Poem about Poetry - Poetry Farm
Poetry,
the fruits of my mind
which i pluck and
place on paper
to refresh your mind and soul
they ripen in the mind
and become nagging thoughts
that push at me each day
to get them off the mental farm
onto the multifarious world where
they could travel
and befriend intelligences
from all all over and if fortunate
germinate in other mental farms
to come out with hybrids
that could enrich this world
with more lively words, rhymes
and cheerful people.......
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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At A Loss For Words
Some time had passed since a verse had come to mind
a mental blockage I have had, nothing seemed to rhyme.
No words of creation the supply had gone
no thoughts, or imagination, nothing, not a one.
The source had stopped for some strange reason,
as though there was a break in the poetry season.
I tried and I tried, but nothing would come together,
not even with a change in the weather.
In the early hours I woke up and had to pick up a pen,
for some strange reason I began writing again.
It is quite odd and I’ll never get to know
why periods of poetry come and go.
But I’m thankful when words and lines come to me
it is as though they are sent telepathically.
It doesn’t matter if the poem is incorrect or good
or if it’s taken as silly, or is misunderstood.
As long as it relays that moment’s thought
an instinctive message that cannot be taught.
To me it doesn’t matter if its only two lines long,
or whether it has many verses, or even sounds wrong.
When thoughts of words or sentences come to mind
I have to write them down no matter the place or time.
If I don’t record the thought on paper right away
they become lost forever in the space of night and day.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Three a.m. Burst
I was woken in the early hours of this morning
by an overwhelming mental burst.
My mind bombarded me with random words
and compelled me to write poetic verse.
Words were branded upon my thoughts,
like initials on the hide of a steer.
But then strings of words in a jumbled mess
in different colours began to appear.
Like calculated numbers, words fell into place
adding their value to the score.
Another sentence brought another verse,
which begged for even more.
By breakfast time the burst was over,
the words had been laid to rest.
Several pieces of paper had been filled,
and my mind had been freed from stress.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Go Mental
Out of the hospital out against my will
Life is so beautiful Ive gone mental
Mental mental
Ive killed my family they thought I was an oddity
Life is so beautiful I am a vegetable
Mental mental
Ive gone mental Ive gone mental
Staring at my goldfish bowl popping phenobarbitol
Life is so beautiful Ive gone mental mental mental
Sitting on my window sill life is so beautiful
Ive become irrational Ive gone mental
Mental mental Ive gone mental
song performed by by Ramones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mind Dimension
The mental breath condition
perceives of comprehensive
memory device,
The galaxy of mental thoughts
moving to essential stage of mind,
working in a different category
of experience in one way to another
memory flow from within the
mind listed in the brain to view
every degree of event,
thoughts inside mind, sight seeing;
Illusion, intention, opinion,
to the way personal knowledge.
Copyright (c) Jocelyn Dunbar
17th of August 2006
poem by Jocelyn Dunbar
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I Am A Soldier
I am a soldier
It started as a dream, a simple soldier from the street getting lost in a shacking world
I took a job as a street keeper but in my mind I am a mental child
From time to time I would battle in my dream trying to win a lost war
I open my eyes in the middle of the day saying goodbye to my boss as I walk away
I walk down street only to tried my limit, in my mind, my distant is unlimited
In the world I am the forgotten soldier lost in an open battle field
“I am the forgotten soldier, living as a legend on the street of nowhere, trying to take my place in this world”
I tried to understand my place in this world as I look side to side
I turn around to see who is targeting this lost soldier
Is my lost soul still a threat in the eye s of the world or am I the forgotten soldier that was blindly cast out
Away in a mental battle field
Please remember this young soldier and help me find my way in what remain of me
I am the forgotten soldier living as a mist in the eye of many
I am a living legend on the street of no where
“I am the forgotten soldier, living as a legend on the street of nowhere trying to take my place in this world”
Find this forgotten soldier and welcome me in a peaceful neighborhood where my mind would freely win the war
“I am the forgotten soldier, living as a legend on the street of nowhere trying to take my place in this world”
poem by Robert Otim
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The universe is of the nature of a thought or sensation in a universal Mind … To put the conclusion crudely — the stuff of the world is mind-stuff. As is often the way with crude statements, I shall have to explain that by "mind" I do not exactly mean mind and by "stuff" I do not at all mean stuff. Still that is about as near as we can get to the idea in a simple phrase. The mind-stuff of the world is something more general than our individual conscious minds; but we may think of its nature as not altogether foreign to feelings in our consciousness … Having granted this, the mental activity of the part of world constituting ourselves occasions no great surprise; it is known to us by direct self-knowledge, and we do not explain it away as something other than we know it to be — or rather, it knows itself to be.
quote by Arthur Eddington
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Purpose Of Poetry
When first Man strove his thoughts to form,
New words became his goal,
Expressing hot and cold and warm
And spirit, body, soul
And heart and mind and conscience, too,
His dreams and his extremes
And ever-changing points of view
Turned into reams and reams...
From papyrus to paper size,
From words etched into stone,
Are truths writ there before our eyes
And laws that must be known...
As writers scratched their inky quills,
Inventors thought ahead
And simply by their thinking skills
Came fountain pens instead...
Computers came, both good and bad,
At our own risk, take care...
Keep saving all those rhymes we had,
Or they're lost in thin air...
But when they're saved and shared abroad,
Just think what's been acquired...
By some new special train of thought
The world could be inspired...
Thus poetry is in our hands,
Our heartfelt legacy,
Through which the whole world understands
Each psalm God caused to be...
Each birthday card that wishes well
With rhymes of fondest love,
Beguiles us with its magic spell,
As if from God above...
From hymns to pop songs day-by-day,
The world is made aware
That poetry is here to stay
With wondrous words to share...
Be thankful, then, for precious prose,
For favourites old and new,
With hidden secrets that God knows
And prophecies for you...
poem by Denis Martindale
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A Journey Of A Poet
A journey begins with
A thought in our mind
Words are chosen and formed.
Lines of poem
Well Written with meanings
With words of emotions and expressions
A poet starts with
An inspiration of mind,
An aspiration in soul mind
With reflection
On our life experience
We start to
Compose some
Wonderful poetry
Expressing our innermost thoughts
With deep contemplation
To put them in poetry words
A journey begins when
A poet takes his imagination
To a place where
No one ever dream or imagine before.
A poet's journey ends by
Writing another lovely poem
And deep reflection
A poet remains
As a poet
When he or she
Continue to
Write and Share
lovely poems with the world.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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The Mind Of A Poet
If horses could fly,
I could have been the first person in heaven;
But, here i am today as a bard.
If roses could smile,
I could have love all the woman in the world;
But, here i am today as a teacher.
If donkeys could teach,
I could have been the first Professor on earth;
But, here i am today with my mind.
All that muses teaches the world,
All that is lively makes me glad;
This is the mind of a poet unknown.
I am sitting next to you and,
I am seeing what you do;
Like the love of poetry.
I am the eye to many,
I am the mind of many,
The love of a muse is what i bring to you;
This is the mind of a poet unknown.
The love of poetry,
The love of a muse;
The mind of a poet to the world so sweet!
If horses could fly,
I could have been the first person in heaven.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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It Is All In The Mind
think my dear, it is all in your mind
think beautiful
and you will be beautiful
think all the good things you have
and you will be good
think that you are this success and
you will surely be one, my dear
so why bother
about what this world has to say to you
it is you that matters
it is your mind your soul in you that shapes the contours
of your flesh and body
use your mind that way you use
all the wisdom in you
think about beauty, the truth, the good
focus your mind, change this cup, this saucer, this spoon
change this world of ash into flowers and butterflies
learn this art
this subjectivity, this feeling, this poetry
it is all in the mind
and matter is now bereft of power to hurt you
it is
the mind, the soul, the idea, so think some more
it is the real you, this rational you, think some more
with your beautiful mind, change this world of ash into
this garden of Eden
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Booby Trap
perfect beauty
from toronto
new attraction
or some heartthrob
was it all just a deathtrap,
pulled me in and then shut snaps? stupid.
did it make you
come to get me?
or am i just
going mental?
i am not a pushover.
how did i get run over? stupid.
play like a lil bitty boy. (play on)
with your grubbery toy (play on)
oh, its just a matter time (play on)
till the day im gonna get mine.
i am not a
play like
did it make you
come to get me?
or am i just
going mental? (going mental)
or am i just (or am i just)
going mental? (going mental)
or am i just (or am i just)
going mental? (going mental)
(or am i just)
(going mental)
(or am i just)
(going mental)
i am not
song performed by by Weezer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Silence Of Edgar's Mind
Edgar had an evil approach
to his writing and to his
poetry that he composed
inside his mind and on
the paper that he wrote
upon.
His characters inside
his stories and poetry
had a shattered affect
that seem to have consumed
his mind as he wrote inside
the silence of his mind.
The silence of Edgar's
mind, gave him the evil
and the turmoilless thoughts
that shaped his short stories
and poetry into what it became
today.
But when i read his
poetry i can feel
his tortured soul
having so-much contorl
over him, that him
begins to battle
with his chastisng
emotions and his soul
That was forever making
him write the poetry
and the shoet stories
that he was chosen to
write until the end of
his life that he lived,
As he found himself
so desparately etched
with the loneliness
of being who he was as
a person.
As i got inside the
silence of Edgar Allan
Poe's mind i found a
constant struggle of
selfless-convictions
coming undone before me
as i read his work out loud.
poem by Erie Morganmaples
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They Live Here
There have often been times when I have shut the world out-
But never fear, for I carry a key on a string inside of my mind-
A key that unlocks that door to madness, as
Threatening people have often wondered
What goes on inside that chamber of lunacy?
What is happening inside of the mind of
This person we cannot reach?
This miraculous key I shall never lose,
For when I unlock this door I enter
This world of my spectacular fantasies or often called by others, delusions-
I have heard the voices of angels and
Voices of sorcerers' nightmares-
But also, the words of my favorite songs and
I have reached that palace in the sky where
I can converse with the people who live
Inside the fortress of my mind-
Surrounded by a world of people I do not trust,
I often shut that world out and as I take that key
That hangs off of the string of my imagination
And I unlock that magical door that leads to
The community of friends who dwell inside of my mind-
That supernatural land that belongs to me alone-
And I am never alone because I carry my dream world with me
Every place that I travel, whether I travel near or far away,
I can always converse with these people who listen to me
And respond to their intimate conversation-
Softly intriguing and sometimes heart rendering -
I am the queen of this place I have created for myself,
Canonized a saint of my own salvation-
Other people in the surrounding outside world
May laugh, ridicule or simply not understand
Why I have escaped reality- and why I do not weep
Or do not seem destitute in my solitude- they do not own that extraordinary key
That unlocks the gate that leads to the land of my dreams-
And all that they can hear are cars dashing down the boulevard day and night,
And other everyday sounds on a typical day in their world of veracity-
Their tears may fall with the rain that never falls upon my world, and
In spite of what they believe-the meaning of the voices inside my mind,
They shall never know…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Sick In The Mind (Hackers)
Some people are sick in the mind
And sadly, they do not know it.
Mental disorders are easy to find
And those who indulge, their sanity forfeit.
Sick in the mind and rotten in the heart
Wallowing in darkness of soul
Malcontent they like to impart
In emptiness of Self they are never whole.
Those sick in the mind will someday decay
Themselves eventually get corrupted
Mark this, that there will come a day
That even in their own minds, they are rejected.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With What the Stress Has Taught
Though I have not a reason for my stress
The world begins to test me once again...
I love my life but now I must confess
That I would not mind if it were to end.
The mental tension has my life confined
And there is no nepenthe for my strain,
But still the life I love does ask my mind
To burn and blacken out in daily pain.
Why must the burden be too large to bear?
Why does it snap the spirit like a twig?
Why does the mind commit to such affairs
That give us but another grave to dig?
Though stress ignites the hell within my thoughts,
My life improves with what the stress has taught.
Beautiful, Fair and Kind
For all the world would say to me
She is beautiful, she is fair and she is kind
I reply to the world in no uncertain tone
That all of that is true I shall not deny
But alas her heart it is not mine
So what value I place upon such beauty
Cannot be accounted or held at ransom
For it is a passing thought in fact
It may well become forgotten
Or misused for whatever effect I desire
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
So the tired old saying goes
Do the blind only look upon me
What eyes see no beauty in my soul
Or is my lack of wealth my mental acclaim
A poor madman’s mind the reason
I remain without another’s heart
Still the world presents to me and says
She is beautiful, she is fair and she is kind
I acknowledge and agree whole hearted
But alas she is not ready for my mind
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Dedicated References To Origins Of Thoughts
dedicated references to origins of thoughts
as always record reference correspondence
which inspires sparks mind soul remembers
where thoughts originated to celebrate lives
which enrich our life mind soul experiences
as souls we expand grow in each others eyes
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Poetry and Poet
Poetry is poet's inner world,
Churnings of Self in distinct words;
Poetry is not black and white,
Grey, nuances of diverse hues
In kaleidoscopic word-networks
That capture all formless clouds
In the deep sky of the poet's world.
Poetry is poet's outer world,
His expressions in proper norms;
Bare thoughts, his rogue fights within
Dressed well for the popular nod;
Poet's world, a messy snake-pit,
A burrow of rats, snakes, insects,
Fighting to spring in riotous words,
Filter'd for world in elegant words.
Poetry is never a judgement,
Sheer whispers from heart to heart
Beyond what words do transport;
Words in lilt and dance, poetry,
Links they bond, cadence they ring,
Makes a poetry, a true poetry,
A mirror of poet's inner turmoils,
His hopes and strengths in right words,
Indecisions he suffer, his deeper Self.
Poetry is release from inner cauldron,
Steams from within in guise of words,
Quiet flames of the inner hearth
That flared for long finding a vent;
Poetry, a relief, a joy of sharing,
Sharing the Self with the world outside,
Back to the source from where all came;
Poet is the priest, poetry, his hymns,
Offered to the world for peace and grace.
Poetry sprouts from the morass of soul
And grows out of poet like pipal tree
And outstays him;
Fleeting is poet, but not his poems,
Poetry is the poet universalised;
It sucks his thoughts, sucks his force,
Spreads outwards to enrich the world
And leaves the poet richer and strong
Like fire and good deeds always are,
How much you share, so richer you are.
poem by Praveen Kumar
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Poor Lukey
Poor Lukey knows of the black dog of despair
Just thirty years of age with gray in his brown hair
A mental illness has ruined his life
To it he has lost his children who are with their mum his ex wife
In and out of mental institutions his mind in disarray
One without a future that does seem sad to say
At present in a suicidal mood life for him Earthly Hell
In a mental institution in his padded cell
One must pity poor Lukey for the hard life he endure
He is a good person in many ways pure
Of any hope of happiness he lives in despair
For people like him life does seem so unfair
The black dog of despair has entered his mind
But in his saner moments he is honest and kind.
poem by Francis Duggan
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