Memory Traces Causal Links
Without the rules and prompt free written
this screed read would never be beaded,
restrictions may be smitten promptly
by self-same [s]words, seed's kneeded glee.
Memory traces causal links
though contest holder writes no rhyme!
restrictions petty - down sinks pours all
inspiration, poor time know.
Rap's wrapping - 'tis not fiction - fact
was by John Skelton's self invented,
should slam's traditions, intact diction,
base held baseless presented pelf?
Who, cold, holds prose as poetry,
for face book status bound edition,
has self sold short, all agree has
rules for rules' sake sedition found.
Restricting opportunity
to grow by banning former writes
can't be with impunity wrought
without defeating rights warmer.
If each tomorrow's really based
on predestination's slate
what point in type, pen's haste steely
when rules weight pest in relation
to sense when words obey no random
inkblot test the wise contest,
with beauty poet's play in tandem
think not rot best font pressed supplies.
This exercise in prose sits pretty
on virgin page, yet moral grieves,
contest act - consequence petty - wits
achieve no random sheaves, leave quarrel.
(22 May 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Causal
Take it causal
Life is causal
Your whole existence is causal
Sunrise sunset causal
Governing bounding causal
Rolling wheel is causal
Pin of axle shaft also causal
Your life is causal
Your whole existence is causal.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Interactive
I write some lines and you read each word
A word excites you and you take it up to
Seed your fields where you grow your own
Shrubbery of words with tendrils climbing
I look at your garden of words and there is
This word growing into a flower attracting
Me I pick it up this sensual flower and I
Seed it in the lines of my mind now another
Bunch of words like ripe grapes I take one
Swallow it and savor the taste of its sweetness
More lines of words in my throat sliding
Through the lining of my esophagus so smooth
Going straight inside the veins leading to my heart
Sweet, so sweet I could have written the usual
Lines of “ I love you, I miss you” but I couldn’t
There is this roadblock, this writer’s block
The lines stopped, the words are stunted
I stutter, I retreat to my eyes, to see
The face of this woman I love, her eyes
Are gentle, she smiles at me, and waits
For this beautiful silence that gives her life
You stand there, looking for a hint, another
Word to seed the lines waiting to be written.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Writings to read stand
Poems are written to read or sing
Plays are written to read or act.
Anything written to read leaves
The readers free with their imagination.
07.11.2007.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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It's Better With The Good Eye
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,
Looking back at oh so far away.
Memory’s just another way to see.
A place to go on holiday for free,
Forty years ago if it’s a day.
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.
And was that other person really me,
What changed, why could I not stay?
Memory’s just another way to see
The way things were around us then when we
Thought all our dreams were surely on their way.
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,
The sky was always blue it seemed to me,
Every day the sun shone so they say -
Memory’s just another way to see,
But now I know that life’s not lunch for free
That bitter fruit is served on many days
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,
Memory’s just another way to see.
Martin Swords
“Prompt Poems”
Villanelle
March 2008
poem by Martin Swords
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Many Can Teach Few Can Write
many can teach and be good teachers
some even aspiring excellent teachers
but few can image write wondrous words
who are now waiting among
those who have words worth writing
words waiting to be written?
writing will cost much
demanded much
then will cost yet more
a small fortune in wages
wages spent not made
still to be spent and yet
accumulative cost is nothing
for there are hunger hearts
minds waiting for these words
looking even searching
for quest sought words
therefore it matters not
if for a specific poem
or passage paragraph
only a few or one is searching
these thoughts
are important
still must be written
some of what we write
even much of what we write
is of no prime importance
but that small portion
which is important
that tiny potent seed
which is important
must be written
translate many can translate
some even translate
almost perfectly precise
but those writing
original thoughts
are far more precious
and their words
will also in their time
be sought after read
but there time is not yet
that which is not
written cannot
be read
therefore write
write
and write well
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Words
Words on this paper
Words in my head
Words while I'm texting
Computing
Unsaid
Words between people
Words on the phone
Words upon words
Even when I'm alone
Words from the Bible
I question
Don't mesh
Words from pornography
Making them flesh
Words with flat letters
Written in black
Good words and bad words
You cannot take back
Words that are shallow
Words that are deep
When they're too many
They put me to sleep
Words that I'm writing
And rhyming you read
Whatever I'm saying
There's prolly no need
Words from the alphabet
Words that can't be
When you are blind
And it's Braile that you see
Words that are worthless
And said on the fly
My words or your words
Are most likely lies
Words in a sentence
Wise words or fair
The only words earnest
Are those said in prayer
Written by Sara Fielder © 2011
poem by Sara Fielder
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Open It
Open the parchment when you read,
To keep a cure I heal with the word.
It is a single word that is written
And read in a greeting what is bitten.
And my prompt assurance was in life,
That Hell would bid me farewell, as an afterlife.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The First Poem
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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~Wordless~
Words protecting words,
Sealing thoughts within a symbol
or a warning......
Arrogance assumes
words won't sink
a little deeper in memory,
than in a copyright.
For once released
words become everyones,
Free to fly into and within
our choice to read.
7-8-08
poem by Sinnaminsun Sinnaminsun
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It Is Your Mind
Whatcha’ gonna’ do
When your mind
Takes you
To places… that you
Don’t want
To go?
After all, it is your mind
You should rule it!
Wouldn’t you think that was so?
What do you do when you look
at your partner, and instead
See a stranger in bed with you?
And why does your mind
Seem to always find
A reason to make you feel blue?
What do you do
When you see your house,
yet your mind no longer… sees a home?
What do you do
When in a room full of people
Your mind reminds you… you’re all alone?
What do you do
When your mind makes you
Read aloud… words which once, you were smitten
You put your hands oe’r your ears
To shut out the fears… and the tears
from the words that your mind’s just written
poem by David Whalen
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The Silence Between
the silence between
words being written and read
seduces the mind to think
thoughts of creation anticipate
the blank canvas of the mind
which mirrors the open soul
calling out to listen
to the sound of pen upon paper
a mind at work
is a beautiful thing
and in writing seductive
words flow into sentence
a verse crafts itself
to be seen, felt
all in the aftermath
of the silence between
words being written
words being read
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Ambered Amnesia 1651
Selective memory pardons, still covers,
when one road taken diverges from another.
When fingertips are offered and arms swallowed,
today's landmarks melt into tomorrow's watershed tears,
what self-respect survives to follow elective memory
when detective defective motivations won't recover
integrity, play out parts heart, mind hollowed?
Hollow-wallow tunnel vision discovers
causal links are difficult to control,
subjective objects shift perspectives subtle
as choices chance discarded options scuttle.
Points' questions filed fall by the board's abrasive emery.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Lords Words
my words have been written for you to read
in my apostles i've planted the seeds..
read all the words they have to say
don't let anything make you sway.
for tommorrow may be your ' judgement day'.
i was sent to the world by my father
but! not to make man's life any harder.
so that the world could confide in me
and their souls i could set free.
centuries from now this world will be a mess
and your beliefs will then be put to the test.
search your hearts and search your minds
for my words will last untill the end of time.
in the bible my life and words will be found
you just have to turn and look around.
people are turning to me every day
and on their knees they begin to pray.
so when you go to chuch to pray
there should be much for you to say.
pray for peace in this world
and to help the sick and poor
pray for health and jobs
.and then pray for more.
all of this you could ask of me
and of this i shall set you free.
poem by Louis Rams
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The NFL, and I've played a lot of years for them, and they have a lot of restrictions on their players, they have restrictions on their licensees, they have restrictions on everything.
quote by Lawrence Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Sign Of Weakness
Smitten with Seetha, Ravana was killed.
Smitten with Juliet, Romeo laid his life.
Smitten with suspicion, Othello killed his wife.
Is to be smitten a passion or weakness?
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Why Dont You Read The Book
Dont talk to the pilot
When hes flyin
Dont smile at the soldier
Hes on parade
Dont come creeping round, youll
Catch me cryin
No more talkin bout it
Its all been said
You drawn such a fine line baby
Learnin all the rules
Why dont ya read between them sometimes
You wont look such a fool
Why dont you read the book, why dont you read the book
Why dont you read the book, why dont you read the book
Why show all your aces
To the gambler
If he calls your hand
Youre gonna lose
Dont trust first impressions
Of a stranger
Private informations
Just tellin tales
* you draw such a fine line baby
Learnin all the rules
Why dont ya read between them sometimes
You wont look such a fool
** why dont you read the book, why dont you read the book
Why dont you read the book, why dont you read the book
Repeat *
Repeat **
(written and arranged by nazareth)
Copyright 1983 fool circle limited
All rights reserved.
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Change of Heart
I threw in
face cream,
slippers,
tops.
I added a few
sexy frocks.
My daddy's picture,
old emotions,
fears, anxieties,
hearts devotions.
I threw in letters
I had written,
and little things
that had me smitten
and then I sat
upon the lot
and tried to get the
thing to lock.
I should have
known,
I should have
guessed,
I'd put in
one too many
vests,
so I unpacked,
sat down with glee
and had a soothing
cup of tea.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Spoke To The Heart
many will read
few will comment
written words provoked
no response
in heart of emptiness
no answering echo chimed
perhaps these probing words
were not written to you
perhaps your faith
was still fledgling
unable to leave nest
to venture forth
upon world adventures
courage to take wing
was lacking
it was not your time
words never spoke
to your heart
perhaps they were not
written to you
perhaps you never
opened minds eye
perhaps you never will
perhaps this is not
your life purpose
perhaps to lead is
not written upon
enlightened soul
is not an aspiration
also born are those
who must follow
who must serve
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Conformity Reasoned
Sometimes words
are written to be read.
Sometimes words
are written but to rot.
Judging ascertained
in judicial reasoned why.
Why are progressive poets
oft valueless until they die?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Another nothing poem
Another nothing poem
~
These are just words
Rhyming, walking with rhythm
They do not hate or love
Laugh, cry or shout aloud
They know no malice or jealousy
They just piece together nicely
In a story or a poem
However they are written
Presented on a page
They remain just words
They talk of no living soul
But a fictional character
If one happens to be written
Or a place or feeling
Some may relate to it
You’re free to see what you like
Or dislike in these words
That’s all they are sitting here
Rhyming, walking with rhythm
Across the once blank page
Just another nothing poem
Waiting to be read
poem by Matthew Holloway
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