En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Poets of Cardboard

Sullen pirates steal the golden fire
Ezra Pound with terse tight words
Surrealism and Dali fight the world
Picasso only paints abstract lust
War infects Enlightenment poise
Poet Laureates of the system
Paris dapples stringent classical paradigms
Van Gogh’s potato eaters the man of earth
Pablo Neruda lets love come thru the soil
The Lost Generation, exiled
The Beats Howl with rebellion
Real art, real writers, street poets, angst

In the distance ice gathers
Modern fragmented man
Bureaucratic hollow man
TV man
Herd man
Images of success
Tummy tuck poets with face lifts
Sweet little pudding writers
Shake your bum and give them a wink
Word processor rhymes
Melodramatic – sterile, ivory towers
Corporate art fills the shelves
Poets of cardboard

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.

quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The First Poets

The First Poets hunted game in the forest and on the plains-
inventing signs and gestures; guttural sounds and mime-
and ultimately Words.

The First Poets wrote words and drew pictures
on the walls of caves
stamping their feet to drum-beats;
learning to dance.

The First Poets invented music for their words
religion, books and counting-conjuring up
in each instance-new things.

The First Poets imagined names for plants,
animals, birds and creatures of the sea;
sang songs about them-wrote poems and hymns.
creating sentiment, vows and promises-
marriage ceremonies.

Poets invented the idea of the Idea, of kindness, and visions.
Poets invented hope and the future, love of the past, community.
Poets invented the rhythm of our lives.

Poets re-invent themselves and civilization each generation.
They peer into the gauzy dream and dream what is not yet;
they peer inside themselves
reaching in
with-drawing something new
from that which had not been
there
before.

The First Poets invent and re-invent civilization each generation.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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I Am Not The Poet's Poet But Perhaps The Would- Be- Poet's Would-Be Poet

I AM NOT THE POET’S POET BUT PERHAPS THE WOULD- BE- POETS WOULD – BE –POET

I am not the poet’s poet-
The one poets of name and fame admire-
But perhaps the would- be- poets would be – poet-
Who tries to be a poet
And tries to understand what it means
To love poetry and live by writing it
Even when the world does not recognize me..
.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Applause from the mass

Since the time immemorial,
Poets have hated the fellow poets
And the writers, the fellow writers.
They went to the mass for applause.
12.08.2011

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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The poet's page

Like a band of beggars
Revealing to each other
Where to find the bread
Is the poets page
An open line
Where poets reveal what's
Inside their heads
A platform of
Artistic exchange
Where an accompany of poets
Express what should be said,
As the
Words seems to take on life
For they are poet read
Poets can feel one anothers pain
As well as relates to each
others shame
Emphasizing on a topic is
A poet's personal lane
Poets dvides the spoil
As they expand, due to
sharing their gain
This is partly my analogy
Of a poet's fame

poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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A poor pen

Pen is

Not great...

On the paper...

poet write at

Moon+ sky...

Stars...

Earth and sea...

All are in poets

Hand only

At poets hand...

Poets is think...

Poets dream...

Thats all

pen is very poor

Noock out...

undrestad to try...

Try too under stand....

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.

quote by T.S. Eliot (1920)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We As Poets

We as poets must command a sacred accent over a language of our choice,
We as poets must gift the minds of a failing generation,
We as poets must demand a clear explanation and a fair occupation,
We as poets must dissolve into particles and dust if we have not known enough,
We as poets must destroy the living standards of low quality,
We are to be the poetry of utmost perception and suffering.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Pirates Killing In The Streets

dreams made of talents and sweat
and nightly toils; dreams to beautify, enrich and upgrade The world
snatched away mercilessly leaving
broken hearts, sleepless nights
accompanied by streams of tears
among the poets, the Crooners,
the writers, film producers,
Actors....enslaved by their own giftedness.

in the backstreets of Asia, open markets of China, Africa, Latin America, you see familiar names on boxes, books where money floods; fluid cash from great talents
who live only to see modern pirates squeeze every cent out of their sweats,
the merchandise reaping billions for
clandestine merchants living behind monumental abodes.

Pirates all over the world massacreing artists and poets.

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Versatilty

I think that I can claim to be
a poet who is versatile.
I try to write my poetry
in varied form and varied style.

I emulate and imitate
styles of great poets of the past.
To show that I appreciate
poets that time has over cast.

Although long dead their words live on.
A source of inspiration to
poets today.Though they’re long gone
and I give credit where its due.

Although some things I write are new
I cannot trace their origin.
I trust my muse as poets do.
She prods me until I begin.

She tells me there is no such thing
as writers block there cannot be.
A poor excuse for not writing
I’m not allowed to be lazy

That’s something she won’t tolerate
and drags me from my bed to write.
Though I protest the hour is late.
She is insistent that I write.

If she should choose to stay away
I’d seize the opportunity
to simple have a lazy day
Without my conscience pricking me.

11-Mar-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Real Poets

THE REAL POETS

The real poets are few in number and largely known by name
The rest of us are endless frustration in aspiration
Words upon words upon words
Dreams upon dreams upon dreams
Getting and going nowhere forever unheard

The real poets find their anthologized place
And we know them over and over and over again
The rest of us just appear this only once
If we appear at all
And our words and our hearts and our minds
Do not encompass and inspire the endless rereadings
Time and Time’s Wounds make again and again and again

We are once only always forever losts
Nothing will save us
These words too coming in the wake of a long night’s reading
Of the poems of others
Cannot sustain and redeem
Cannot be what they would be
Cannot help and cannot save
Me or you or anyone we love
Even as poetry.

God Who Knows All
And in the End Decides on Everything
Has made us smaller even than the Angels
And our place in the Divine Song
Is not as far as we know
Anywhere heard at all.

Goodbye world
We are going
We have done what we could
We have written and written and written
Oxymandias’ poet will remain
And we will not
The lone and desert sands will stretch away
When we are not even a single grain.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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A Wish

I'd like to write - like grown-up poets do:
with similes that span the universe,
that sparkle, crackle, dazzle, woo the mind;
and touch the heart with tender, swoony verse...

I'd like to write - like grown-up poets do:
in literature that's all the better for
those soaring, parabolic parables
and paradigms, and rhymes, and metaphor...

I'd like to write - like no-one else has done:
forget the rules and precedents; let fly
to heights undreamt of yet, new mindscape won..

And yet, perhaps, the world's served better by

small lamps of words amidst the cold night winds
of chance and change; cupped in a poet's hands.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Who to blame for writers block?

Risen up from his cold dark tomb
the malevolent poet is alive again
his evil master has given him power
to confuse poets and bring them pain.
He's invisible to the poets eye
and he doesn't make a sound
his mission is to bring writers block
to all poets everywhere around.
The unaware poet stares at a blank screen
unable to create one single verse
the satanic force takes over his mind
his thoughts go from bad to worse.
The romantic poet thinks about death
his thoughts no longer on love and light
he wants to write about misery and war
and things that go bump in the night.
So the next time you can't write a poem
and your sitting there full of despair
you now know it's not you who's at fault
but it's the evil poet and he's over there!

poem by Kevin Halls
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Once Upon A Poem

In the Mad-Poetic world,
Of a lonely Ivory Tower,
Was a Poet never heard,
For it never was his hour.

He had gone and warned the World,
Of impending, danger, power,
But the people kept on dancing,
Just like fools, around his tower.

Poets, Idealists and Lovers,
This old World has never changed,
Poets, stay in Ivory Tower
And pretend you are deranged.

poem by Sandra Feldman
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I Write Poems For Poets

I WRITE POEMS FOR POETS

I write poems for poets
Our situation as poets-
The longings the feelings
We so need to express-
The love of language-
The hunger for recognition-
The frequent rejection-
The kind word of a reader that moves-

Poems for poets
We as we each are
All so different-
And we as we share
Words and worlds
We hope to have read.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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Silent Lessons

the poet in his work
tries to find himself, refine it
to let the lotuses in him bloom
the real poet lives in his own private realm
filtering sunshine to allow the rainbow in him to glow
the readers, well they are mere flower lovers

the lotuses that bloom by day
to show their wonder
and fold by evening
show not an inch of care
for praises, criticism
they are the real poets
- coaching verse writers!

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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