On The Margins Of A Poem
The poem
that I chose for you
is simple,
as are all my singing poems.
It has the trace of a veil,
a little balsam,
and a taste of the honey
of lies.
There is also
the coming end of summer
when heat scorches the meadow
and the quick waters
of the river
cease to flow.
Anonymous Submission
poem by Jirí Mordechai Langer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Evening Poem
AN EVENING POEM
An evening poem
Waits for deeper darkness
A night poem knows blackness
As home.
A morning poem is light
An afternoon poem is thick with heat.
All times have a poem
And all seasons poems also
All lives are poems
And all stories also.
We all are and all know poems
Poems pervade us
And the universe.
It is night now
But when the morning comes
Its poem will overshadow now.
What a brave new world it is
With so many poems in it
And what a life-
With such deep sadness
Waiting forever to be unexpressed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Muddy River
I stand upon the bank of the muddy river in awe of what I see.
The river’s roaring waters stumble over each other, rolling beneath its awesome force.
The river widens as the earth crumbles into it.
The power of the river amazes me; its shear force astonishes me,
And its quick movements mesmerize.
My mind drifts with the waters flow,
Traveling further and further downstream.
poem by John Miller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To the one who stole my poem
I had this poem
it was a particular poem
made many cry
told my story
to the person who is using my account
which i used to post my poem
which had been deleted from my computer
and only existed here in cyberspace
to this person
who added his/her poems to my name
i hope you, as a fellow poet
understand how a poem nursed
is not dissimilar to a child
i lost my child,
my poem.
if you have it please put it back
the name was 'father'
if you deleted it please write a poem
in this poem tell me that you have
i just need to know if my baby Poem is dead forever
or if it lives on your hard drive
poem by Anonymous Anonymous
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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River Of Bass
To touch. to taste.
She flows like a river of bass vibration.
To touch. to taste.
She flows like a river of bass vibration.
Sweet water. sweet water.
To touch. to taste.
You flow like a river of bass vibration.
Sunshine surrounds me.
Showering above their greed.
Sunshine surrounds me.
Showering above the greed.
To touch. to taste.
You flow like river of bass vibration.
To touch. to taste.
You flow like a river of bass vibration.
Take me down.
To your river of sweet release.
Take me down.
To your river of sweet relief.
Everyone is sleeping.
This needle is release.
Sitting on a mountain.
Companies could see.
Listening to a whisper.
To touch. to taste.
You flow like a river of bass vibration.
What is in the thornbush.
A thornbush in my head.
Im a snowstorm. Im a shaker.
Sometimes I regret the things I say.
To touch. to taste.
She flows like a river of bass vibration.
Take me down.
To your river of sweet release.
Take me down.
To your river of sweet relief.
From chelsea to essex. every room.
In every sweet cocoon.
Chelsea to essex. in every room.
In every sweet cocoon.
Sometimes I feel her coming
From the other side of the world.
Sometimes I feel her coming
From the other side of the world.
To touch. to taste.
She flows like a river of bass vibration.
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Writing A Poem That You Can Understand So Easily
this is not to insult your intelligence
or your sensibility
your capacity for managing angst,
to see the wholeness
of the matter
in the eye of the needle
where the camel enters where you claim you have seen it,
this, this is it, the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the river the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the river
do you not find wisdom in it, it is filled with questions to be answered:
why is the fox quick
why is it brown? why does it jump on a lazy dog? and is the dog really lazy? is this not offensive to the dogs in the royalty? and why should the river be near? and this bank of the river? is this where the dog lives? or the fox or the dog, do they relate to the word quick and lazy?
i tell you, there is wisdom in every word, no matter where you place it.
every verb serves its purpose in giving us action,
every question calls for an answer
and every period serves the purpose it is intended to be.
rest.
the purpose of an easy poem is to understand it, and so the poem is written in the most familiar language that you know and speak,
period.
i don't want to understand things really, there is no point there.
period.
some poems are not meant to be understood, they are only meant to be read.
period.
some poems are not meant to be digested, they are meant to make
us full, even only for a while.
period.
some poems are written by Someone Else, and this writer does not
even understand it.
period.
rest.......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Tired Of The Word 'Poem
I AM TIRED OF THE WORD ‘POEM’
I am tired of the word ‘poem’
‘Poem’ ‘poem’ ‘poem’ ‘poem and ‘poem’ again
Weren’t there stars before there were poems?
And won’t there be light somewhere else
when no one has words to say?
And in all the great Silence before and ever after
won’t there be the being of something real however unsaid and unknown?
And won’t ‘Poem’ and ‘poems’ too like all of us
Cease one day to be and never again know that they are?
All the immortals are mortal and their poems too
Silence before and Silence after
And no words forevermore.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Down The River I Flow
Down the river I flow
My feelings I never show
I just keep flowing along
Singing the same old song
A song of anger, A song of sadness
A song that sings of the on coming madness
Singing a song from the beginning
Yet never truly ending
Starts off with happiness
Then hits hard the pain
Next comes on the sadness
Ending with insanity being maintained
Down the river I flow
Heart full of sadness and woe
Sadness for my child that never existed
Woe for my heart being twisted
Twisted in the worst way
Dealing with pain each and every day
Wishing it would have been true
A child born from me and you
But you messed it all up
By not coming out and telling me the truth
But in your face it finally blew up
So now I flow down this river so early in youth
poem by Lumvouris Webb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Jackfruit
I am like a jackfruit on the tree.
To taste you must plug me quick, while fresh:
the skin rough, the pulp thick, yes,
but oh, I warn you against touching --
the rich juice will gush and stain your hands
Translated by Nguyen Ngoc Bich
Anonymous submission.
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Honey is to taste
Honey is sweet to any one to taste
But its confinement, alas, is its fate.
Others, suited, are forbidden to taste.
When that one is lost honey goes naked
And seems sweeter to many wicked,
For which must it find soon a safe pocket.
Otherwise, it may turn sour in neglect,
Or may dry out in long disuse,
Or, perhaps, lies bare for someone’s abuse.
Honey, when orphaned by the host,
Be reclaimed by any one worth it,
Before it is too late, and thus be it blest.
Youth is honey,
Be she a a virgin or a widow,
With the same flow.
[About a young beautiful widow]
12.04.2000, Palakkad Lady Airly
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heat Of Summer, Heated Love.
Summer's heat can swelter and melt...
As summer's heat may simmer as weld.
Some summer's heat can burn as long...
This summer's heat can impel a song.
Summer's heat can cook and bake...
Summer's heat of life can take.
Boil and broil a heart so hot...
A summer's heat can break that romanceful knot.
This heat of summer can smoulder and rot.
Anger's heat, heats up my libido's furnace...
This love of summer can invoke to heart, a loving furnish.
Love of summer brings to mind, a resurgance of love...
Summer's sun may bathe one and all with heat fro' above.
Summer's heat can bring to beaches and swimming pools...
Visions of women in bikinied thongs, these things my eyes do love.
poem by Michael Gale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Walk Without A Poem
WALK WITHOUT A POEM
I walk without a poem-
It is a time without poems-
I am tired -
The world is beating me down-
The older I ache
The more I grow cold-
I write these lines in the deep heat of summer
They are incidental and small
A poem perhaps-
But they cannot lift my soul
I do not know how now -
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rivers Of Life
As tiny streams begin to flow, into larger rivers they shall grow.
Tiny streams of gentle peace, of waters that seem not to cease.
But as the rivers begin to grow, the deeper waters begin to flow.
In these deeper waters cease, the gentle flow of endless peace.
These rivers then snake the land, guided by God’s mighty hand.
And each and every river flows, as God directs the way it goes.
We too are guided by God’s hand, as we journey upon this land.
And God directs how life goes, gently guiding wherever it flows.
Coursing through all of our life, there are rivers filled with strife.
But in a river filled with grief, there are currents of gentle relief.
All the temporal rivers of strife, flow to an ocean of Eternal Life.
Where we’ll find eternal relief, from the turbulent waters of grief.
All the waters we pass through, God beforehand always knew.
And He will be right at your side, even when in the deepest tide.
This He told us so we knew, deeper waters He’d see us through.
So when we’re in a rough tide, God will see us to the other side.
The troubled waters that we see, will all end one day in Eternity.
The ending of this troubled life, is the Hope for all in Jesus Christ.
As we enter the peace of Eternity, when His Blessed face we see.
So believe today in Jesus Christ, and you will inherit Eternal Life.
(Copyright ©11/2005)
Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.
Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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[ Late August ]
Heat still sizzles in the fields
In August summer still yields
The sun shines to no regret
Wind sauntering 'til sunset
'though heat is being cool off by the rain
Preserving flowers, and meadow - green
But summer still taking what it brings
The August incense with fugacious wings
Bounty blooms, butterflies, bees are insane
Birds, crickets sing and the night listens
Summer's sky, bright burst so clear
It's the late August in summer's fair
Summer in August still in standby
Sooner balmy weather is coming by
The hot temper will bicker with cool air
With soothing breeze here comes September
Ency Bearis
(c) copyright 2012
poem by Ency Bearis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is No Poem For Me Today
THERE IS NO POEM FOR ME TODAY
There is no poem for me today
There is no poem of yesterday
The poems have gone
And far away
There is no poem
For another day.
There never will be another poem
Poems are gone
Poems are stone.
All the words I will ever write
Are not enough
For a Poem of Life.
The Poems are not
They will never be
I am not a Poem
Nor Poetry.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem As Conversations
a poem for ramona
and a poem for jean and a poem for candice
and a poem too for yuri
and a poem too for emma and another poem for hannah
and another poem for allan
and the rest of the clan
they are but
conversations sticking to my mind
and through these poems
i replay them
and you think these are not poems at all
precisely, these are conversations of the living
the living word
the word that still cohabits with us
we let them out from our mouths
but you do not wish to recover them
did you mean them all to be said
with the terms and conditions of truth?
i am recording them
and i am replaying them through these lines
i look where truth
lies
i find some and keep them
and these are these
on these lines
a poem for you a poem for the world that we all make
what we say is what we get
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summer Time Blues
Try to add perfumes to your minds to meet me there,
The summer is here and it is with the blues;
You are not alone on this hot summer night.
We havethe natural fragrant to keep us going,
The summer time blues to swing with the muse;
You are not alone without the blues.
Scents for your love,
Mid-Summer-Night blues to your taste;
Enjoy the summer with the safety of numbers.
Summer time blues,
The fragrant of love to keep you going;
Summer, summer, summer time! !
Summer time blues,
The summer of a muse;
Summer time blues,
The summer of a poem;
With relationships that moves you up.
Summer time blues,
With the heat waves to crown the day;
Perfume your body to meet up to the act.
Let us visit Copacabana and Ipanema this summer,
Of the rocky promontory at sight to give you hope;
Like the summer time blues with your lover.
It is summer time,
Visit the beaches to see things for yourselves;
Summer, summer, summer time! !
Meet me there and touch me with your heart.
A summer time love with the blues,
Like the golden grape of my soul;
Summer is the essence of a colourful life.
The sense of reality in times like this,
The heat with love to share with others;
Where the hearts of lovers do meet like,
One's love never touched before.
Summer time blues is all about this muse,
A time of love to share with your lover;
Summer, summer, summer time! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the summer heat
In the summer heat
a dry mouth i got seeking for your lips
In the summer heat
death silence surrounds my heart beat
In the summer heat
a song of love i whistle just for you
In the summer heat
i let my hopes to see the sun
In the summer heat
i see your eyes like never before
sparkling in the sun
calling to be adored again
by your crazy poet.
poem by George Tzouvaras
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summer Is Here
summer is here again
the sun scorches our skins
this hot summer
black crows flying low
on blue skies
hawks flying high
preying on innocent
chickens
dolphins in shallow
waters
white sandy beaches
children chasing catching
colored frisbees
curves and bulges
strolling on the beach
summer time
i'll get some tan
lots of fun
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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