A Poet
What does it takes to be a poet?
A creative mind and soul
Bump starting with
Daring inner voices.
Visualisation,
Imagery, metaphor,
Get into Dreamy world
Solitude place
Drafting, re-draft and revision
Choose your subject matter
Let your inner gut instinct and intuition
Guide you along the way
Create moody feeling
Dreamy and day dreaming
Context, stanza, forms, tones and lines breaking
Writing in different styles
Get rhythm and rhyme to choose you
It doesn't mean a thing if
It ain't got that swing and flow
Re-read, re-write and revise
To accomplish
The finest poem
poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Does Not Have to Rhyme
There are those who think in order for a poem to have rhythm it must rhyme, but a poem does not have to rhyme to have rhythm.
The rhythm comes for the poet’s soul not the rhyming of words.
The rhythm is in emotions that the poet’s poem evokes.
From a soulful cry to feeling of love and from the passion of hate to the awakening of understanding this is the beat, the rhythm of a poem. Now don’t get me wrong if a poem rhyme and has soul it is cool too, but I just wanted everyone to know that a poem does not have to rhyme.
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Natural Genius!
Inspiration from Nature makes me free
And free flow of words become fine poem!
Peacock dances out of zeal seeing rain clouds;
Nightingale sings enjoying Nature in fulfilment!
Nature is friend, philosopher and guide for all!
This truth animal, men and natural beings know!
Eye, ear, nose, tongue and feeling if sensitive
Lessons of Nature open heart to do all in love!
Ape and men learn from others to do all ever
As where intellect is strong instinct is weak!
If instinct, intellect and intuition are high sure
One will be super being creative as God or poet!
Engrossed in Nature's influence all comes naturally
For the genius doing great feat as singer, poet and all!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Closest Is Always The Most Fun
I like to do this irrational thing
Some spirit of irony beckons me forward
Into this folly and fun, so onward I charge, onward I fling
My heart's words into this inked paper, praying they are ignored
Because the subject I write of is right there
Yep she's right there
Right here
This is when and why I choose to write
Because she is right there
So I write, I like to write as she watches
In complete ignorance; or that's the idea
Maybe she does know, but probably not
No one can read my handwriting, no one can read my thought
She won't see through the metaphor
How could she know it's her, she'd never it is her who it's all for
I play this fun game of risk and love
Throw my inhibition and write when she's on my right
Haha, I can write whatever I want and no one
Will eve know, surely I have won
Surely they will not see it's about them
I even tell them I am writing
I even allude to what I am writing
So roll the dice, pick a card, buy a stock
Let's take the risk
I'll do it and you'll never know
Irony calls to me to make it more and more
Obvious, you don't even notice me
I dare you to notice this
I dare you.
poem by David Knox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem Is A Metaphor
THE POEM IS A METAPHOR
The Poem is a Metaphor
It means ‘the world’
It means ‘all that there is’
It means ‘the soul’
It means ‘our deepest feeling’.
The Poem is a Metaphor
It is more than what it just appears to be
It takes on a life of its own
It says more than it can define itself as
The Poem is a Metaphor
And it itself does not understand
Where it began and how it will end
And whether or not
It should always be rewritten.
The Poem is a Metaphor
And we too are metaphors
That will vanish one day
When all the real Poems
Pretend to still be here.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Post-Modern Poetry
The post-modern poem is the poet's surprise-
It has no agenda but its own interpretation-
It reads the ‘expressive I' as an infinite longing of the soul
To know and be known-
It writes out of many different places
But finds it difficult to call one its home-
It has many names and voices
But none speaks with an authoritative rhythm -
It is only its own alone home
And so I writing it know
It will not be found in me by those who write it as their own-
Chaos, perhaps, is its signature,
And loss of all the ancient rhythms and forms-
It wants to wander where it will as it does -
But I, I thinking back to what we were
And remembering years of reading others
Know too its voices are many even within the single self-
There is no ‘modern' anymore and no ‘post- modern' either
In the age where everything is accessible
And all is easily found and communicated
The single soul's signature cannot mean a name is real -
Only where all effort is and fails
Only where nobody really is
Only where many write and no one can really read
Perhaps beyond this
Beyond post- modern poetry
This poem too will teach Poetry how to live.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dreamy Eyes
Im reaching out to touch you
In the middle of the night.
And I dont know if Ive been sleeping
But I hold my pillow tight.
Are you real or are you
My imagination playing games?
I cant set you free
Youll always be my eternal flame.
Your dreamy eyes...
They just wont say goodbye.
Well, it must be my fate
cause I just cant escape.
And the passion never dies
Oh, dreamy eyes
No matter how I cry
I just cant reach you, dreamy eyes.
Your dreamy eyes...
They just wont say goodbye.
Well, it must be my fate
cause I just cant escape.
And the passion never dies
Oh, dreamy eyes
No matter how I try
I just cant reach you, dreamy eyes.
Youre a vision of tomorrow
And a ghost from yesterday
And Ill be trying not to let you
Take my breath away
Youre a summer breeze that comes and goes
But somehow lingers on
Tell me how can I forget you
If youre never really gone
What do I have to do
To get that close to you
And your- your dreamy eyes
Oh, I try so hard to release you
I just keep seeing your dreamy eyes.
Your dreamy eyes...
They just wont say goodbye.
Well, it must be my fate
cause I just cant escape.
And the passion never dies
Oh, dreamy eyes
No matter how I try
I just cant reach you, dreamy eyes.
song performed by by Christina Aguilera
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry Has Some Advantages
Poetry has some advantages
Over other forms of Literature-
It is ordinarily smaller than most other kinds of writing
It can be read in a shorter time-
People who would not try to write in more demanding forms
Can try to write in it-
Its subject is human feeling
It touches on our deepest experiences-
Almost everyone has a poem in them
And most a poem they have been moved by-
It is everywhere
And seems to be a part of every culture-
Language at its most intense is what Poetry is
And most of us have our intense moments-
Poetry is open to us all
And we can take it with us wherever we go.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You ask me to leave (Pantoum poetry)
The “pantun” is a Malaysian poetic form that was introduced to the West by French novelist, essayist, and poet, Victor Hugo (1802-1885) , hence the French spelling, “pantoum.” Westerners have taken creative liberties with the Malaysian form, which tends to follow a standard rhyme form of ABAB, where multiple, rather than single subjects, are introduced. While pantoums can have unlimited stanzas, you might want to begin with a 3-stanza poem until you get the hang of it:
Stanza 1: Line 1/Line 2/Line 3/Line 4
Stanza 2: Line 5 (repeat of line 2 in stanza 1) /Line 6 (new line) /Line 7 (repeat of line 4 in stanza 1) /
Line 8 (new line)
Stanza 3/Last Stanza (This is the format for the last stanza regardless of how many preceding stanzas exist) : Line 9 (line 2 of the previous stanza) /Line 10 (line 3 of the first stanza) /Line 11 (line 4 of the previous stanza) /Line 12 (line 1 of the first stanza)
And you ask me to leave all behind
Now when our moment in time is done
Going nowhere with nothing in mind
'Cause you're my world and my special one
Now when our moment in time is done
I love you like there's no end in sight
'Cause you're my world and my special one
You're still on my mind all day and night.
I love you like there's no end in sight
You're inside me filling my soul's space
You're still on my mind all day and night.
I feel still cuddled in your embrace
You're inside me filling my soul's space
Going nowhere with nothing in mind
I feel still cuddled in your embrace
And you ask me to leave it all behind
poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry Is Like A Beautiful Work Of Art
A poem has no write or
wrong,
How to write your poem
is up to you,
Visualize a perfect poem
That readers will love,
Adjust a poem as much as
you want,
Remember a poem is like
art,
You write it with meaning
and passion,
Add as much as your heart
desires,
Short or long it does not
matter,
Add a picture with your
poem,
Add a quote or a verse,
it is a poet's decision,
Always be proud of your poem,
Let the words flow when you
write,
A poem expresses a feeling,
thought and emotion,
Add a frame and hang it up
on a wall,
share your talents with the
world,
Poetry is like a beautiful
work of art.
poem by Derek James
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Growing From The Seed
But whom is to say how that seed will grow?
A change with the bitterness and cold of times covered in snow.
Who are we to judge how someone will be.
It's not already chosen.
Not even with the best intentions can fortune tellers always be right.
For a prediction a lot of the time are based on intuition.
The gut, the instinct baring.
The soul glowing with aura that makes you believe one thing.
It is as it is.
With a closed minds we choose to accept it as the only possibility.
But what of the other possibilities.
Do they fizzle out because of our bias beliefs because of what we know?
Knowledge is food we choose to eat, but do we feed others the same thing?
Or do we let them choose for them selves?
A spoon forcefully put in someone's mouth.
Doesn't mean they will agree with it, or like it.
They might just spit it back out.
Yuk, your wrong the child says as he regurgitates it as if he is wiser then we are.
And in some ways he might be.
For he hasn't yet made many decisions, based on influence of others.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With All The Reading and Writing I Do
With all the reading and writing I do
With all the work of the mind and heart
There comes a time
It can be any time
There comes a time
When the Poem must enter-
The Poem?
The deeper feeling-
The Music of the soul-
What I most need to say inside
The Writing which somehow surpasses all the other
In its inner intensity in its deepest feeling –
I write a poem now
All my heart mind soul
Go into every word and phrase.
The Poem? The Poem?
For which I write to live
And which through writing
I most live in Writing-
The Poem that this is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Letter From A Writer Searching For Her Soul And Wanting To Feel Not With Her Hands
Hello (to whom it may concern) ,
It's been awhile since we exchanged messages. Sorry, I'm not much of an |'onliner' these days. I resigned from my job. I'm, in the process of soul searching. Funny but I don't really know why I'm looking for a soul, my soul, when I cannot even see it. I'm on an unplanned vacation in some quaint town some miles outside the city while writing this email.
I guess I never had the chance to tell you how you took the glint from my eye. To write from the soul and not for the awards. I have overlook that writing is an Art. Thus it is priceless. A gold medal does not define you as an artist. Write until it ceases to become a craft.But more than just stringing words after words, conscious of your weary grammar, punctuations, right words, and subject matter. To write is to turn your heart inside out.
Beyond 'writing' and its technical definitions, it is actually a journey - a self surrender - towards the oblivion you are willing to traverse with your pen. And you find yourself in another state.
To write is to 'see' but not with your eyes. To 'feel' but not with your hands. And at the end of it all, you know that it's there. Writing takes over you. Thus, I often wonder: am i writing with the pen? Or is it the pen using me to write? But I know somewhere deep inside, there is a thing mightier than the pen that prompts me to write. And that is the soul.
I want to find my center. My creative process in writing. Ironic, but to find it, I must loose myself.
hahahahaha. whew. I know i sound stupid. Sorry. Thanks for bearing with me. Hope it's not too late to greet you a Happy New Year! ! ! ! =)
Always,
(name witheld, but this could be you)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Is A Poem
As I sat in my room,
On my little desk chair,
I began to feel
A hint of despair.
I had for my homework,
A poem to create,
And if it wasen't done then,
It would have been late.
My school, my dog,
A tree or my home,
Which of these subjects,
Should I choose for my poem?
You can see for yourself,
That my problem was bad,
No poem could I think of,
My; this was sad.
As I sat there and gazed,
A thought came to mind:
A poem is a poem,
Just as long as it rhymes.
So I wrote down some words,
And tossed them around,
Until they rhymed nicely,
And had a smooth sound.
My poem was all finished,
My homework all done,
It wasen't bad after all,
It even was fun!
Longfellow, Whitman,
Robert Frost too,
I've discovered there secret
That all of them knew.
A poem is no problem,
It takes not much time,
You write down your thoughts,
In a way that will rhyme.
poem by Sarah Stopka
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem Is A Metaphor/ For Whatever The Poet Needs It To Be
THE POEM IS A METAPHOR / FOR WHATEVER THE POET NEEDS IT TO BE
The Poem is a Metaphor
For whatever the poet needs it to be-
It need not know its own name
Or its destination-
It simply may suddenly appear
And take us to a place we’ve never been,
To a connection we never would have found on our own.
The Metaphor is a vehicle of transport for the Soul
And he who spells it out literally
Grounds it.
Why then oh why is this where we all be?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wanted A Poem/But There Was No Poetry In Me
I WANTED A POEM/ BUT THERE WAS NO POETRY IN ME
I wanted a poem
But there was no poetry in me
I said to myself from outside,
‘Write the feeling of a song'
But I had no song within me-
Poetry did not flow
No music moved me
I was alone with a Mind
That had no heart or song-
And then I writing
Simply tried to listen to myself
And what I heard
Was these awkward non- poetic lines
That make a poem
Which is not true poetry
And yet here now
proclaims its own rhythm as this page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dreamy River
There's a dreamy river flowing
Down the street from my house
I walk down there after work
But I paddle my way home
There's a dreamy river flowing
On every street corner in the world
And if that young moon is in the sky
She'll wink at you and let you pass by
There's a dreamy river flowing
From my refrigerator into my mouth
It only costs a few dollars
To keep those shelves stocked
There's a dreamy river flowing
From my mouth into my gut
There's a dreamy river flowing
From my wank into the street
There's a dreamy river flowing
In my mind as I lay to sleep
There's a dreamy river flowing
From a town I've never been to
Across this great country
And also from overseas
Sometimes from people's kitchens
Transversing time and space
I float down this river
Every night and day
There's a dreamy river flowing
From the hops and the malts and sugar
I call it my brother, I call it my wife
I call it my true friend
Let me float upon you dreamy river
And drown all these sorrows
That call to me from pasts I've severed
poem by Spencer Breau
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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