En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Master Of The Word

He writes with his feelings
Integrity in ever word

His poems make you think
About the why's in this world

As you read each one
You think
Been there done that before

But alas I can not say
Much about the wars

His eyes has seen
So much strife
Something I've yet to learn

I suppose I can say honestly
He's a true master with words

Respectfully I say to thee
Keep up the words you speak

I seam to be learning more
Of the world we paint with pens

With heart felt respect
I say to thee master of the words

His name is Eric Crockell
A true poet of the world

poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Master Spoke.

Why is the world here today?
The Master Spoke.
Why are we sinners, like sheep gone astray?
The Master Spoke.
Why all this toil, no comfort of Eden,
Since man didn't obey?
The Master Spoke.
Why work the dust of the ground, from whence we came,
And eat 'By the sweat of our brow? '
The Master Spoke.
Why do we, naturally,
Posess the desire to before,
God, want to worship and adore?
The Master Spoke.
Why is Jesus glorified,
And why, for sinners, did he die?
The Master Spoke.
Why shall God return again,
To take away Isreal, His bride?
Why me, a sinner, justified?
The Master Spoke.
Why will there be Revelations, wars,
And roomers of wars,
Nearing the End Times?
The Master Spoke.
Why is God an eternal Being,
But the world shall be no more?
The Master Spoke.
Why is it, that when a man speaks,
His words blow away
As kernals of grain,
And yet, when God speaks, his Word is as rock,
Forever to remain?
The Master Spoke -
'Heaven and Earth shall pass away,
But my words shall never pass away.'
Why do these things occur,
And as it were,
The penalty of sin man did not have to pay?
The Master Spoke -
'For God so loved the world,
That he gave his only Son,
That whoever believes in him
Shall not perish,
But have the gift of eternal life.
Why?
The Master Spoke.
'Go now! Help the needy,
And the weak!
Save hearts that are broken! '
Hurry, now!
The Master has Spoken.

poem by Macy Dvirnak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Untitled 15

there is a mountain of words
an ocean of words
a continent of words

there is a rain of words
a flood of words
a river of words and true to their being words

they also disintegrate as syllables
on the other hand some form the clauses
conditions and terms
some make sentences and paragraphs

a world of words full of words
i am not a word and i am buried in a mountain of words
a sea of words i drown
a continent of words i am condemned to walk all the days of my life

too may words my ears do not listen anymore.
my eyes do not like to read anymore.

i like something not having to do with words.
what about a touch? what about a picture?
what about a kiss?

why don't people just make love without saying a word?
let us start touching the hearts of people
to avoid this war of words that lead us to our own perdition.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Self

Bluff it is
If I say I'm a learned poet
For I'm not a scholar
So too my poems

My master's degree..
Lost in the abyss of oblivion
Searching out of and on
Those learnt reminiscences

I write to learn
Learning to write
And that learning
For my heart's happy content

You're welcome to read my words
For shared should be my happiness
Pat or hit..I don't bother
For I'm not a learned poet

poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Master Shakespeare

Quill in hand I see him so
A vision of him I there see
Word by word he writes on
No other can replace he
Master Shakespeare
A poet of Devine perfection
He writes and writes along
What an excellent inspiration
His words will continue on
Master Shakespeare
Magic in your very hand
No other takes your place
You I admire with my life
So full of love and grace
Master Shakespeare

poem by Suelynn Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Am I a master

I am the master, master of art
have painted true pictures,
of rising sun, mountain, sea
through jungles flowing rivers,
shining stars, birds, cloudy sky,
can paint anything and everything.
insects, lions, bear and deer.
just like the living things.

I am the master, master of art,
can make my own paint and brush
Alas! but cannot create raw material
of any of paint, brush or canvas.
Oh! can not paint these seven
which are made only in heaven:
smell, touch, look, hear and taste,
emotions, thought and breathe.

No, I am not the master, master of art
can paint uncountable things yet not.
Not possible to paint love and laugh
I have to go again and again to learn
to the supreme master, who painted
the universe, stars, moon and sun

(C) S. D. Tiwari

poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Do Not Have...

you do not have to
read me
for me to become
another poet

i am
and i can be
and i will be
even without you

and you are
and you can be
and you shall be
even without me

i am a poet
because i have decided to write the poems
and the poem shall be there forever
until the right reader comes along

the one who loves
a poem even without me
even without you
even without the world

this poem and that poem shall be
even without us
for these are words
and words shall be words even without the world

for it was the word which came first
and shall remain
till eternity.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus / Nearer My God To Thee

(words & music by lemmel / clarke) / (words & music by fuller / adams / mason)
Hmmm.....
And all the world go free
Now theres a cross for everyone
And theres a cross for me
Turn your eyes upon jesus
(where are the words) wonder proclaim
And the paint upon the wall
Will go straight ? ?
In the light of his wonderful face
Nearer my God thee
Nearer to thee
? ? the cross
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? me
Nearer my God to thee
Nearer my God to thee
Nearer my God to thee
Nearer to thee

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Spine is Thy Flute!

I adore you,
Not thy adornments,
my heart loves thee,
And not thy attributes,
o, master poet,
The power of your words, when words flow from poet,
thy powerful mind behind his
thoughts, Stopping the storms,
When you steer the ship,
over high waves,
I am not afraid of tidal waves,
Lightning and thunders,
Sleeping under your wings, O master poet,
without uttering a word, ,
Without writing a line,
but make poets sing and joyfully
write,
I love you thee, When you hold my hands,
No fear of fall,
Even if I fall, fall only safe into
your soft and gentle lap! My spine is thy flute,
Thou blow through Chakras,
AUM in different pitch and rich
tone,
My life dances to your tune,
For strains of trifles and for temporal pains immune!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem of Poet

Written in four words.
The words of a poet.
Expressing the deep feelings.

The feelings through this words.
Can make a difference.
Which can change the world.

Poets are the magician.
Poems are the magic.
Combining these elements.
Life is so tragic.

poem by Yash Pradhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He's A Man of His Word

He contemplates life
In general who people are
Or what things are
What is it all about?

He likes to learn
From those of us
With knowledge
Of the here and now
And of the past

He taps away
At his keyboard
As he reads
As he writes
And discovered
To his knowledge
That it helps him
To be a better man

His words are immaculate
Even words I've never heard
But when he writes his poetry
It has meaning to each word

The man is so humble
On what he writes
On what he feels
And on how he preserves others
And their words

I bow to thee Kevin Patrick
Who is a man?
Of his every word

poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Here I write about myself

Here I write about myself
and at times my personality is far too strong
my leadership wants to take control
wants to cut into conversations,
wants to teach people,
wants to get involved,
to make a better place out of the world
and all the time I am learning
how other poets brew their words

and maybe my spirit
is just too bold
and I am looking right through the enchantment
of beautiful ladies

and marsh right through
until I get my target
as if determination
locks her claws around me

and to one I stay true
as if I am a saint
and her soul is driving me deeper.

I know no fear
as war has changed
my humanity

and when I write poems,
I am myself,
at other times a spectator
who measures out time and space,
keeps book of the pain,
tear through rottenness
and illustrate beauty

and in vain I try
to walk in the steps
of the big word master,
as a true follower

but with my own talent
and the whole time
my feet comes down
like military boots in the right pace
but following a different march
as if I do not know
how to parade my poems

l’Envoi
and here I write about myself,
about how my life is

and when I get home
I listen to the voices
of Dylan Thomas,
Douglas Livingstone
and every great poet
that I can lay my hands on,
see what are written in their works

before I grab a glowing hammer
and hit words into forms
as if I can melt
thunder and fire together
to words that stays crackling.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In This World Of Infinite Words

IN THIS WORLD OF INFINITE WORDS

In this world of infinite words
So many poems have already been written,
Infinite poems in infinite words-

Therefore any new poem simply seems to cry out its own non- necessity-

Yet in a word in a voice
A whole world can be born and transformed-

A new poem a real poem
Can make us forget all the others
And make all the others live through it-

Yet who in this world of infinite words
Can write this poem?

And when will the next set of strangers names come
To show me that my words are nothing?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh The Poems

OH THE POEMS AND THE POEMS AND THE POEMS

Oh the poems and the poems and the poems
Oh the love of Literature
Oh all that stuff
I have given my life to-
Words and meanings and feelings
Pages and pages and pages –

What it is all this literary life for?
When out the window out the door
With our eyes we see in an instant other worlds other dreams?

I don’t know and I will never know
And Literature is certainly far more than I can say it is-

Oh the poems and this poem and this day turning grey
And all my life old and old and more old and more old-

Oh why oh why oh why
And always back to God
My last rescue and refuge and escape
I who have read so much Great Literature
And can only write this-

Oh the why and the oh oh oh and the words
And the whole world of Literature
I would belong to and do not.
Oh the words oh the world oh the Literature
Oh God help me please can’t you please help me a little or not?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry and Poet

Poetry is poet's inner world,
Churnings of Self in distinct words;
Poetry is not black and white,
Grey, nuances of diverse hues
In kaleidoscopic word-networks
That capture all formless clouds
In the deep sky of the poet's world.

Poetry is poet's outer world,
His expressions in proper norms;
Bare thoughts, his rogue fights within
Dressed well for the popular nod;
Poet's world, a messy snake-pit,
A burrow of rats, snakes, insects,
Fighting to spring in riotous words,
Filter'd for world in elegant words.

Poetry is never a judgement,
Sheer whispers from heart to heart
Beyond what words do transport;
Words in lilt and dance, poetry,
Links they bond, cadence they ring,
Makes a poetry, a true poetry,
A mirror of poet's inner turmoils,
His hopes and strengths in right words,
Indecisions he suffer, his deeper Self.

Poetry is release from inner cauldron,
Steams from within in guise of words,
Quiet flames of the inner hearth
That flared for long finding a vent;
Poetry, a relief, a joy of sharing,
Sharing the Self with the world outside,
Back to the source from where all came;
Poet is the priest, poetry, his hymns,
Offered to the world for peace and grace.

Poetry sprouts from the morass of soul
And grows out of poet like pipal tree
And outstays him;
Fleeting is poet, but not his poems,
Poetry is the poet universalised;
It sucks his thoughts, sucks his force,
Spreads outwards to enrich the world
And leaves the poet richer and strong
Like fire and good deeds always are,
How much you share, so richer you are.

poem by Praveen Kumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Heart Writes

Unending words flow through me
like streams of water-
My heart writes not to tell
the world Im broken,
that he should shed some tears for me.
But it writes to tell
the world my failures...
and that somehow
he would learn from them.

Broken words that know forever
flow through me like streams of water-
My heart writes not to show
the world I need him,
and that he should praise me more.
But it writes to tell
the world the lessons
I wish I knew before.

poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jessica The Racist Beauty Model

You speak words
Words that pun a knife on the heart
You speak words
Words that destroy unity
You speak words
Words that kill the black generation

I sit and wonder
How proud your ancestors will be of you
that you have once again
Reflected the true hate that boils
In the blood veins of your family
But how cruel,
Because you re-declare a war
That you already defeated already

How disgusting of you
Travelling the world
With pride that you represent
The rainbow nation
But then you intimidate your country
And insult your publicity
All with just a single word
That signify racism to black african generation

And today
You have demoted your dignity
You have failed you success
And you shall never ever in my heart
Be a proud South African
And never will give you the respect you deserve

I know you do not care,
But just like you!
In that way I opt to make my ancestore very happy,
You failed
Yes! You failed South Africa

poem by Anele ''The African Son'' kaPotelwa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Look At The World Again

TO LOOK AT THE WORLD AGAIN

To look at the world again
To see and name
Each kind of different thing
To surround it with words
And try to capture it
As it slips away
To paint in words
To write music
To make one vast description of ‘what is’ in words.

All these are unreal dreams
Someone else must realize-
I have my own small world of feelings
I return to again and again
My little universe of fears and loves.

Outside great and far beyond any nearness I can seem
The world goes on
While I can only
Write
Inside.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Writes Of Poems And Poets And Poetry

THE POET WRITES OF POEMS AND POETS AND POETRY

The poet writes of poems and poets and poetry,
And the world goes by
And nothing is done.

And the sky- the sky.
Is it still above?
And Love and Kindness
Are they still deep in us,
Words or not?

Without Poetry the world does not exist for the poet-
But for others,
Dreams have other names,
And Music plays on,
And singing and laughter
Go on as the Beauty of Light.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Three Little Words

Three little words
mean the whole world
to me…

Every moment,
Every year,
Every day of my life,
Every breath that I take
Those three little words
Keep me alive…

I say it to you
I’ve said it before
I feel for you
With all my heart…
Those three little words
Are so dear to me

You know and I know
Those three little words,
For you’ve said it to me
And have felt for me
Without a care
In this world…

Those three little words
Mean a lot to you
And Indeed
Are very precious to me…

So let’s Celebrate
This Valentine’s Day
Just as we cherish
Every day
Of our togetherness
And remain in love
forever more…

Holding ourselves
In a loving embrace
Caring, feeling,
Expressing…
Those three little words
From you to me
And me to you…

Yes, it is true
My Love
And here it goes,
Just the way
It has always been
Over the years…
And so I say it
To you, that

I Love You
I Love You,
I Love You.

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Letter To A Young Poet Revised

Letter to a young Poet

Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent pass time it doesn’t
change anything, no one reads it, other than cranky people. Should
a poet writes something nationalistic that resonance with, a nation’s
pride, like: “my country is the best in the world.” He will get a medal.

So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the common man a poet is regarded as a figure of
fun who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make
sense of a world he doesn’t understand. As my father said, when my first
poem was published: “How much did they pay you? ” If my words have
not scared you off, you’re a poet. The only tool you’ll need is honesty.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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