Unaltered pages
so many want
to be poets
they let words
guide them
(take the lead)
writing in
a high fashion
for the glamour
i suppose
for me
i let my
humble heart and soul
guide me
to my poem
the first words
human uttered
were born there
and still are
for poets
who string verses
that lift readers
to the unaltered
realm (pages) of their life
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
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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A poets prayer
A poets prayer
~
To the poets lost
please look upon me
as a kindred spirit
guide my words
that I may write well
watch over me at night
help me dream your dreams
teach me about poetry
~
to the poetic spirit
reveal your love to me
show me the beauty of life
in all its many forms
that I may understand
the ways of this world
and that I may convey them
in a verse to others
~
to the poets lost
and the poetic spirit
I ask of you this favour
to guide me in life
in the poetry I write
I ask of you also
to watch over those I love
poem by Matthew Holloway
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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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For All The Poets
FOR ALL THE POETS
This is a poem for all the poets who have no name,
For all those who have written and failed,
And for those who have not written,
And failed.
This is a poem for all the poets who dreamed themselves poets,
And were never, and will be known as poets
To the world.
This a poem for all those
Who after years of effort
Still live in an oblivion
They will die in.
This is a poem for all those
Who whether they have poetry in them or not,
Will never be heard or read,
For what their hearts must tell
Someone else.
This is a poem for all the silent poets
Those who live in silence
And whose silence is eternal
For all those whose only poetry
is the poem they have lived within themselves.
This is a poem for all those who would- be poets
And a poem for those
Who despite their efforts
Did not make their poem known.
This is a poem which may be for you,
And I know is for me
A confession
To make us less alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dead Poets Live
Dead poets live
With words left behind
To linger in life's pages
Read again by others
Who travel
That long road
Of Poetry.
Dead poets live
In verses left behind
To play like old songs,
Sang again, touching those
Who dare to sing
Harmony
In poems.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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God's Poets A Good Poem & Love
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
So Many Poets
so many poets
so many poems
all popping up like mushrooms after the lightning and thunder
no one comes to see
no one comes to say the mushrooms are not so white not so good
so many poems
so many poets
the readers are few, the readers are lesser
but what can you do?
what do you expect?
well, i am just writing my diary, and i am the reader who reads it myself
to ease this pain,
to let myself know that with all my unrequited loves, i still dare to write
and exist.
and i don't really care.
so many poets
look at these poems
they all look and sound the same
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Who Is Now Reading This?
count yourself blessed
if you are reading this?
you are the rare few
who actually read others' poetry
nobody is serious about other people's life anyway
poetry reading is being noosy
an orphan in an alleyway
tries to look for a
home sweet home
count yourself doubled blessed
if you fully understand any poem
for poets write for themselves
if a poet says he writes for others
he is probably a liar
after money probably
count yourself blessed for having learnt this
for among the millions of poets
there are poets in lost alleys
trying to find a piece of themselves
the lane that runs to treasures of heart and mind
verses springing from the sanctity of the soul
many slip on the make belief lane
throwing words, phrases helter skelter
a child that tries to plant fiction in non fiction
offering honorable readers
a half baked cake nobody would take
the heaven sounds out the genius though
each of his word gets you revved up
each of the words offers a
a spectacle into real sights, sounds, tastes
and smells
the honorable readers know the fakes
from the real - just so instinctively
real words never lie
the diamond detector never fails
inspired by
Who Is Now Reading This?
May-be one is now reading this who knows some wrong-doing of my past
life,
Or may-be a stranger is reading this who has secretly loved me,
Or may-be one who meets all my grand assumptions and egotisms with
derision,
Or may-be one who is puzzled at me.
As if I were not puzzled at myself!
Or as if I never deride myself! (O conscience-struck! O self-
convicted!)
Or as if I do not secretly love strangers! (O tenderly, a long time,
and never avow it ;)
Or as if I did not see, perfectly well, interior in myself, the stuff
of wrong-doing,
Or as if it could cease transpiring from me until it must cease.10
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Let This One Poem Be About Me
Let this one poem be just about me
Let this one poem engulf all my beauty
Let this one poem define my soul
Let this one poem consume me whole
My soul was earth bound
And my heart lay in a place that it would never be found
Let this poem be what entangles my mind
Let this poem be where people will find
They will find that missing link
And this poem it will make them think
They will wonder how this girl came
They will wonder how I avoided fame
I didn’t write these words to please
I wrote these words to tease
My heart it’s the type that beckons for ease
And my taste will not accept the flavor of peas
Let this poem describe me in most simplest of ways
Let this poem show how I get through these days
And I know people will read this and say…
This girl she knew where heart lay…
Let this poem eat me whole
Let me entire heart bleed its luscious love into a broken bowl
My soul wanted only to be free
And this poem only pushed it back into me
I never will lose any part of my soul
Because then this world will swallow my inner being whole
Let this poem be what I hate
Let this poem describe with who I would mate
Let this thoughts become my ways
Let this poem be where I stray
Let this poem show how I lie
Let this poem describe how I will die
Yes I am human I cannot avoid death
Yes I am human I chose not to use meth
These words they dance upon this page
These words they have no age
These verses have lost all meaning
Because I revealed my demeaning
Let this poem describe what I deem right
Let this poem that I will always fight
My age floats through these words
And people will never understand why I want to be heard
Let this poem be only about me
Let this poem be what sets me free
And I know some day people will look at this and say…
This girl, this girl she knew exactly where her heart lay…
poem by Victoria Martinez
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My Poet Time Travelers
I thought of it all day and well into the night
That for you a poem I would write.
What words can you use to describe a person
You’ve never seen.
Then a realization came into my mind
I’ve been writing them for a very long time.
Every time we write about GOD and his begotten son
The words flow freely and never left undone.
So it matters not if it is sight unseen
We write about everything- it’s a poets dream.
Poets go into worlds never traveled before
Seeking all that GOD has made
And come back with knowledge that they’ve gained.
Into the realms of mystery, love, excitement and fear
So that with you these words they could share.
They see the realities of today
The dreams of yesterdays
The future of tomorrows
And the pains and sorrows.
They are the time travelers of the mind
Their eyes are open - they are not blind.
So when you read what they write
It’s because of this time travelers insight.
So to my time traveling co-poets, this I must say
I am proud to have traveled this road with you
Into the minds of man, and writing
The stories that they all understand.
poem by Louis Rams
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I Was Lonely Outside The World Of The Anthologized Poets
I WAS LONELY OUTSIDE THE WORLD OF THE ANTHOLOGIZED POETS
I was lonely outside the world of the anthologized poets-
I was lonely in not being good enough -
I was lonely in not being known -
I was lonely in having given a lifetime to never having been heard-
I was lonely in not being among the voices that will endure-
They were there on those heights
And all around them words of praise were being sung-
And I was lonely alone with my own little voice
Crying and crying and crying
Trying to write and afraid-
A lifetime had been given
And they were there on the glad height
And down in the low alone of my own lost words
Writing and writing forever my own lonely life away
I was as much alone as someone who would have been born in poetry and never was.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Naughty Words!
Often words are but tiny turds of humor and of wit,
Flotsam in a poets mind…“Oh my, what junk, what shit! ”
Alas, it’s true at times words can form a perfect line,
“How wonderful, how clever” the words are so sublime
When all is said 'n done, its truth that’s clear 'n real,
By writing what we see 'n hear...especially what we feel
Write on poets!
There be no rules that we must heed or follow
Drink in the gifts of words sweet chums...
But don’t forget to swallow!
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Hunting or Fishing?
Hunting or fishing – which is better?
That is what I am thinking about!
In business many hunt for customers;
Some men prefer casting net to catch fish!
Even for poets the position is the same
In poetry websites to catch readers!
Some lay wise traps to catch readers!
I use fishing rod with a needle and bait
To catch readers who can understand!
Whether the rank is high or low it is
Immaterial but the true comment is!
Hunting readers to comment and rank
Or fishing readers to comment and rank
Are not really going to enhance one’s status;
For, voluntary comments are indeed valuable!
Poets are jealous to appreciate others’ merit
But some poets raise the status of others!
So, letters to such poets increase sans end!
This is the status of poetry websites now!
So, it is left to you to hunt or fish or lay trap
As you wish to catch readers for rank, etc.!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Pavers Of Life
I must make a trip to London
and walk on the pavers of life.
I must feel the death of the poets
that endured the mental strife
of not enough time to ink the page,
for death came early during that age.
I must feel their messages in my mind
and experience the force of words
coursing through my body, my soul
and in my heart like a thousand birds.
For I feel the call to reconnect
and praise these poets with respect.
For poets live in the hearts of men
and paint pictures over and again
with eloquent phrases one by one
filling their pages until they're done.
I must make a trip to London
from whence my journey had begun.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Two Worlds
Vocals: phil collins
Put your faith in what you most believe in
Two worlds, one family
Trust your heart
Let fate decide
To guide these lives we see
A paradise untouched by man
Within this world blessed with love
A simple life, they live in peace
Softly tread the sand below your feet now
Two worlds, one family
Trust your heart
Let fate decide
To guide these lives we see
Beneath the shelter of the trees
Only love can enter here
A simple life, they live in peace
Raise your head up
Lift high the load
Take strength from those that need you
Build high the walls
Build strong the beams
A new life is waiting
But dangers no stranger here
No words describe a mothers tears
No words can heal a broken heart
A dream is gone, but where theres hope
Somewhere something is calling for you
Two worlds, one family
Trust your heart
Let fate decide
To guide these lives we see
song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Writers and Poets
Here I sit
At a desk dimly lit.
Holding an unsharpened pencil
Over a piece of old, faded paper,
In my mind lingers a vague intention
Within the unformed idea
Of somehow writing something.
With no clear idea, theme or plan.
Only the restless desire to write.
It's raining. Again.
It seems to rain often.
Not the weather.
Life.
Interior drops fall,
Like flower pedals sacrificed.
Beautys death, the ransom price.
My desire lives in poetic rhythms,
Not in serious writers cadences.
I am not a writer.
- I hope to be a poet-
There is a difference? one may ask;
Oh yes, I believe so.
I'll attempt to express why.
In poetry words flow,
Like living waters.
In writing ideas are built within words.
The writer builds something,
Like a dam, to hold and control the way of the water,
To cause it to go somewhere precisely.
Writers form canals to move readers
To certain places.
Poets open up the dark clouds over life
Pouring out necessary wonders onto human souls;
Thirst quenching beauties that all
-in one way or another-
Are in great need of.
Writers, thankfully, take people
To places where they are able
To realize their own thirst.
Poets give them the drink.
The taste towards fulfilling life's true longings.
Writers and poets together
Make the dark a bit brighter,
The waters a bit more navagatible,
The way a bit clearer,
And the thirst of life
A bit more quenchable.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Oh These Poets And Their Sounds
OH THESE POETS AND THEIR SOUNDS
Oh these poets and their sounds
Their distant rhythms
Which take your soul away-
Oh these poets and their sounds
And the longing to be
One of them-
Oh this poet
And all his cry of loneliness-
Oh these poets and their sounds,
And he in his own small voice
Crying out lonely words
Before his own lonely page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Magic Verses
what does a poet gain
but the soothing nerves
as one traverses the mental
landscape of those who have
eschewed our words, love them
so much they have spun a web of nirvana
where both readers and poets can meet
to see and feel the full splendour of verses
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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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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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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