En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Poem about Poetry - Born poets, made poets

born poet, nature's gift
the beauty of god's essence
caught in every bloom and season

the years caught, preserved
in the lines and cracks
of a treasured antique
that never fails to excite a collector

made poet, from him
scholastic verses that trace every
perception, but blurly hits on
their exact sequence

the echo of the poetic self usually
missing - God did not put it there -
a crescent that entrances but
never as much as a glorious full moon

a blindman's quest to tell
the bends and squaring of a lane
after having been led
through it a hundred times

the thinly veiled struggle between
confidence and diffidence
the perceived and the real

the pain to put each
in its proper order the way
nature has done it, minus all
elements of pretensions, or ignorance
that come lose through each written word

a net sieving out the made poet

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not

The poet I am, and the poet I am not

‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Before a Poetry Reading

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Nature And Poet

Nature is the diet of a poet,
from natural beauty
poet derives immense pleasure,
drinks the nectar from the flowing down
Himalayan hilly stream, fulfils the long cherished
desire, translates into reality
the sweet lovely dream;
The tiny brook dazzles with the morn’s Sun beam.
Oh Lord Siva! Ye reside on ‘Kailash Mountain’;
Beside Ye flows down the magnificent
alluring mysterious
transparent water of the fountain.
Devotees pray thee for a bliss;
from the ‘Abode of peace’
Ye fulfil their desire and wish;
they sleep in the lap of Nature,
receive Nature’s kiss.
Poet is a worshipper, preacher
in the temple of Nature;
With indomitable enthusiasm
pens verses with tranquillity,
serenity, sanctity, being pure.
Man comes and goes;
poet’s verses remain for ever;
As a brook flows down eternally
in the lap of Nature.
Poet’s poem dazzles in golden letters
on the pages of history;
Depicts the Eternal Truth of Earth,
the beauty of Nature,
and the mystery.

poem by Vavroovahana Patra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Arguably John Clare

In the English language the greatest poet of Nature is arguably John Clare
Many of his bird and animal and insect poems are gems beyond compare
Yet he died in Northampton mental asylum where he had lived for many years
He penned such marvellous poetry though his life was full of tears.

His Nature poems of the nineteenth century are relevant to today
The Badger and The Landrail, The Fox and Clock a Clay
The Pettichap, The Cuckoo and The Thrush's Nest
When Writing about Nature Clare was at his best.

In death the poor shepherd poet from Helpston has come into his own
His poems poetic classics around the World are known
The greatest Nature poet of England as many would agree
A poet for the ages from a life of poverty.

As a boy amongst Nature in the fields of Helpston he knew of happiness
But sad to think one like him in life did not know of success
With any English Nature poet he favourably does compare
The legendary one of Helpston the reamarkable John Clare.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Innocent Beauty Vavroovahana Patra

Innocent beauty lives below the mountain;
Enjoys the beauty of the fountain.
Magnifies the beauty of Nature;
With sweet conversation contents poet’s desire.

Innocent Beauty is a beautiful flower;
In the lap of Nature is a lovely creature.
Her innocence provides inspiration;
She is a cosy rosy Beauty in the lap of Creation.

A little sweet conversation delights the poet day and night;
He is inspired to depict verses with delight.
Derives peace and pleasure;
Derives peace from the lap of Nature.

Beauty passes on the path delightfully;
Poet depicts poems gaily.
Enchants enjoying the Beauty;
She is a Brook of Gaiety.

Vernal Sun beam provides gay;
Beauteous looks the vernal day.
People enchant delightfully;
Poet surrenders on Mother’s feet gaily.

poem by Vavroovahana Patra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Poet

The poet can only utter the word fine
The poet has to bear the sorrow and the sin.

The poet can only say I am happy
The poet can only say I feel no aches no pain
The poet can only say I am not in loss
The poet can only say I am in the side of only gain.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The extra space

the poet when he attains maturity
in his works is a man distilled
by nature so that his verses
glitter like stars in the sky

his thoughts, his concepts
are a glassful of sparkling
vintage wine the years helped
decloak to reveal its
subtleties and finesse as it
waltzes off the loving warmth
of our tongue

the poet's evey move
will be scrutinised
by an audience who
the poet has helped unloosen
a button on the mind
so that now they think with
a new treasured space
the spectre of a plato and aristotle
confucius and rumi

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Poet Became His Own Poetry

A POET BECAME HIS OWN POETRY

A poet became his own poetry
And all he could be
Was lines and lines and lines
Inside and outside
Lines and more lines
Off- rhymes
Finding a phrase
A metaphor
Hearing listening
To sounds
His own mind made.

A poet became his own poetry
And went into the long sleep
Of being only what he wrote.
No one can know how
Reading these lines now
The poet and the poetry live
without themselves.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Poet Fears Failure

The poet fears failure
& so she says
"Hold on pen--
what if the critics
hate me?"
& with that question
she blots out more lines
than any critic could.

The critic is only doing his job:
keeping the poet lonely.
He barks
like a dog at the door
when the master comes home.

It's in his doggy nature.
If he didn't know the poet
for the boss,
he wouldn't bark so loud.

& the poet?
It's in her nature
to fear failure
but not to let that fear
blot out

her lines.

poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Over the expanse of the Poet's mind

over the expanse
of the poet's mind
a full moon hangs

a ripe round orange
full with the sweetness
and joy of the universe

every now and then
a tide of inspiration
suffuses the sea of
his intellect where
the allure of the
moon is magified in
dazzling lines the poet
lavishes his verses

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Poems Of John Clare

For years in Northampton mental asylum he battled his ghosts of despair
His Nation's finest poet of Nature the marvellous wordsmith John Clare
So many of his poems are relevant today
The one who loved Nature with words had a way.

The Helpston he grew up in not a cultural place
And though in that old Village his was a known face
They little realized the fame to them he'd bring
That poetry lovers World wide his praises would sing.

Without him less people of Helpston would know
The great poet of Nature of centuries ago
He died in Northampton mental asylum in dire poverty
Yet is there one greater Nature poet than he?

His flora and fauna poems have passed scrutiny's test
And as a Nature poet he was surely the best
Into the soul of Nature it seemed he could see
And his verses have outlived his mortality.

He never did enjoy his literary renown
And he died in the asylum in Northampton Town
But he was a true poet and his type are so rare
And old Helpston lives on in the poems of John Clare.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Spasm Of Earth Pain

poetic lines speak
poet rage in verse
land rape of forest
human inhabitants

now truly achieve
poetic awareness
define nature dying
dire death throes

hear sharp spasm
of deep earth pain
ice shelf cracks
a mile plus deep

effects of an earth
in severe physical
pain temperature
now fever fueled

fossil fuels burnt
view deforestation
cumulative effect
inherent in degrees

measured in earth
melt storm surges
floods unseasonal
temperatures ripe

upheavals loom on
horizons exposed
communicating to
heart mind poetic

hear all children
of one creation:
a poet seeking
to describe the

beauty of stillness
profound nature pulse:
moment perceived
siren embryonic lines

in remnant few moments
of poetic expression:
rudimentary warnings
are exposed reap peace

or reap supercell world wind
planet earth is winded
wind of change is imminent...

get wind of natures’ warning
do not wait, until to late, to see
which way the wind blows...

nature is putting the wind up
humanity, is man not nervous,
fearful enough to heed warning...

an ill wind is blowing blowing
the planet is winded needs rest
something is in the air disaster...

let the planet get her second wind
man has taken the wind out
of natures’ sails calm before storm...

the dooms day clock
is ticking dangerously down
time to wind it up now! ! !

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

This Poet Is Always Beside You

You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Poet is free

Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Am More A Poet

I AM MORE A POET THAN ANY OTHER KIND OF WRITER

I am more a poet than any other kind of writer-
But I am not a pure poet -
And not the best of what a poet could be-
I 'think' in my poetry
And it tells me what I dream and feel-
It is my soul-

God made me a poet
Perhaps not a good one as I would have liked to be-

It is so wonderful to be able to write these lines now
After long long hours of difficult silence.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Morning Sunshine

This poet is so seductive
This poet is now strange to me
This poet is so bold
This little girl doesn't want to see

The little girl has known this poet
ever since
But the little girl is already
tired of this poet
She just wants to play.
Not any passing minute
She hasn't have
any word of
allegory
metonymy and
simile
Take me away from this poet yet
the little girl must empty first
the words of this poet
Before she is free to play
in the morning sunshine
and go away from this busy poet

Do you think I'm too young to see?
Do you agree?

This poet won't let me
play out in the middle of the rain
This poet won't let me
see the afternoon sway
This poet won't let me
see the morning gay
Let me see the Morning Sunshine
Let me see!
But this poet
Won't let me

I'll just watch t.v
and sing
her poetry

poem by Mary Jesusa Villegas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Love Poet ~ Odd Poet

“Give some respite, oh odd poet”
Said a love poet with a smile
“Discard all that pain and regret
Sufferings and ideals futile

Give your readers some amusement
Draw them close with the nature’s pull
Feed them with beauty’s enchantments
And treat them with love, fad and zeal

Know oh odd poet, that all the arts
Are to amuse but not to chisel
The connoisseurs’ delicate hearts
Allow them some thrills to revel

Be a poet-doctor who can heal
Ailing hearts with sweet sonnets
Limericks and lyrics beautiful
But not with tears, wails and shouts

Thought the odd poet, for a while
And said, ” Yes! I’m a doctor-poet
I care my patients with concern real
I strive hard to give right treatment

I quite prefer bitter truth pills
Oh love poet, as cure permanent
To aesthetic morphine to lull
My patients into a false comfort

poem by Sathya Narayana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Rivers of a Poet

The Rivers of the Poet

The verses of the poet
vary from the rivers
though they also flow
while circulating inside
until materializing
in words and verses
that others can see.

The poet’s soul communions
with the exterior world
and flows like the rivers
with each inspiration.

The rivers of the poet
do dry inside of him
as he writes,
but it is forever
that they flow in written form
upon the sheets of paper.

That is how
the rivers of the poet
leave and manage to stay
until another river
appears and flows
with another inspiration.

poem by Juan Antonio Rodriguez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Silvery Beauty Vavroovahana Patra

Innocent silvery beauty passes on the way;
Poet beholds the beauty of Beauty with gay.
The creation of Nature is alluring;
Innocent Beauty is dazzling.

Beautiful face allures passes by;
Allures lovers with gay.
Beauty is the creation of Almighty;
Beholding, poet derives gaiety.

Beauty tranquilises poet's mind on the way;
Poet derives profound peace with gay.
Curly crisp wavy long cloudy hairs entice the poet;
Mind remains in the world of peace with delight.

Innocent beautiful face allures the poet in evening;
Poet's mind is delighting.
With a little conversation mind is peaceful;
Her sweet talk is delightful.

poem by Vavroovahana Patra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I read another poet I could not understand

I READ ANOTHER POET I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND

I read another poet I could not understand
The metaphors racing one after the other
The eternal thoughts taking on a new particular dress
Words and more words
Lines and more lines
Rushing toward meaning and beauty.

And in it all my simple not understanding,
My waiting to hear words that would return to me-
My understanding
That only by my own effort
By my reading again and again
By my willing to believe
Could I make another poet real.

But do I want another poet to be real
When I am a question,
And when there are already others real for me also?

Oh selfish little man oh poor poor reader-

Write your poem alone again
As if no one but you will ever be able to write
The poems which are real.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!