Offspring - 0242 - Current Version of Once
True offspring of pure poet's pen
As unclaimed orphans wait till when
Life's links are stimulated, trace
Each ph[r]ase in roundelay's embrace.
Once catalyzed, and only then,
Find we without tri[s]te mise en scène,
Purity Time can't deface,
A note in tune with Time and Space.
Reality? Hallucinogen?
As senses swirl clock seems suspen.
Drawn in, laid out, both breath and verse,
Impact intense all should rehearse,
Subject of, to, experience?
Echo imagination, sense?
Reflection fair? rhyme? prose perverse?
Epic dramatic, haiku terse?
Flow grows at nobody's expense,
Links old to new with no pretence,
Extending themes, dreams universe
Creative. Centuries traverse
To future from the present tense,
Sustains ideas, ideals immense.
Underwriting bards of old
Pure poetry need ne'er grow cold,
Of course, new meanings may appear,
Need reference points, text should stay clear
Providing into story told
Outstanding insight all behold
Excluding copies insincere
That plagiary posts to pay small beer.
Refusing censor's stranglehold,
Your poet chimes rhymes manifold.
(2 September 2009) Offspring - 0242 - Current Version of Once
Acrostic Tale of Paradise Reflects Upon Poetry
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Poetry's Chaste White Walls - 0242
True offspring of pure poet's pen
As unclaimed orphans wait till when
Line's links are stimulated, trace
Each ph[r]ase in roundelay's embrace.
Once catalyzed, and only then,
Find we without tri[s]te mise en scène
Purity Time can't deface,
A note in tune with Time and Space.
Reality? Hallucinogen?
As senses swirl clock seems suspen.
Drawn in, laid out, both breath and verse,
Impact intense all should rehearse,
Subject of, to, experience?
Echo imagination, sense?
Reflection fair? rhyme? prose perverse?
Epic dramatic, haiku terse?
Flow grows at nobody's expense,
Links old to new with no pretence,
Extending themes, dreams universe
Creative. Centuries traverse
To future from the present tense,
Sustains ideas, ideals immense.
Underwriting bards of old
Pure poetry need ne'er grow [c]old.
Of course, new meanings may appear,
Need reference points, text should stay clear
Providing into story told
Outstanding insight all behold
Excluding copies insincere
That plagiary posts to pay small beer.
Refusing censor's stranglehold
Your poet chimes rhymes manifold,
See soul's script magic skywards steer.
Chaste white walls border pristine page
Hibernating in purity
As, from judgemental values free,
Signal slumbers, till siren sage
Time calls, walls fall, all's filled in; cage
Empties when pen pursues mind's key.
Whitewash blushes. Absentee,
Harsh ego hides pride's head off-stage
In shame, game-playing 'off the page! '
To self stay true, coeur et esprit,
Enshrines ideals effortlessly.
Write pure sustainability,
Authentic creativity,
Links and ensures. Enduring gage
Leaves rant's spree to precocious age,
'Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste' waste fee.
(21 April 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Once - 0242 - 2008 Version
These offspring of a poet's pen
As unclaimed orphans wait till when
Love's links are stimulated, trace
Each ph[r]ase in roundelay's embrace.
Once in a lifetime, only then,
Find we without tri[s]te mise en scène,
Purity Time can't deface,
A note in tune with Time and Space.
Reality? Hallucinogen?
As senses swirl, defenceless men,
Drawn in, reborn, gaze on true grace,
Impact intense naught could replace,
Seen once, to be forgotten never,
Eternal aura awes forever.
(11 October 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Creative Perceptions
Artist appropriate palette prepares
as poet intuitive channels and shares -
perceptions highlighted in paint or in rhyme,
on screen, paper, canvas, [b]rushed, touched outside Time.
Each reaches out writing, foresighting, prepares
stalls [f]rigid for music of spirit sublime.
But few can interpret the talent they praise
in the style of an artist in true paraphrase.
(24 September 2005 robi03_1306)
Bridgework
Artists palette, paints, prepare,
poets channel insight rare.
One canvas fills, one paper inks,
imagination interlinks.
Each respective stream compares
perceptions, self-respecting, thinks
perspectives sensitively, shares
intuitive fruition, links
symphonic patterns, well aware
individuals everywhere
sense beauty way beyond time's brink -
horizons widen, never shrink.
Images accompany
free originality.
(7 May 2008 variant of As Artist, Poet robi03_1396_robi03_0986 16 February 2002 robi03_0986 and also variant of Creative Perceptions
24 September 2005 robi03_1306_robi03_0986)
As Artist, Poet
As artists palette, paints, prepare
so poets channel insight rare.
One canvas fills, one paper inks,
the foremost and the least of links.
Both tune respective streams, compare
perspective, sensitively share
where, true to self there neither sinks
as each through intuitions thinks
the way to harmony, aware
that perfect strangers anywhere
may beauty sense beyond time's brink -
horizons widen, never shrink.
Both pictures form, accompany
creative thrust with spirit free.
(16 February 2002 robi03_0986)
for previous version see below
As Artist, Poet
As artists palette, paints, prepare
so poets insight channel, air: -
one canvas fills, one paper inks,
the foremost and the least of links.
Both tune respective streams with rare
sensitive perspective, care.
When true to self then neither sinks
as each through intuitions thinks
the way to harmony, to share
with perfect strangers anywhere
how beauty may beyond the brink
horizons widen, never shrink.
Both pictures form, accompany
creative thrust with spirit free...
(16 February 2002)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
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The Poetry Of Confession
THE POETRY OF CONFESSION
The poetry of confession -
The poetry of self- indulgence-
The poetry of the ‘wretch con-centered all in self’-
The poetry of moods and feelings-
Of all ideas only as they relate to the poet himself-
The poetry of desperation-
The poetry of need-
The poetry of urgency -
And serving the poet first-
Not enough of the world
Not enough of others- of other perspectives
Not formal and disciplined enough-
The poetry which is not crafted and polished
The poetry in which the need of the poet
Is more central than the quality of the poetry –
The poetry which may be too selfish to be good-
Whose moral failure makes more prominent its aesthetic flaws-
The poetry which is not so good
And not great
But quite banal and commonplace –
A poet can give his life to his poetry
And that still be nothing at all-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Time To Write Another Kind Of Poetry
IS TIME TO WRITE ANOTHER KIND OF POETRY
It is time to write another kind of poetry-
To leave behind the self-reflection
The poems on the poet the poem and the poetry -
It is time to rediscover that the world is rich in unsaid dreams
And the poet must see too the beauty of what has been unsaid before
And what has been said many times before -
It is time to write another kind of poetry
And to leave myself as poet subject behind-
I have not yet done this here
But tomorrow and the next day perhaps
There will be other worlds.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Matter Of Opinion 2012
I think I have the right to state.
The present poet laureate
Has chosen to ignore the rules
that govern poetry. The tools
which every poet ought to know
To ensure their words will smoothly flow
When they are performed publically.
The must be metered carefully.
In my opinion she writes prose
Though I am certain that she knows.
That prose cannot be poetry
But doesn’t care apparently.
Although she writes poetically.
To me its prose not poetry.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Complementary viewpoints for friend Chandra
Philosophy and poetry
are not completely different.
Each represents a way to see
What is not always evident.
Philosophers and poets try
to understand the universe.
The answers which they can supply.
Expressed in turgid prose or verse.
Philosophers can be abstruse
and difficult to understand
Because of how they phrase their views.
I don’t dismiss them out of hand.
I much prefer the poets verse
To endless reams of complex prose.
I do not think I am perverse
Simplicity I must suppose.
Is really what appeals to me.
the poets seek to entertain
and yet express with clarity.
Philosophers try to explain.
Their reasoning in great detail.
They just succeed in boring me
Their efforts are to no avail
I will admit quite openly
I simply cannot spare the time
To plough through densely written prose.
But I find poetry sublime
I like the way it ebbs and flows.
The insight that a poet shows
can entertain and educate.
Philosophers try to impose
their views, discouraging debate.
Which does not sit too well with me.
Folks can’t stand being patronised
and will rebel instinctively.
A fact that poets recognise.
They are content to share their thoughts.
With anyone who chooses to
read the verses they have wrought.
Which may express a different view
To that of the philosophers.
You draw your own conclusions
and choose which version you prefer.
Perhaps your own opinions.
Philosophy and poetry
Are both legitimate attempts
To explain some mystery
By folks of different temperaments.
22/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Pool Of Poetry
From the Pool of Poetry let the thirsty spirit sup -
From truth and fantasy... Come, drink, and drain the cup!
According to your taste, from folly to sublime,
Each verse can be embraced or spurned twixt prose and rhyme!
Just bring your present views and all that you hold dear -
It’s up to you to choose from what you see and hear...
Perhaps you'll find a friend! A phrase you'd like to quote,
A tale you'd hate to end... Or some short anecdote!
Whatever you may find, twixt ecstasy and strife,
It could help change your mind and even change your life!
Each generation shares Man’s greatest legacy -
Wise children learn their prayers from the Pool of Poetry!
Discerning souls confess the debt they'll always owe
To bards that chose to bless each one that strives to grow!
From the Pool of Poetry comes wisdom that refines!
Yet insight is the key! Read thoughts between the lines!
For doctrines come and go and ‘facts’ of science, too...
Love’s Truth resists the flow and this God shares with you!
From the Pool of Poetry let the thirsty spirit sup!
From truth and fantasy... Drink up! Drink up! Drink up!
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At Play In A Garden of Words (The Problem With Poetry, or, Harvesting the Pea Patch)
I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry
& thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily,
Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance,
Even a plethora, of p’s:
Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky,
Pertinent and impertinent, too
It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud
Poetry pretends, preaches, points out,
Points to, and down, and under
Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace
Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale
Poetry is practical, prudent, is pregnant,
Gives pause
Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful
Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful
Poetry’s a mosaic portrayal, a
Painted portraiture, perfect, profane
Prosaic, it is not,
Preposterous, it is
It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical
Peripatetic and perennial,
Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile
Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible
Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres
Sometimes perplexing, never perishable,
It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries
Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster
Presumptuously posing,
Priapic and prudish
It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage
In place of deep purple prose
A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock,
Poetry promulgates poems!
Poetry, dear poet, exists
Poetry, dear poet, persists
Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies
Poetry can never desist
poem by Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson
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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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Being A Poet
I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.
Or when I’m out walking, or sat on a train,
Words and ideas, all rush round my brain.
Sometimes, ideas just appear in my head,
Or may be a result of something I’ve read.
At fellow passengers, on a train, I take a look;
Some chatter away, while others read a book.
But, me, I’m sat there, quietly composing verse;
With dozens of ideas, my creative mind bursts.
If I compose lines on my way into town,
I repeat them over, until I write them down;
If they are not written down straightaway,
Around my mind, other thoughts then play.
There are many things which inspire me to write,
Such as animals, the seasons, and the sky at night.
If I try to force ideas, they just do not flow;
The poem itself, I find, just will not grow.
I like to write on a layperson’s level;
In too much information, I do not revel.
Having chosen a decent subject or idea,
I then need to get my brain in to gear.
Of a subject, I like to consider all of the aspects,
But I keep my writing simple; not too complex.
To make a poem rhyme, words I may change,
But I only use words that are within my range.
In using unfamiliar words, I can see no point;
A nice poem, tricky words, can really disjoint.
Words, within my head, I keep batting around,
Until the perfect combination, is finally found.
With poetry, I really love the creative process,
But over time, I’ve become slightly obsessed.
Sometimes I find myself talking in rhyme;
That I am a poet, this must be a sure sign.
Of my finished poems, I often feel proud;
One day, I’ll be brave and read them aloud.
Into my swirling head, ideas continue to pop;
I love writing poetry and never want to stop!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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There Was A Time / When Poetry Was The Poet's Only Life
THERE WAS A TIME/ WHEN POETRY WAS THE POET’S ONLY LIFE
There was a time
When Poetry was the Poet’s only life-
All that was in his experience
Had its meaning
Only as Poetry.
But when he began to understand
‘Poetry’ had primarily become a ‘means’
For his own Greed and Ego.
Poetry was lost.
But as he was a Poet in his soul,
He and his life too were also lost.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Trials & Tribulations Of Poetry...
Melodrama..........has never been my cup of tea
'Less, the spotlight of center stage.....be on me
Cross pens are mightier...than a sterling sword
Still i'd rather a Bugatti...than a brand new Ford.
When sunsets catch my eye's......i'm so inclined
To paint a scape of words.....of twilights skyline
I'm just an imagist.....spinning picturebook tales
Some simpatico in weight......on prosaic scales
'Tis what i do, to keep my mind's eye free of rust
Never wrote Sestina.........6 of 6 is too much fuss
Yet true poetry is fuss about perfection, an' more
Requiring the will, and want to adhere, 'n explore
Many say poetry...is merely image and depiction
Yet this claim falls far short....of its pure definition
Beauty of the substance.......the sweet of the flow
That's what draws the line, 'tween poetry, 'n prose
One need not rhyme, true poetry's self-melodious
Lyrical in flounce 'n flux, and yes quite harmonious
Too many think themselves a''Poet''......so absurd
For so few have mastered the art of Written Word
Thats why prose today....is the substitute of poetry
With no restrictions.......your limits are virtually free
As for me, i am no Poet..............Nor shall i ever be
I'm just an imagist....content with my picture stories
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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This Lonely Self
The search for sense amidst life’s solitude
Has topsy-turvy turned beliefs for years.
Is happiness goal sought, or flight from fears,
Sensed as years’ tears, insensitive, intrude?
Life jokes at our expense, all feel pursued
Or haunted by time passed where chimes’ arrears
No substitute may pay when Death appears.
Experience must always be renewed.
Links into future tense we seem when viewed,
Yet each bud’s snipped by Time’s sharp scissor shears.
Soon all returns to naught. Night swiftly smears
Experiments ephemeral yet crude.
Let who would trace indelible here ink
For second thoughts upon life’s sonnet think...
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I can EMIT TIME
'I Can! ' EMIT TIME
Kindly Refer to Notes
.
.
This retourne shows how Time bright glows,
Inspiring plan Life offers man,
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’
TIME’s sum’s not dumb, repeating drum
Inspiring plan Life offers man,
May link ‘become’ through rule of thumb
EMIT true scan light once began.
The heart that sows is star that glows
In tune reel ran fed through rhyme’s fan,
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
Ends in well ran, begins “I can! ”
Time’s reel ebbs, flows, all comes and goes,
In caravan reversing scan
Much magic flows, touch insight knows,
Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’
.
Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’
Much magic flows, touch insight knows,
In caravan reversing scan, -
Time’s reel ebbs, flows, all comes and goes.
Ends in well ran, begins “I can! ”
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
In tune reel ran fed through rhyme’s fan, -
The heart that sows is star that glows.
EMIT true scan: light, once began,
May link, ‘become’ through rule of thumb,
Inspiring plan Life offers man.
TIME’s sum’s not dumb, repeating drum.
Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
Inspiring plan Life offers man.
This retourne shows how Time bright glows.
_________________________________
How Time bright glows This retourne shows.
Life offers man Inspiring plan,
sustains verse, prose, Maintains red rose.
Ensure ‘I can! ’ Egg, chicken, span.
Repeating drum, TIME’s sum’s not dumb,
Life offers man Inspiring plan
through rule of thumb, May link ‘become’,
light once began, EMIT true scan.
Is star that glows The heart that sows?
Fed through rhyme’s fan, In tune reel ran
sustains verse, prose, Maintains red rose,
begins “I can! ” Ends in well ran,
all comes and goes, Time’s reel ebbs, flows.
reversing scan In caravan, -
touch insight knows Much magic flows
Ensure ‘I can! ’ Egg, chicken, span.
Ensure ‘I can! ’ Egg, chicken, span,
touch insight knows. Much magic flows
reversing scan In caravan, -
all comes and goes, Time’s reel ebbs, flows.
Begins “I can! ” Ends in well ran,
sustains verse, prose, Maintains red rose
fed through rhyme’s fan, In tune reel ran -
is star that glows The heart that sows?
Light, once began, EMIT true scan
through rule of thumb. May link, ‘become’!
Life offers man Inspiring plan.
Repeating drum, TIME’s sum’s not dumb
Ensure ‘I can! ’ Egg, chicken, span
sustains verse, prose, Maintains red rose,
Life offers man Inspiring plan.
How Time bright glows This retourne shows.
© Jonathan Robin acrostic mirror retourne 3 February 2007
_______________
Author notes
Although this is shown as a double mirrored retourne the poem has been framed so as to alternate each and every line within any given stanza... although only in four cases can the acrostic palindrome EMIT TIME run throughout.
The Mirror effect enables the poem to be read top down TIME or bottom up EMIT - The Retourne is of course only mirrored in the mirror if one reads bottom up.
This offers a possibility of 4 x 4 x 12 x 64 combinations
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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(V – 2010) To Risha Ahmed
(With Love, Admiration and Best Wishes)
Of Poetry, O Prodigy!
You pen with wit and sanity
Your vision shows maturity
Your diction forces clarity!
Of Poetry, O Prodigy!
Your rhythm rides melodiously
You rhyme with ease and quality
Your hallmark is spontaneity!
Of Poetry, O Prodigy!
Your poems voice vocal beauty
Your poems value buoyancy
Your poems come creatively!
Of Poetry, O Prodigy!
You need now learn no prosody
You embody true poetry
Your poetry is really free!
Of Poetry, O Prodigy!
Your rhymes & themes with time vary
You proceed but with modesty
Your future you can guarantee!
Of Poetry, O Prodigy!
Your age will grow your ability
Your heart will light your journey, see
Your writings light humanity!
All Poetry... All The Time
All Poetry … All The Time
I Love To Read In Rhythm & Rhyme
I Love To Write Of Wistful Wishes
And Lips Speak Of Love Like Bold Kisses
All Poetry … All The Time
Poetry, Is A Medication For My Mind
Poetry, Has A Power To Overthrow Pain
Poetry, Should Be Spoken, Again and Again
All Poetry … All The Time
I Am Really Thrilled To Find
More Poet Lovers, and Their Word Artistry
All The Time … All Poetry
All Poetry … All The Time
May Each Poetic Puff, Rise & Climb
Into The Clouds, Up To The Stars
(Or Maybe Just Linger, Where You Are) …
All Poetry … For All Of Time
Written & ©: 5/24/10
By: MoonBee
poem by MoonBee Canady
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From Cataract to Enhanced Perceptions through Cataract
May what to some sunset on cataract
Appears at first sight, seen in other light
Unveils anticipation not the act -
Draws sunrise, current's flow, woe's clouds in flight.
Each waterfall dreams stimulates, intact
Catalyzes stream sense, springs insight.
One's neverneverland? Blend nuance backed?
Revealed enchantment spills surf's answers bright
Revealing zones where mist before seemed wracked
In doubt and self-denial. Surf's wings white,
Eddies fantastical, swirl-whirl fears backtracked,
Ripple confidence, key shared delight.
Answers riffle home, fresh foam may flow
Splicing known once sown with what tomorrows show...
From Cataract to Enhanced Perceptions through Cataract
Acrostic Maude Corrieras
7 September 2009
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
see variation written 10 September 2011
Sundog Cataract
What seems sundog high by spry cataract
deserves a deeper look. Another light
reveals imagination's flow intact.
Speed current echoes time's trip, clouds take flight.
Waterfalls with dreams may interact,
catalyze sense streams to spring insight,
stimulate synaptic leaps spray backed,
enhancing surf spill spells, responses bright,
show space where cataract wraith-wracked
blinded with self-denial dark. Winged white
eddies fantastic, swirl-whirl, fears backtracked,
ring confidence to share, bring twinned delight.
Time riffles rift, strange spume fast sprays, gifts room,
Rhyme ripples swift, change dooms past's plays, lifts gloom.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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