiration
I was given right from you.
My feelings always hidden
You never knew me well
My thoughts were written down
For things I'd never tell.
In poetry and music
Somehow you were always there
To fill that space I guess
That knew you'd never care.
But I wouldn't trade a single day
And I don't have one regret
For I feel that I was truely blest
For the chance that we both met.
From all the people in the whole wide world
I'm sorry I singled you out
To be one special person I chose in life
To write my poems about.
You were my inspiration
And only God knows why
And it's something that I can't explain
So I won't even try.

poem by Sherri Vogel
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Manifesto

Blues are falling like showers of rain, but I dont feel like crying
Death himself is abroad this day, but I dont feel like dying
I learnt how to sustain myself
I learnt how to sustain myself in storms
The enemy has the biggest tanks, and he sure knows how to use them
Our best, and only, chance, is to thoroughly confuse him
I learnt how to sustain myself in storms
Her tongue was like a scythe and all her bones were haunted
A scapegoat for her life was all she ever wanted
I learnt how to sustain myself in storms
Sir bedivere slept in a field, his armour strewn around him
Curled foetus-like beneath his shield, still weeping when we found him
I learnt how to sustain myself in storms
I teetered on the edge of doom, degenerate and broken
She washed the blood out of my wounds, and spoke the great unspoken
I learnt how to sustain myself in storms
His monstrous ego whipped and driven raged beneath his clothing
The complement he paid was given not with grace but loathing
I learnt how to sustain myself in storms
Deliverance is at the gate with arms and gold in store
He apologises for being late, but I dont need him anymore
I learnt how to sustain myself
I learnt how to sustain myself in storms
Scoured and stripped of all pretence, shorn of all illusion
I offer nothing in my defence, you can draw your own conclusions
I learnt how to sustain myself in storms
(trans. sean miller - [email protected])

song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boundless curiosity for friend Thad.

The world is full of mysteries.
Colossal buildings left behind
by earlier societies.
Their purposes still ill defined

Although the archaeologists
advance their favourite theories.
The mysteries will long persist.
Their different hypotheses.

Cannot be proven any way.
They’re based on their experience
Of living in the world to day.
A different frame of reference.

Which cannot possibly apply
They saw the world quite differently.
I do not think we can deny
We’re blinkered in the way we see.

The evidence which we can find,
We can’t interpret properly
The artefacts they left behind
Their uses are a mystery.

Though we attempt to classify
we can’t be sure we are correct.
These relics from past history
aren’t always what we would expect.

Temples and Tombs or Palaces
The truth is that we do not know
Secular or sacred places.
There is no evidence to show.

That we can state with confidence
confirms our modern theories.
We have no point of reference
With which everyone agrees.

The arguments rage to and fro
As experts wrangle bitterly
They daren’t admit they do not know.
Although they don’t quite obviously.

At best an educated guess
Must be the best we can expect.
From experts trying to impress
The other experts I suspect.

It seems to me improbable
That we will solve these mysteries
Our mind sets aren’t comparable
as different as chalk and cheese.

But still we are compelled to try
because these monuments exist.
Our boundless curiosity
will not allow us to desist.

Saturday,24 April 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Sonnet: On School-life

First day we stepped into a school was great-
In uniform with school-bag, looking cute!
We could not walk or run and had a slate;
We learnt to read and write and be not mute.

We learnt the Alphabets: count one to ten!
We ate so happily when school-bell rung;
Our teachers taught us how to hold the pen;
We can’t forget those days when we were young.

Our knowledge improved slowly every day;
Afilled with joy in hearts, we went to play;
Our teachers taught us manners and to pray;
The fees- our parents somehow tried to pay.

Although some hours, some days, we may detest,
The years we spent in school are sure the best!

poem by John Celes
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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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Youve Got It

This impossible power
A strength that I cant see
Theres no way
That I can let you go
Why did I mistake sex
For another sense
Then wanted someone else
To try to tell you no
I think you understand
Oh that youve got it
I try hard but I cant
Oh do without it
I think you understand
That youve got it
This impossible power
Has broken into me
And stolen all the sense
That I had before
Why did I just take
And never understand
The love youve given me
Couldve learnt me more
I think you understand
Oh that youve got it
I try hard but I cant
Oh do without it
I think you understand
That youve got it
What made you think
That Id be true to you
I needed to
Prove it to myself
That I could let you go
What made you think that
Id be a fool for you
You knew that I was lying
There was something
I was hiding
I think you understand
Oh that youve got it
Well I try hard but I cant
Oh do without it

song performed by by Simply Red
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Full Moon a storypoem

The moon is full and bright tonight.
The tensions rise within these walls
Although the corridors are bright
I clearly hear the eerie calls

of those affected by the moon
Their madness raised to fever pitch
I pray that morning will come soon
I feel their hatred like an itch.

Which creeps and crawls across my skin
An itch for which there is no cure.
Although I know they are locked in,
the full moon makes me insecure.

Although the experts disagree.
They don’t patrol the floors at night.
They will be sleeping peacefully
Smugly convinced that they are right.

Those of us who watch and ward
do not neglect the evidence
A full moon we can’t disregard
we’ve learnt by hard experience.

That when the full moon rules the sky
we must increase our vigilance.
Her rays enhance insanity
we can’t afford to take a chance.

I do my rounds reluctantly
I check and double check again
I feel mad thoughts chaotically
impinge upon my tired brain.

When daylight comes the tensions fall
and stillness permeates the air.
A brooding silence lies over all
the patients who are in our care.

A full moon without incident
I can report to my relief.
Which he accepts without comment.
I know we share the same belief.

I can go home my shift is done
and seek the comfort of my bed.
Next month there’ll be another one.
But I will be on days instead.

15-Aug-07

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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So?

...oh, the rat says
she has her own world to share
with all the twists
and short stories to tell
but nothing
about poetry
lest she be nothing but
a second rate trying hard
copycat

she is honest
and means every word
and means that what she says
is her own world shared

the messy room? the missed momma
the hardwork in the office
all these stuff

on the other hand
i still assert
that we too write for other people
empathize with them
and they too become sources
of our own literature
a shared world
a study
a way of putting our own feet
in their own shoes

and i tell her too
i am missing
i lose myself in the world of other people
and find myself
under the moon
hanging its face on the twigs of a
tree
that i too feel the shadows
of the wind
hear the voices of the desert
attentive
to the protests of the waves
of the sea
the rage of the storm
the implacable
chatters of those who
never want to die
as early
as the bud that the
child nipped.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Schrodinger's Cat

Last train to Norwich...
Summer days that blind your face will soon be dead and gone
Better get it on!
Tuned to a day the babe against the world
You took the best seat rather risk it when the chips were down
Better make it long.
Schrodinger's cat is dead to the world.

You say your cat sees in the dark.
You criticize the play and isolate the box.
I always knew you were a scientist at heart.
Just as the breeze with speed and build

song performed by by Tears For Fears from Saturnine Martial & Lunatic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Are So Many Ways Of Making Poetry

THERE ARE SO MANY WAYS OF MAKING POETRY

There are many ways of making Poetry
Some make poetry simply
As I do –
Others are richer by far.
Some like the surface
And others like hidden depths and mysteries.
There are many ways of making poetry
I have only one which is my own
But there are so so many others
More beautiful and deep and perhaps more everlasting.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Drunk On Poetry

Poetry surges steadily
Through my veins
I grant it to stream through them
Day in and day out
Sleep and awake
I believe it's a healthy obsession
I get drunk on it
The more I inject in me

My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become addicted
Sometimes I absorb too much poetry
Reading, writing and listening
I become drunk sometimes

Poetry spills from my pen
Inking a piece of paper
And unto another and another
Constantly on every thought
Humorous, emotionally, romantic, tragic
Experiencing in life
Opinionated, factual, abstract
Political, any subject that's on my thoughts
Sometimes I become drunk
The more i inject into me

Poetry I live for
Eat, drink, sleep
Racing through my spirit
Poetry, poetry, poetry
I loose myself sometimes
When I digest too much
Poems that I write
I write for me
I share them with the world
I can't resist this urge
Poetry is what I crave
It happens to be my mistress
I become drunk

The more I inject
My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become so addicted
Breathing in too much poetry
Reading, writing, listening
I'm drunk sometimes

Poetry I write
Write from experience
What I've done
What I've heard
What I've seen
What I've felt
What I've known

Poetry I live for
Eating, drinking, sleeping
Racing through my spirit
Poetry, poetry, poetry
On my thoughts poetry
Loosing myself sometimes
When I inject enough
This is what I've become
A drunken poet

poem by R.K. Cowles
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