Poem about Poetry - Verses in the air
i am a frog
in a well
i have
met no great poets
only read
their works
on paper
stupid
of course
on papers
did they print
their verses
in the air?
but each verse
that flow from their ink
of course makes
some changes
to the world
their verses
float around
help people
discover
a new world
make a new world
for some
and complicate
some worlds
which ever group
you belong to
About Tu Fu
inspired by
I met Tu Fu on a mountaintop
in August when the sun was hot.
Under the shade of his big straw hat
his face was sad-
in the years since we last parted,
he'd grown wan, exhausted.
Poor old Tu Fu, I thought then,
he must be agonizing over poetry again.
Li Po
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
About Tu Fu
I met Tu Fu on a mountaintop
in August when the sun was hot.
Under the shade of his big straw hat
his face was sad--
in the years since we last parted,
he'd grown wan, exhausted.
Poor old Tu Fu, I thought then,
he must be agonizing over poetry again.
Li Po
tr. Hamil
The literary life
We went to the house
of Afrikaans poetry together
on weekends and spent hours there
and listened to the master lecture
and met some poet friends
around a table
with a drink or two.
Sometimes the poetry was Afrikaans,
English, Dutch or even German
and we learnt form poets
around the globe.
We discussed what we had
just learned,
asked about his views
of certain things,
or what people in the group think,
discussed poetry, life,
sometimes even politics
and philosophy
as individuals of a group.
We read our poems,
listened to other poets,
reading their own,
analysed every word, every line
comprehending meaning, impact
and sharpened our art.
Your poetry was really great,
from when I read the very first line,
but mine had still to grow
from rhyme into free verse.
At times I hated comments
that forced me to move,
but realized that it was meant
with great goodwill
and even though I was in pain
I sharpened my verse
and free verse brought
a clearer ear, making it
much easier to write
great rhyme.
Now that I had to leave Pretoria,
weekends I really miss
that great writing school,
new poems from great poets,
learning something there,
experiencing poetry at its core,
lectures from that great master
and verses of his own,
but much more
your poems.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A World Poetry Day!
Everyday is ever poetry day for poet!
World poetry day is poetry celebration
Especially for world people to honour
Poetry of all writings of the world ever!
Novels, stories and articles are in vogue
But poetry cannot be ever left as vague!
Matter of a book, a few pages of story or
An article of length Poetry says in a line!
Poetry is the essence of matters in nutshell,
A seed that grows into big tree with leaves,
Flowers and fruits to please and guide all
To live life better loving Nature and lives!
Sans the inspiration of religious philosophy
Said in echoing verses of world where is it
One can get solace and wisdom to face woes
Struggling on the ocean of life to swim or sink?
Poetry is oldest of old medium yet a modern one
Brief as telegraphic language conveying message
Beautifully, musically and echoingly as mantra
In avatars new ever using words and forms old!
World celebration of poetry day today is wonder
For poets and lovers of poetry on modern websites
Just as enjoying old wine in new bottles all over
World of human beings unique in whole Universe!
poem by Ramesh T A
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On A Famed Poet
Forgive me if his greatness I cannot seem to note
His poems never rhyme but he is a famed poet
By literary experts considered to be knowledgeable and wise
And for his poems he has won many a prize.
Though poetry is not very popular today
The poet of the poetry lovers the experts do say
In University literary magazines students his verses read
And they all agree he's a fine poet indeed.
Of poets and poetry I must confess so little I know
My favourites old rhymers from ages ago
On the poetry I do not like most experts agree
That it is well written and quite good poetry.
Forgive me if the worth in his verse I can't see
His non rhyming poetry does nothing for me
Of reading blank verse I do quickly grow tired
My truth is by such stuff I do not feel inspired.
The experts on his poetry great interest show
And his stature as a poet only seems to grow
Of him great things are written and great things we hear
And good luck to him on his literary career.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poetry holds the veil
Poetry, like Joseph, draws a written veil across its face,
Poetry speaks from behind the shawl of its own intrigue.
My beloved would know my plight if he read my verse,
He would sense my pain if he heard my cries.
Poetry, like the brow of my beloved, it is a sea of beauty,
Fitting for those of vision to reflect upon.
Poetry, like Mount Sinai of Moses, has witnessed the divine,
Struck by his figure, it shattered into shards.
Poetry uncovers the cravings of an aggrieved people,
For the foolish lover, my book of verse is a vow of maddened love.
Poetry is revealed in the realm of truth,
Each line invokes a voice of an unseen world.
Ardent like the roses, Yahya, I am too immersed
When I recite verses about his well-formed physique.
poem by Yahya Dukagjini
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Monday Papers
I dont want to go out any more
I read the news, I cant believe my eyes
I push the table against the door
You know Ive had it with the world outside
If you want to know about the murderers and junkies
If you want to know about the lower east side
Now they got a map shows you where to get your monkey
You can read it in the monday papers, monday papers
Some people like a little gore
Some people always at the scenes of crimes
Now they can watch the tv more
Now they can get it in the sunday times
If you find it hard to handle what you see on page one
You can pull the funnies out and have some laughs
Take a drink and maybe you can laugh at ronald reagan
You can read it in the monday papers, read it in the monday papers
Monday papers dont ask no questions
Monday papers dont get no lies
Monday papers dont raise objection
Monday papers dont got no eyes
Brothers heading that way now I guess
He just read something made his face turn blue
Well I got nothing against the press
They wouldnt print it if it wasnt true
If you want to know about the gay politician
If you want to know how to be a star
Ladies - if you want to know about the new sex position
You can read it in the monday papers, read it in the monday papers
Monday papers dont ask no questions
Monday papers dont get no lies
Monday papers dont raise objection
Monday papers dont got no eyes
Monday papers dont ask no questions
Monday papers dont get no lies
Monday papers dont raise objection
Monday papers dont got no eyes
Read all about it, monday papers
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Woman Who Loves Poesy
She has a twenty years old daughter but she leads a single life
And she knows what it feels like to be a mother but not to be a wife
Her great love is Goddess Poesy only poesy she admire
And her creative source it comes from poesy and poesy in her verse inspire.
She writes such beautiful poetry as a poet she is well known
And as a genuine wordsmith her reputation it has grown
The woman who loves poesy is good at what she do
At least one can say of her to her own self she is true.
Since writing poetry can be a hungry belly game the well informed say
She works as a bar maid in the Golf Club Rooms for to earn her hard earned pay
But all of her spare time devoted to poesy since poetry she loves to write
Her poems on many different subjects are a source of delight
To poetry lovers who read her verses and many of her say
That from penning verse she will grow wealthy and become quite well known one day
But she does not write for fame or money she only writes because she
Happens for to be a person devoted to Goddess Poesy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The World Where I Belong
OOH THE WORLD MY SOUL HAVE LOVED TO BE
THE WORLD WHERE MY SOUL SOLD
THE WORLD MY SOUL SAW
THE WORLD WHERE MY SOUL SPEAKS SPEECHES
OF WISDOM
OF INSPIRATION TO INFLUENCE OTHER SOULS.
THIS IS THE WORLD WHERE THERE ARE NO ANY
DISCRIMINATIVE ANTAGONIST IS WHERE I BELONG.
I HAVE LOVED THIS WORLD AND SO PASSIONATE ABOUT IT
I CAN CONTINUE TO SPEAK ALL ABOUT THIS WORLD WITHOUT
COMING TO AN END, FOR I HAVE GOT A LOT TO SPEAK ABOUT THIS WORLD.
AM SPEAKING MY REASON FOR LOVING THIS WORLD, BUT NOT MAKING A RIDDLE.
ALL I THINK O F IS ABOUT THIS WORLD,
ALL I SPEAK IS ALL ABOUT THIS WORLD,
ALL I WISH TO LEAVE FOR, IS ABOUT THIS WORLD
INDEED IT HAS BEEN AND WILL FOREVER BE
A WORLD OF GREAT LEGENDS
THE WORLD I BELONG TO IS NO OTHER,
BUT THE WORLD OF POETRY.
I LOVE POETRY.
poem by Benjamin Dotse
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A Poet Of Our
He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Poet Of Our Time
He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Reading Poems Of Mangan
Many of his verses tell of his great sadness
The hardships through life he had to endure
He lived in the hungry years of the great famine
And he knew what it was like to be poor.
His father James a Limerick man from Shanagolden
'About that place there is a famous song'
And his mother Catharine Smith from Fishamble Street in Dublin
Quite poor and to poor kindred she belong.
But circumstance of birth doesn't seem to hinder genius
Though wisdom from the poor is seldom quote
And though Mangan's verse today may seem neglected
He surely was a major Irish poet.
He never had his poems published in England
And outside of Ireland he's almost unknown
But his 'Dark Rosaleen' perhaps will live forever
And it took a genius to write such a poem.
He himself said Dark Rosaleen was from the Irish of Costello
And that into English 'Roisin Duibh' he did translate
But many critics say the poem is quite original
And that in any case it lives as something great.
One of Ireland's greatest poets James Clarence Mangan
But in the literary World a near forgotten name
And I have my doubts if there were many better
And he is worthy of a greater fame.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poem about Poetry - Poetry sites
if you wish to
have an afternoon
of fun, what about
reading throgh
the amateur poem
writing sites
the work here reeks
of things raw -
some even confessed
they wrote their work
while cutting their wrists
of things great -
some poets actually
are already carrying stars
- but think they need
to be on the ground
- stay in touch with
their best readers
of things romantic
- teenage lovers
who day in and day out
shower sweet love verses
like they would roses on
their new founded flame
of things sleazy -
some verses actually
came right off the hands
that had a minute ago
been exploring the powerkeg
of the sensous world
they should be censored
but then these considerate perverts
even took the trouble to write the
'bewarned' line
and of course
the greatest fun
are the young poets
who afford a glimpse
of their little world
the folksy rhythm
and heavenly rhyme
the greatest laugh
would be when
we stumble upon
the inexperienced
ones who think poetry
is throwing words at you,
all the words that not many
of us could actually pronounce
so that the whole piece would
sound erudite... only if you
could go beyond those words
the whole poem makes you feel
like you walk into a house
to see the bed upside down
in the kitchen, the cooking pot
on the edge of the bedroom table
the fridge at the attic
the washing machine on a flower bed
and the toilet right in the middle
of the living room
then there are those
who are queens of words
their verses run like pistils,
filamens, petals, colours
of orchids..classic, regal,
exquisitei
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Verses Wrought
I do not know just how or when, God will send something to my pen,
From something that's on my heart, a thought God desires to impart,
Throughout my day, just as I go, thoughts from above seem to flow,
While I begin with simply a thought, by The Spirit verses are wrought.
It is The Lord God, Who blesses me, with these verses, that you see,
As these words that I pass along; the credit for all, does truly belong,
To The Lord God, Who reigns above, inspiring the verses, I speak of,
These very words, which I pen, that God has me share with other men.
God pens verses from my prose, through ways only The Spirit knows,
This when God's Spirit is inclined, to guide these thoughts in my mind,
In ways which only The Spirit can, as my Lord fills just an ordinary pen,
God blessing me, with His choice, to use my pen, instead of my voice.
Blessings, I hope to pass your way, with verses, on what I have to say,
As The Lord moves upon my heart, regarding thoughts I wish to impart,
From my thoughts God takes words, and He compiles them into verse,
Through ways that only God can do, so that I may share them with you.
Sharing with many through my life, the Truth and Grace of Jesus Christ,
Sharing Truths, you may have heard, that you find in God's Holy Word,
And Grace, which God bestows on us, when we follow The Lord Jesus,
All this as my Savior blesses me, while He guides me home to Eternity.
Sunday Papers
Mother doesnt go out any more
Just sits at home and rolls her spastic eyes
But every weekend through the door
Come words of wisdom from the world outside
If you want to know about the bishop and the actress
If you want to know how to be a star
If you want to know about the stains on the mattress
You can read it in the sunday papers, sunday papers
Mothers wheelchair stays out in the hall
Why should she go out when the tvs on
Whatever moves beyond these walls
Shell know the facts when sunday comes along
If you want to know about the man gone bonkers
If you want to know how to play guitar
If you want to know about the other suckers
You can read it in the sunday papers, read it in the sunday papers
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Brothers heading that way now I guess
He just read something made his face turn blue
Well I got nothing against the press
They wouldnt print it if it wasnt true
If you want to know about the gay politician
If you want to know how to drive your car
If you want to know about the new sex position
You can read it in the sunday papers, read it in the sunday papers
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Sunday papers dont ask no questions
Sunday papers dont get no lies
Sunday papers dont raise objection
Sunday papers dont got no eyes
Read all about it, sunday papers
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Freedom By Poetry!
Poetic freedom is the real freedom for human race;
The freedom they enjoy nobody enjoys in the world!
Free birds are the poets leading the world to freedom;
Nothing can stop the poetic spirit of human beings here!
Human life is incomplete without poetry in the world;
Poetry expresses the dreams, visions and imagination
Not only of the poets but also of the whole of mankind!
Poetry is also the criticism of human life in the world.
Poetry talks about the past, present and future for all;
Tells about love, life, Nature and beauty, a full knowledge!
Otherwise not anyone can gain that by any way in the world
And the place of poetry nothing can capture or replace ever!
Humankind is inspired by poetry for freedom to achieve freedom
And education for freedom can be imparted only by poetry ever!
poem by Ramesh T A
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A Drinking Song
poetry flows from my heart
the way wine gurgles
into this fine crystal glass
dancing with the moon
clinking to a lonesome night
the riveting sublime light
sparkles like the beauty of verses
sip by sip the light flows into me
line by line spirited verses
oozes from my heart
the essence distillled from
matters of heart and soul
my love, would you pour me wine
vintage wine from that bottle
that has caroused with time
to give us its real wonder?
through it i see the beauty
of the world as verses flow
from a seasoned heart that has
twisted, whaltzed, swung, rocked with time
inspired by
A Drinking Song
WINE comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
William Butler Yeats
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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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
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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Egoism of Poets
We don’t write poetry,
Poetry writes us.
How can we make poetry,
If we are part of poetry.
The world around us is poetry.
Poetry is already defined.
Calling ourselves poets.
Selfishness in every line.
Egoism in every word.
Stealing poetry from the world.
That already exists in every form.
It’s written in every mist,
Every tree, every bliss.
Who are we to write?
Calling ourselves masterminds.
Trapping ourselves in believe
That we are creating something unique
The world at our feet.
Just too full fill our need.
Even this poem is an act
of a selfish deed.
Every letter in ink.
Created through love and sin.
Writing on a paper
But it’s the world’s skin.
Pressing on the surface.
To see blue blood is our purpose.
Thinking poetry is ours.
Poetry devoured
By poets every hour.
Poems all around us.
Turning grey to dust.
Turning brown to rust.
We have captured the most
But there is still so much.
Bleeding away in disaster, poverty
And war.
Ink to us all.
A poet’s only lord.
His only norm, his only home.
His precious and beloved poem.
We should be ashamed.
poem by Nadim Lost Soul
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Patrick Colum
He penned 'The Old Woman Of The Roads' and 'A Cradle Song'
And to Ireland's best lyricists he surely belong
And his haunting ballad 'She Moved Through The Fair'
With any song ever written is one to compare.
And though to the reaper the poet has long gone
His best poems and lyrics will always live on
He sure was a master of the wordsmith trade
Poets like him are born they cannot be made.
The name of Patrick Colum is a memorable name
Even in his own lifetime he did know great fame
The beauty in his verses is for all to see
A man of great talent who penned great poetry.
Many of his poems are good but his best poems are great
And with the best of Eire he is one to rate
And even in death his fan club does grow
Most lovers of poetry a song or poem of Colum's know.
A legend in death and in his own lifetime
Patrick Colum one who penned quite memorable rhyme
His wonderful gift with the World he did share
A poet of the people and his type are rare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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