Drunken lines
this country once passions reigned
barbarians and moralists
galloped into the fray.
its multi-faceted poets'
drunken lines echo
heartfelt cries of builders
who carried slabs up mountains,
crafty empress tying ropes
round people's bellies to stifle revolts,
and palace butchers who
devoured manhood
for the king's womenfolks,
female infants' unkind fate with mother's towels.
yet this record it shows
with pride of birth numbers.
the verses of drunken poets
that lent a paradise for
a moment's escape from these dungeons of madness
the gifts of Li Bai, Su Tong Po...
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.
quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Territories
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
I see the middle kingdom between heaven and earth
Like the chinese call the country of their birth
We all figure that our homes are set above
Other people than the ones we know and love
In every place with a name
They play the same territorial game
Hiding behind the lines
Sending up warning signs
The whole wide world
An endless universe
Yet we keep looking through
The eyeglass in reverse
Dont feed the people
But we feed the machines
Cant really feel
What international means
In different circles
We keep holding our ground
In different circles
We keep spinning round and round
We see so many tribes -- overrun and undermined
While their invaders dream of lands theyve left behind
Better people -- better food -- and better beer
Why move around the world when eden was so near?
The bosses get talking so tough
And if that wasnt evil enough
We get the drunken and passionate pride
Of the citizens along for the ride
They shoot without shame
In the name of a piece of dirt
For a change of accent
Or the colour of your shirt
Better the pride that resides
In a citizen of the world
Than the pride that divides
When a colourful rag is unfurled
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Otherside
Somewhere in the mystic future, on the road to Paradise,
There’s a very pleasant country that I’ve dreamed of once or twice,
It has inland towns, and cities by the ocean’s rocky shelves,
But the people of the country differ somewhat from ourselves;
It is many leagues beyond us, and they call it Otherside.
And there is among its people more Humanity than Pride.
Now, a social system never was complete, without a flaw,
And among the Othersiders there is love and gold and war.
But if one is fairly beaten he can turn upon the track,
For in such a case there isn’t any shame in going back;
And a broken-hearted mortal never thinks of suicide,
For he finds amongst his brothers more Humanity than Pride.
And the lords of that creation never scoff at simple things,
Never scorn the lad who’s tethered to his mother’s apron-strings.
He will speak of “home” and “mother” without shame when he’s inclined,
Yet the blow he strikes in battle mostly leaves a mark behind.
They are brave against invasion; they can die in Otherside,
Though there is among the people more Humanity than Pride.
Poets sing in simple language that a child might understand,
Yet their songs are sung for ages by the elders of the land;
And the people know that Freedom never shall be wanting guards,
For the foremost in the vanguard waves the banner of the Bards.
O the poets march together, and at home in peace abide,
For there is amongst the people more Humanity than Pride.
And when I am very weary, ’neath a load of “worldly care”,
There are times when I’ve a longing just to hump my bluey there;
But alone I could not reach it, for the track is barred to one—
I must take the nations with me—all mankind must go, or none—
And we’d trample one another on the way to Otherside,
For I find among my brothers less Humanity than Pride.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Of English Verse
Poets may boast, as safely vain,
Their works shall with the world remain;
Both, bound together, live or die,
The verses and the prophecy.
But who can hope his lines should long
Last in a daily changing tongue?
While they are new, envy prevails;
And as that dies, our language fails.
When architects have done their part,
The matter may betray their art;
Time, if we use ill-chosen stone,
Soon brings a well-built palace down.
Poets that lasting marble seek
Must carve in Latin or in Greek;
We write in sand, our language grows,
And, like the tide, our work o'erflows.
Chaucer his sense can only boast,
The glory of his numbers lost!
Years have defaced his matchless strain,
And yet he did not sing in vain.
The beauties which adorned that age,
The shining subjects of his rage,
Hoping they should immortal prove,
Rewarded with success his love.
This was the generous poet's scope,
And all an English pen can hope,
To make the fair approve his flame,
That can so far extend their fame.
Verse, thus designed, has no ill fate
If it arrive but at the date
Of fading beauty; if it prove
But as long-lived as present love.
poem by Edmund Waller
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Why People Become Poets Poets Dreams
have you ever wondered why people become poets?
poets have been around since the beginning of time
and they have been mostly men, speaking of their loves, life
and emotions.
famous love stories, plays, movies, all seen thru a poets eyes.
just as the centuries have gone by and everything in life has changed
so have the poets.
there is now as many and if not more female poets
than male poets. why? because they are more sensitive to emotions
and are not afraid to show or speak of it, unlike men who want to
show the 'MACHO MAN IMAGE'
poets see life thru different eyes for different situations
and write about it in so many forms, and see the light and
the darkness in everything, including the good and bad.
it may be just one word, or a line, or verse
that enters their mind to start creating
what will become a poem,
what is the poets dream that you will create?
a love story, a sad story, one of fear or hate, or passion
one of beauty, or war.
so many things to choose from- but it doesn’t matter
what you may choose, you must take the first step.
just as reading this is the first step to start on your way to writing poetry
and opening up your mind and soul.
touching other people and receiving comments
and feedback on your writings will help you to improve
on your weak areas.
some people do it because they are looking for fortune and fame
while others want to communicate with others, and others
just to see their names on something other than
a bill being paid.
poem by Louis Rams
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No One Here Is A Republican
Anymore, there is poverty aplenty,
We could be drunken poets
On these sweetly-sad wino streets.
Keep my copy of the Wall Street Journal, luv,
No one here is a Republican.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.
quote by T.S. Eliot (1920)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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We As Poets
We as poets must command a sacred accent over a language of our choice,
We as poets must gift the minds of a failing generation,
We as poets must demand a clear explanation and a fair occupation,
We as poets must dissolve into particles and dust if we have not known enough,
We as poets must destroy the living standards of low quality,
We are to be the poetry of utmost perception and suffering.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I Don't Know What Happens!
I see perfect rhymes
faultless verses
the sleeping beauty
Words where no one has
Poets saying like no one can say
rhythms, sounds, letters
harmony, balance and
for all this phenomenal poets
for all this talent be humble and
Please, say a hello to them! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Moment In Paradise
Oh, yeah
She never cried, she only tried
To fly beyond her dreams
No walls around her mind
Deep inside shed try to hide
That she was way beyond her means
No borders and no lines
She said that its your duty to save your soul
To save it for someone
Moment in paradise
Just a moment in paradise
Oh, yeah
Moment in paradise
Just a moment in paradise
Oh, yeah
She floated out upon the wind
That blew my thoughts into the night
She knew the things she had to know
She drifted high above my mind
Blew my brains out, did alright
I think she knew it all along
She said that its your duty to save your soul
To save it for someone
Moment in paradise
Just a moment in paradise
Oh, yeah
Moment in paradise
Just a moment in paradise
Oh, yeah
Oh, yeah, oh, yeah, oh, yeah
She said that its your duty to save your soul
To save it for someone
Moment in paradise
Just a moment in paradise
Oh, yeah
Moment in paradise
Moment in paradise
Moment in paradise
Moment in paradise
Oh, yeah
Moment in paradise
Moment in paradise
Just a moment in paradise
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ocean Of Inspiration
Mother Veenapanee is the Deity of Deities;
She is an ocean of Delight.
Devotees chant the sweet name with gaiety;
Poets surrender on the cosy feet with Delight.
Mother Saraswatee is a brook of inspiration;
Poets enchant with new creation.
Pray mother delightfully;
Devotees surrender on the flowery feet gaily.
Mother eradicates illiteracy;
Is wisdom’s Deity.
Appears in vernal morn;
Beauteous looks the chilly dawn.
Mother shows the bright path;
Depicting honey verse poets derive mirth.
Their names dazzles in golden letters in pages of history;
The poems inspire the nation enthusiastically.
Mother’s bliss showers on the sons day and night;
She is a brook of inspiration and Delight.
Loves all innocent creatures;
Providing conscience contents their desire.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Poets & Slaves
Here comes the mechanical sun
working on the bones in the dry old creek bed
mist on the old river bend yellow box hangs like it's dead
the emerald silo is rusting from the inside.
You want to run like the wind you'll never come here again
you want a world you can save so c'mon you poets and slaves.
Circus olympia pulls into town
the dwarf and the fat man head out for beer
there is no lion that roars to one can stand on the horse
tomorrow is a no show the fortune teller cries.
You want to go down in flames you're gonna crash like the waves
you can't remember your name so come on you poets and slaves.
We got everything we need sugar and beef
we got some good ideas
we got the steering wheels and rolling stock too
clouds came down low on the corn
meat ants are gathering like storms
somewhere in the quiet wild darkness a crocodile cries.
You gotta you gotta you gotta
c'mon you poets and slaves.
You got to arrest the decay you're sinking down in the bay
you can't remember your name c'mon you poets and slaves.
You've got to count what you've made
you're gonna pass like the days
stop time and head for the stage.
And c'mon you poets and slaves
c'mon you poets and slaves.
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A poor pen
Pen is
Not great...
On the paper...
poet write at
Moon+ sky...
Stars...
Earth and sea...
All are in poets
Hand only
At poets hand...
Poets is think...
Poets dream...
Thats all
pen is very poor
Noock out...
undrestad to try...
Try too under stand....
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Female Poem
The female poem
Saunters through the autumn leaves
Among the secret deities
And the drunken trees
Making metaphors and myths,
The language of the goddess.
She carries within her
Infants of epic imagery,
The children of ancient tales
And the proverbs of truth.
Listen to her speak
In the mesmerizing songs of eternity
That open the heart
And reveal the soul.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Our Games Of Chance, A Game Of Chess
whether you like it or not
(are you a man who wants everything to be too secure
without any risk at all?
say no.We cannot proceed further)
our lives are games of chances
every moment is a choice
every hour is a risk
every minute is a bait
sometimes we are the pawns and they are the kings
and bishops and queens
i am talking now of the game of chess
sometime we kick back and we become horses
and we invoke the power of the church
we take the robes of divine power: Jesus is King!
the King in us gets authoritative and checks the
queen of her fidelity
we impose taxing obligations
we make love and take the necessary romance
in a further note however, i like the feelings of being the spy.
roving eyes, ten to twenty disguises, and when caught in flagrante
i always say, 'Hey, i am just an ordinary poet!
what can poets do? Can they do harm to you?
Can they put the bombs and kill thousands of innocent people?
Do they ever know what 9/11 is? Or ' What do poets know about middle east issues, ? The Palestine Thing? The human rights problem?
What do poets say about international humanitarian law concerns? '
Perfect! Too perfect! The agree on one thing: Poets are fools!
They laugh and cry! Those mean and serious thinkers of our society!
They bound me
And in pity
They all set me free!
Like a turtle, I was thrown to the coolest river...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The 'budding' Poets
The 'budding' poets in early teens
Pen down here lyrics on love!
They write lines on ravishing beauty and craving eyes!
The 'budding' poets here flee from care
And embrace the images silhouetted
On the canvas of their dime-heroines of infatuations!
My past asks me, ' What about your lines in my times? '
I keep my eyes closed for some time and answer him,
' I was innocent of course, but a coward too then'.
I see the budding poets marching ahead
Enchanting the magic of sweet love and nectar
And I applaud them for their courage.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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My India
MR VAVROO VAHANA PATRA, ODISHA, INDIA.
(Dedicated to Anna Hazare)
MY INDIA
Majestic are her mountains;
Melodious are her fountains.
Splendid are her vast oceans;
Mysterious is God’s creation.
India is rich in rivers
And beautiful innocent creatures
God endowed Earth with Nature;
This is the art of the Supreme power
Lovely are the flowers & creepers;
Nature fulfils all creatures’ desires.
Birds fly in the sky merrily.
Poets depicts them in verses gaily
Mild breeze blows day & night.
Deities, devotees, poets, live with delight.
My India is an abode of Gods & hermits,
People of all religion live in it.
They live under the umbrella of democracy
Politics works hand-in- hand with bureaucracy
Industrialist providing employment develop the nation
Honest politicians serve the poor in God’s creation
India smiles with many a film industry
Film stars enchant us with their beauty
Co-operation is the pride of Indian citizens
Poets and scientists bring forth new creation.
Thank you jai hind, cell- +919853390060
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Ocean of wisdom Vavroovahana Patra
Mother Vinapanee blessth to make wise;
Illiterates’ become wise with her bliss.
Appears in profound solitude;
Loves poets’ gratitude.
Mother is a Divine Deity;
Is the cause of Earth’s Beauty.
With her bliss poet’s name dazzles in passes of history;
She is a Broke of Delight.
With her bliss poets are immortal on Earth;
Her love is an Ocean of mirth.
Mother loves poets, singers, film stars;
With profound love she contents their desires.
Mother provides inspiration to live peacefully;
People being educated live delightfully.
Provides qualitative education;
Is the benevolent Deity of creation.
Mother eradicates illiteracy;
In all people plays waves of delight.
Poet’s surrender on the feet of Mother;
Contents poet’s desire.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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