Related quotes: I wandered lonely as a...

An Irreverent Poem about Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils -
I was feeling rather pleased with myself
And my poetic skills,
When suddenly I got a fright -
I'd forgotten to take my pills!

The pills enable me to write
And rhyme and scan as well,
Some people say it is just sh*te
Exclaiming 'Go to hell! '
I write about flowers and beggars and sheep
And lots of soppy things,
Young women read my verse and weep
While angels flap their wings.

My name is Wordsworth (call me Bill)
And modern students find me a bore,
But I'll go on bleating forever until
They boot me out and lock the door! !

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

I wandered lonely as a cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daffodils

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet- Sonnet Needs Rhymes

Can you a Sonnet write without its rhyme?
Now people want the modern verse that's free;
As ideas get stuck and cramped with time,
A Sonnet's like leafless branches of tree!

A Sonnet's great for men who rhyme too well;
Its beauty lives in metre, rhythm, rhyme;
Yet, it can never run into 'pel-mel';
The sonneteer can write in any clime.

Why abhor rhymes and not a Sonnet write?
Each genre has its rules to comply with;
Why sleep all day and stay awake all night?
Rhyme-play is done by Kindergarden kith!

Why ridicule something you can't do well,
Much things are done by practice, Sonnets tell.

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pain Pills

I took too many pain pills
To see what it would do
I took too many pain pills
Now i'm thinking about you

I took too many pain pills
My body's shutting down
I took too many pain pills
I'm lying on the ground

I took too many pain pills
I'm wishing you were here
I took too many pain pills
My death is drawing near

I took too many pain pills
It's messing with my head
I took too many pain pills......

And I think i'm finnaly dead....

poem by Jessi lucas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Depression

I got these pills for christmas
but not from santa claus
i got them from the pharmacy
with the greengrocer next door.

They're really very nice pills
i take them all the time
and even when its raining
i say the weather's fine.

They're very cost effective
about ten bucks a week
and for all the good they do for me
they're really very cheap.

I have to say i'm nervous
each time i get a scrip
i whisper what i'm buying
they often have to read my lips.

You see i suffer from depression
and i'm scared if people know
they think i'm all peculiar
and say 'sorry gotta go'.

It's quite lonely being lonely
it's lonely by myself
it's lonely being a victim
of imperfect mental health.

poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vicodin

Pills, Pills, Pills
Pills I do adore

Pills, Pills, Pills
Yes, that's right-
Give me more!

'Look at her!
She's such a fien'd! '
'No, I'm not! '
-I try to scream
But, I know the truth
And, so do they
I'v got no chance
In them believing what I say
I'm addicted now
Completely hooked
It's not only my life
But, my sanity they took
All of my pain
All of my frustration
My pills took away
My fantasies of self mutilation
They make feel great
They make me complete
My neurosis they erase
My paranoia they delete
So I eat them for breakfast
For lunch, and for dinner
And, I no longer care whether
I'm a loser or a winner
I eat them all day
Shovel in one right after another
As I try to erase the pained faces
Of my Father and my Mother
And, it's like everybody watches
Yes, they just sit and they listen
As my eyes are tear streaked
So shiny they glisten
It is my pills that I love
It is my pills that I need
It is my pills that I live off of-
Live off of and feed
They make me feel happy
When I'm feeling sad
They make me feel good
When I'm feeling bad
They stop all the thoughts
They seem to flood through my brain
And, they make me feel normal
Even though we all know I'm not sane
Yummy.
I ate them again.
You know its funny?
They have become my only friend
All of this I explain
I scream and I shout
I just want my pills!
I don't care what anything else is about!
You can't have my pills
Give me them back
Give me ten more
Hell-give me a stack!
'Cause I'll die on these things
And, I'll do it in vain!
Because they feel so fu*kin' good
Painkillers really do kill all the pain.

poem by Nicole Settimi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Do I Write Poetry?

Why do I write Poetry?
The answer is not plain to see,
As a Legal Cashier I earn my Living,
For me and my family.

Why do I write Poetry?
Thoughts come to me in rhyme and verse,
They have to be worked on continually
To make those lines seem terse.

Why do I write Poetry?
One day HE’ll answer me,
Hopefully while I’m on this Earth,
Before I reach Eternity.

Why do I write Poetry?
Why must my lines scan and rhyme?
Not only on this occasion,
But forever, and all the time.

Why do I write Poetry?
Why put them on your website?
To leave my Thoughts and Visions of Life,
To you all and posterity.

poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem At The Approach Of Spring

It's spring. I suppose I ought to be impressed
By snowdrops, daffodils and all the rest -
Quite frankly I detest
The whole goddamn scene,
I'm sick of every platitude
That betrays some soppy poetic attitude -
I'm feeling quite depressed!
The world is young again and green
But, what the hell,
I feel about a hundred years old!
Yes, I detest
The way the poets are so obsessed
With snowdrops, daffodils and all the rest!
I suppose you've guessed
I've lost my poet's interest
In life and growing things,
The way the blackbird sings
And builds its nest,
I am a man apart
And nothing will ever comfort my empty heart.

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lucy In The Subway

Lucy sells her flowers for a quarter apiece
She wound up on the streets
She could not pay her lease
She used to want to save the world
But nothing to her matters now
She lays bout the subway station
Clad in dirty tatters now
Lucys in the subway with daffodils
She lost all her diamonds
And she sold all her pills
Shes been around the block
But shes had too many thrills
Lucys in the subway with daffodils
Lucy holds a dixie cup
Of sixty cents in change
And if she looks you in the eye
You see that shes deranged
She flew too near the sun
And fried her fragile wings
But to her faithful whisky bottle she clings
Lucys in the subway with daffodils
She lost all her diamonds
And she sold all her pills
Shes been around the block
But shes had too many thrills
Lucys in the subway with daffodils

song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Write Me

Aerosmith
Write Me
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
I said, the ways of the night are evil with eyes that love the day,
but I'll never never never never never get so far away.
I said write me, write me, write me.
I said write me, write me, write me.
Well there's nothin' I can see that'd ever make
me want to be without her she's good, she's good to me.
Said there's no way to explain the kind of feeling
that you get out in the rain she's good, she's good to me.
See this emptiness inside it makes me scream
it make me crawl out of my high, she's good, she's good to me.
I love her.
Write me a letter, write me a letter, write it today, I'm goin' away.
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
Well I've been so many places hidin' from the wind and the rain,
But you could write me a letter for to save me from a goin' insane.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Don't write me baby.

song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Overdose

As I overdose these pills,
Watch me die,
Bring me back to life if you can,
Pump these pills out of me,
Save me,
Can you save yourself,
Overdo on things,
Watch me as I overdose,
Watch as these doctors pump these pills out of me,
Go up on the hill,
Go scream your heart out,
I might hear you but I might be dead,
Poison leading through my body,
As I lay dying on floor,
Overdose these pills,
As I sleep,
Sleeping forever,
For know one knows what had happen to me,
The story of my life will end soon,
As soon as I overdose these pills,
Remember me when I am done,
Just one memory of me,
As I overdose on these pills that will end my life,
Thinking why should I end my life or how I should I get it,
I guess it natural for me to think these thoughts,
But someday soon I will overdose.

poem by Jennifer Rondeau
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Weeping angels

Down from heaven
to show the way to paradise
for the newly dead
the angels weep

So young
so innocent
so senseless
the angels weep

Eyes down
wings at there sides
words not exchanged
the angels weep

32 new angels
no need to earn there wings
like jesus they died for other peoples sins
in heaven they will weep

In heaven they will be called apon
to one day escort the new to paradise
and they will

With eyes down
wings at there sides
and tears in there eyes
weeping forever

God bless all who lost there lives today
and there familys
America loves you
and your scarfice will not be forgotten

poem by Vincent Armone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Purple Pill Palarver

I take my little purple pills each morning and each night.
My Doctor says I need them and he thinks that he is right.
But I don't really think i need them I just wanted you to know
I take 'em, 'cause I like 'em and they really make me go...

They make me hop and skip and jump and do the things I please.
They make me walk on water and talk to birds and trees.
I love my little purple pills and what they do for me.
They fill me with the feeling of pure ecstasy...

Though I'm really not addicted I can stop 'em if I must
But why take drastic measures my purple pills I trust
My Doctor called me in last week and said 'You'll have to stop.'
But I jumped up on his shiny desk in one tremendous hop.

I said 'Listen you old geezer, and listen very close.
You write a script out here and now and double up me dose.
Try to think about the suffering, try to think about the pain,
When my fingers wrap around ya' throat and strangle off your brain.'

I love my little purple pills and what they do for me.
They keep me calm and regular as you can plainly see.
If my Doctors say they're needed then who am I to doubt them.
But I'm really not addicted I just can't seem to live without 'em.

poem by Bridgid Patrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What They Write About

what they write about
are so poetic, and sometimes i feel
envious, and think all nights to also
write everything poetic like the way
they write about the moon, and stars,
and sun and clouds and hills and
valleys and blooming flowers
about summer,
but honestly speaking, i think every
poetic imagery has only become too
routinary, all metaphors conceived of,
are nothing but simply variations adopted
from one poet to another like an
uncaught plagiarist on the loose,
but somehow, i also like it when i think
that writing is just a hobby, a diversion,
if not a deviation from what
we really want to become.
well, i may be a sour grape for
staying just to be myself,
an imaginary toad in the real
garden untended by its owner.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Insomnia

Reading magazines and counting sheep to pass the time away
Hoping that tomorrows gonna bring a smile home again
Images of palm trees swaying in the wind on south beach
Takes me back to better days, summer days the everglades in june
My brain, my poor brain
My brain, my poor brain
Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia
Flying high in golden skies, Im flicking channels in my mind
Finding my utopia a different chapter in a book
Thinking back to younger days as I escape in coopers break
It takes me back to 84 the futures knocking at my door
My brain, my poor brain
My brain, my poor brain
Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia
Turning off a switch inside me, leaving all the stress behind me
Flying over streams and houses, passing over the wye valley
It takes me back to 84 the futures knocking at my door
My brain, my poor brain
Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia.

song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song Of A Rhyming Man

I love the sound of rhyming words like Dan will rhyme with Ann
And I could never be a poet just call me rhyming man
This modern verse too much for me it's way above my head
Though modern poets are now the rage and Rhyme is with the dead.

I love the sound of rhyming words, I love the verse that rhyme
To blank or free or non rhyme verse prefer it every time
And there's many who will disagree and most will say I'm wrong
But give me ballad or rhyme verse or good old rhyming song.

You may say I am limited and with you most will agree
That I'm not into modern verse of twenty first century
But I've been an old style rhyming man since nineteen seventy three
And I am in my sixties now and there's no changing me.

I love the sound of rhyming words like Dan will rhyme with Ann
And I could never be a poet just call me rhyming man
And I am guilty of no sin and I can't see no crime
In liking sound of rhyming verse and loving words that rhyme

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Do I Write

I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go

I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain

At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down

I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it

I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am

poem by Wilfred Mellers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Above the Poets Station

You’re a poet, as they say
All you write is poetically full of art
Wince when you read your stuff
As from literacy you stand apart

Such great depiction, fiction
wordplay and poet structures
Diction, contradiction, dead
good words and writing such as
Ballads, salads and other kinds
of verses with great meaning
Acrostic, Agnostic and all other
words that see you preening
Rhyming, timing and all the stuff
that makes you look artistic
Hard to read and nothing
really makes your stuff simplistic
Excreta, meter, rhyming
All about your brother Peter
Verses with great timing
all with just a single rhyme repeater
Arty words but never farty
Dressed up in a dictionary ‘bonnet’
Time for wordsmith party
Can you find a rhyme for this – yes Sonnet!
Who was it that wandered
all around as lonely as a cloud?
Are clouds lonely? Verily it’s pondered
Do they seek your friendship in a crowd?
I.Q, Haiku, do your readers even like you?
Tanka w****er, you’re so on the ball
So pretentious’ does that saying ever strike you
Jack of all trades master of sod all

You’re a poet, as they say
and all you say is poetically full ofshit
Read up or down, I’m pretty sure
you’ll never find much sense in it

Though some was meant!

poem by Stephen Stirk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's nice to be concise

I think it’s nice
To be concise
In everything you write

To be slightly terse
With all your verse
Is usually to write right

One should take their time
When composing rhyme
And try to keep it light

Maintain their meter
Try to make it neater
And never ever lose sight

Try not to doze
Whilst deep in prose
don’t write too late at night

Try not to swell your sonnet
Nor Try to dwell upon it
Because it could end up quite a fright

You don’t want to try to
End up with a haiku
Lord knows that wouldn’t be right…but

I just think it’s nice
To be concise…
In everything you write

poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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