I Am Not Into Graffeto
I am a poet!
And minds are my canvas.
I can not determine a thought process.
Or if mental portraits I deliver,
Will inspire to manifest dreams.
To leave impressions in minds to rest.
And those without imagination...
Will always stop to examine,
The surface of things.
With a limitness left untested.
And directly connects...
To an instant meaning known and seen.
But I am not into graffeto!
I am a poet,
Searching within me deep.
To attached words that match.
Hopefully to compose something catchy,
That attracts and traps.
And seduces a thirst,
With a quenching done.
That is found to be...
Tasty.
Fulfilling.
And delicious for some.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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
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Attached To Traps
Attached to traps,
And a life of insignificance.
It would seem those with dreams,
Would have visions unlimited.
It would seem those with dreams,
Would not submit...
To restrictions committed!
Attached to traps,
And a life of insignificance.
Where does the flowing of imagination go,
When a child grows to learn to stop...
Wishing to be a fireman or a cop?
Or a desire to want to doctor or teach?
Or a wish to speak from pulpits,
With a sermon to preach!
It would seem those with dreams,
Would have visions unlimited.
It would seem those with dreams,
Would not submit...
To restrictions committed!
Attached to traps,
And a life of insignificance.
Attached to traps,
In a world where most...
Show their indifference.
Where does the flowing of imagination go,
When a child grows to learn to stop...
Wishing to be a fireman or a cop?
Or a desire to want to doctor or teach?
Or a wish to speak from pulpits,
With a sermon to preach!
It would seem those with dreams,
Would have visions unlimited.
It would seem those with dreams,
Would not submit...
To restrictions committed!
Attached to traps,
And submissions to addictions!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Left To Examine
People seldom select rebellion.
From a truth spoken and understood.
Yet those upset and labelled rebels,
Know too well...
They've been deceived and meant to be.
With perceptions shallow and kept to believe,
And fed to a consciousness deluded to depths.
And difficult it is to keep people like this,
Conformed to accept values distanced from reality.
Realities often thought to be militant with intent.
And long mentioned by the ones...
People decided they would choose to shun.
But themselves left to examine and now have begun,
Analyzing traditions and values with a doing done.
With a wondering of which standards to use.
Where to go and who to question,
To release them from confusion.
And self inflicting mental abuse.
Protected in historic denial hypnotized to seduce.
Left to examine...
These times.
And how will they be...
Redefined.
How will that begin to be done,
These times.
And how will they be...
Redefined.
Left to examine...
These times.
And how will they be...
Redefined.
How will that begin to be done,
These times.
And how will they affect,
Minds!
Left to examine...
In the coming of the changing times.
And...
How will that begin to be done,
In minds,
Left to examine...
In the coming of the changing times.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poet
POET
He is a poet
When his thoughts survey
What distressed millions flay
He is a poet
When his works slay
Every social evil sway
He is a poet
When his words relay
What virtuous people say
He is a poet
When his expressions lay
Portraits on brains’ gray
Sathya….
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Dialogue With A Poet
Are you a poet?
Yes, I am a poet
How do you know that
I have composed a poem
You are a poet
when you compose
But right now?
I shall compose oneday again
You are a poet
the moment you compose
after that?
are you sure that
second one will also
be a poem
If second one is like first one
that is not a poem.
You must know a poem
can be a poem only once
What is a good poem
you never know.
To compose a good poem
you need a situation
or a context
that can not be repeated.
So you are not a poet
You will never be a poet.
poem by Devil Poet
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Poet is free
Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Poets Expresion
People are for ever correcting
A poet's right to express
Those of us who use English
As a second language
At times do make mistakes
But a Poets Expression
Stamps a mark on your mind
To imagine and dream
About worlds of the unknown
You delve in their minds
And stir the images of life
And implant them your expressions
Your expressions on life
Poets are many with their
Own impressions on life
Give up to the poet's
And clap them with praise
So from this poet who dreams?
To be just like them
Wise and experienced
In sharing my dreams
Fare thee well good poets
Encore and good night
poem by Kaila George
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Poet, O Poet
Let not the dog out
The poet cried.
Poet, poet, O poet
Imagine, imagine and imagine
Your imagination is our wealth
Your imagination is our health
Imagine, imagine and imagine
Create things on your own
In your own world my dear poet
That is not known and that is owned.
Let not the dog out
The poet cried.
Poet, poet, O poet
We have no control over anything
We have no control over the land
That is dreamy.
It is only you O poet
Who can control us from that land
Where nothing to be shame
Where no body is there to blame
Where there is only fame and fame.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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To Recapture That Innocence Of Loved Missed
To recapture that innocence of loved missed,
May be easier done by a poet doing it.
But when a poet isn't sitting to compose words of love...
The wish for it may be stronger than words can express.
Since words may touch emotions.
But to caress one's flesh...
In an anticipated mutual acceptance,
Is what the poet envisions as best.
For those who are poets,
In a loneliness desired to forget.
Or deny to mask in alibis.
And a poet can decide,
Whether to expose this or hide!
'So what have you chosen to do? '
Lie.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Great Write...
Every poem is an invitation
for the readers to use their imagination
a vehicle licensed
to carry passengers
who sometimes have a greater imagination
than the poet
even perhaps get more from the poem
than the poet knowingly put in
which you must admit
if with a slight embarrassment
as you read the words of praise
is a divine joke
and from the divine viewpoint
very practical since
every reader is an invitation
for the poets to match their imagination
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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Lightning Rod
A poet is merely a lightning rod,
For passing through him the words of God!
He opens up his mind, receives,
Then passes on the message, grieves!
The words erupt from deep within him
That God has stored before, verbatim.
Line upon line of schemes, ideas,
When left to man, left man in tears.
Words left in trust at the Creation
Mankind would waste in dissipation.
Before, when Adam walked with Eve
In Eden's den of make-believe
Were knowledge trees and friendly serpents
As God composed the Ten Commandments!
And every verse of every poem
Was writ before the truth was known;
That nothing is ever achieved by man
Without the seal of God's own hand.
So laud me not, the poet's in me,
But deep within, the poet's empty.
A poet is merely a lightning rod
For passing through him the words of God!
9 November 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Other one's words
We all go to sleep
With someone’s words
In our minds
Words of kindness
Words of anger
Words of every kind
They carry us off to sleep
And perhaps temper
And shape our dreams
Words said in caring
The most soothing
it seems
In anger or sadness
In calm and in madness
Words in our minds, we’ll find
As we drift off to sleep
Be it fretful or deep…and
Our mind slowly lowers it’s blinds
We all go to sleep… be it shallow or deep
Hearing some other one’s…
Words in our minds
poem by David Whalen
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To Get One's Point Across
It is not easy,
To capture the attention of the minds today.
Whatever the message relayed,
Has to be quick with a meaning attached to it.
With content that is agreed upon,
To leave those listening...
With some comprehension left to discuss.
And...
If delivering the message naked,
There is a benefit of an allowance...
To have what is not heard when first spoken,
Requested to be said over and over again.
From every possible angle to get one's point across.
Ensuring the bare essentials are remembered and understood.
Today...
We must try 'everything' deemed necessary,
To reach the minds of our overexposed children...
With a purpose to prepare them and their minds,
For the world in which we live.
Protecting them from reality is not going to do it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet child and grammar
No grammar is needed
In a child's world
In a poet's world
In the world of love
The poet the child
Are living always
And no one can put them
In trouble water
Poet is a free bird
With his words his languages
His dreams are with him
He is sharing his dreams
His thoughts that is
His greatness.
Leave the poet alone
Leave the child alone
Leave them to smile to laugh
To love to live
You can apply them as they are
You can put them on your own way
And in regular form and understand
On your own what they expressed
Beyond vocabulary beyond grammar
And see everything is alright.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Some Prefer What's On The Surface
It's in the meaning that comes,
That may not suit everyone...
With a getting to be done and quick.
It's in the meaning that comes,
That may not suit everyone...
With a getting to be done,
Before they run.
Some prefer what's on the surface,
And not below it to pick.
Some prefer what's on the surface,
With no thought attached to it.
Some prefer what's on the surface,
Since it's easier to get.
Without a picking up to leave to then split.
It's in the meaning that comes,
That may not suit everyone...
With a getting to be done and quick.
It's in the meaning that comes,
That may not suit everyone...
To pick up,
To leave to then split.
And many will prefer it to sit.
With...
A caring less of meaning in it.
Or...
Discovering themselves,
A meaninglessness.
No one wishes to discover,
A meaning exists.
Or bother to uncover,
A meaninglessness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Poem Is The Metaphor/ For All The Poet Is Not
The poem is the metaphor
For all the poet is not-
It lives in its own way
Beyond the fine line
Of the poet’s sacred intention.
It knows a holiness of its own,
And perhaps no holiness at all.
It is what it is
As all things are what they are-
And if it means more than first appears,
And if it says endlessly new sounds,
The poet never knew he uttered,
Still somehow deeply it connects
To where he is and what he was and what he will be,
When he is not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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