In A Seeking Of A 'Selected' Demographic To Please
There are no intentions I make,
To create lines to find rhymes...
With the suiting done to absorbing minds,
To ease with the delivery...
Of what is deemed acceptable poetry.
In a seeking of a 'selected' demographic to please.
God has blessed me with a gift,
To interpret messages with.
Some may be offended,
With expecations to be entertained.
And I do the best I can,
To maintain that in perspective.
And there are times I wish my comments,
Were accepted and not dissected...
To reveal a hidden agenda.
And for those who do that,
I might include something provocative.
But I am just a messenger!
Delivering to others what to me has been given.
There are no intentions I make,
To create lines to find rhymes...
With the suiting done to minds,
To ease with the delivery...
Of what is deemed acceptable poetry.
In a seeking of a 'selected' demographic to please.
That would be too easy!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Where The Problem Is
There use to be a time,
When people passed off anything...
And found it acceptable.
Today those same people,
Who found anything and everything done acceptable...
Are seeking explanations amongst themselves,
As to why those they have selected to represent them...
Seem less qualified to audition for characters portrayed,
In any nursery rhymes they have ever told to their children.
And...
The ones who are trying to snap them 'into' reality,
Can not say it loud enough...
That everything that has been sweetened to eat,
And given to them to nourish...
Has had damaging effects,
On the maintaining of their mental health.
Yet...
STILL they wish to keep the same story lines told,
But they wish to have the ones telling those nursery rhymes...
To depict the exact images in their minds,
That have never existed.
Although they seek 'anyone' besides those who are truthful,
To deliver the goods.
With a comfort for them that is understood.
There use to be a time,
When people passed off anything...
And found it acceptable.
But these times lived can no longer depend on myths.
People are challenged to be real with themselves.
And that's where the problem is.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Out Of The Confines Of Definitions
They wish to define soliloquies,
As a dramatic monologue...
Spoken in a reflection,
By one who rambles in prose.
You know...
Those who profess to be 'scholars'.
AND...
Degreed!
They wish to 'confine' poetry,
As a delivery of lines...
For those who believe,
They have an expertise...
Of what they perceive,
Is an etiquette definition of poetry.
Something, of course...
That elevates the nature of it,
To proper standards that are elite.
Well...
When I receive an image,
And it is written to create an effect.
I am not the one to count lines...
With a caring done if it has rhythm or rhyme.
If I am emotionally affected and what I read connects,
The author of what I read that touches me...
Could be a literary genius!
Or someone considered out of their mind.
And most times,
People who create are just that.
Out of the confines of definitions,
To create their own.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Similar Tastes
Take a survey.
None of the polls are consistent.
In some thriving neighborhoods,
People have never heard of those...
Sitting at the top of best seller lists.
Or rated to be this and that,
But lack notoriety.
How is that possible? It wouldn't be...
If a polling was done to include everyone.
And integrity was not isolated,
To a campaign blitzing done...
On a selected demographic.
Chosen based upon familiarity...
And similar tastes in what is for some acceptable.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Poet Became His Own Poetry
A POET BECAME HIS OWN POETRY
A poet became his own poetry
And all he could be
Was lines and lines and lines
Inside and outside
Lines and more lines
Off- rhymes
Finding a phrase
A metaphor
Hearing listening
To sounds
His own mind made.
A poet became his own poetry
And went into the long sleep
Of being only what he wrote.
No one can know how
Reading these lines now
The poet and the poetry live
without themselves.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Why Do We Need Rules For Poetry?
Why do we need rules for poetry?
Let's make a Haiku with ten lines and one hundred syllables.
Let's make a limerick with ten lines, and not rhyme it.
Let's just do whatever the hell we want to do.
After all it's yourself that you want to express,
Do whatever the hell you want to.
You don't have to listen to anyone.
You don't have to follow rules.
After all you say it's acceptable now.
This is modern poetry,
I am not governed by archaic rules, put forth,
By men and women thousands of miles away,
Or in some foreign country.
I am me, I will do as I wish, and no rules apply to me.
Why do we need rules for poetry?
Beats me.
poem by Juan Olivarez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Run And Dance And Play
'The mission of poetry is to create among people
the possibility of wonder, admiration, mystery,
the sense that life is marvelous...
To make life a marvel-that is the role of poetry.'
- OCTAVIO PAZ
she finally admits that she likes octavio
but she does not understand him, and i quip
that if that is the case, you must stop reading him, he is killing you
and your initial desire to be in love with poetry
isn't it that the mission of poetry is to create this marvel?
this admiration? this feeling that life is marvelous?
that there is still this wonderful feeling left inside us
despite the odds?
if octavio makes you wonder about more wonders
continue reading the magnificence of his lines
marvel, marvel, marvel
but if he does not achieve that purpose in you
try reading back those nursery rhymes
those that make you feel better and make you
go back to the niceties of your childhood
run and play and dance and sing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry Is Sexy
Poetry is sexy
Its lyrics aim to please
Poetry is sexy
Engaging in its tease
Poetry is sexy
It radiates with verb
Poetry is sexy
Every idyllic word
Poetry is sexy
Refined for purity
Poetry is sexy
Stripped of subtlety
Poetry is sexy
When read between the lines
Poetry is sexy
Laced with frilly rhymes
Poetry is sexy
Both singular and plural
Poetry is sexy
Every exclamatory swirl
Poetry is sexy
Grammatically raw
Poetry is sexy
Even typos and all
Poetry is sexy
Consummated publicly
Poetry is sexy
When performed properly
Poetry is sexy
Irrespective of its font
Poetry is sexy
Fashioned any way you want
poem by Brian Dorn
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Read Between My Lines
I'm going to make it easier for you,
To read between my lines.
Since you are convinced...
You are aware of my intentions!
Ready?
------------?
------------
------------! !
And...
------------?
There!
Feel free to interpret my every word.
With specific intentions you believe I meant.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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With A Wish To Keep Appearances Kept
Seeking a service or product to sell,
For the purpose to market successfully...
Only those with an expanding approach,
To include an unlimited demographic...
Have their eyes on the bottom line.
Those seeking to achieve an exclusiveness,
With a wish to keep appearances kept...
Have the right to do so.
And that is why many people like this,
See their businesses fold.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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On Poetry
1
poetry can be
like a sky filled with wrangling clouds
or as a sky without a wisp
2
in poetry there are no
clichés in thought and phrase;
and what is left there is
the resplendent and the living
3
poetry leaves one
rich inside
and ordinary outside
4
the fool defines poetry
and poetry defies all definitions
5
poetry entertains, inspires;
poetry tickles, distracts, and shapes and frees -
but its true intent, no one knows
6
many lines, and countless lines
many pages, and thick volumes
don’t make poetry
7
if one had no coins
one cannot buy bread;
but not all the world’s wealth
can bring you poetry
8
Oh no!
Not another love poem!
Oh no!
Not another poem about oneself!
9
rhyme, technique and meter
and tricks of prosody
don’t make poetry: passion does
poem by Raj Arumugam
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With Few Exceptions To Debate
Some believe what I do is easy.
Even making comments...
Abundant with amusing quips.
As if I command each selected word.
Without a single pressured thought,
Connected to the delivery done of this!
With no apparent devotion...
Or committment attached to it!
I never wished my steps babied.
Like, maybe, some suspect!
I was raised to be responsible.
With a respect to protect.
I remember my mother saying...
'Care less what names you are called.
Do as I expect!
And that is all.'
My sisters and I were taught this,
From the time we could talk and crawl.
It was the kind of love that did not smother.
Or keep us sheltered,
Behind restricting walls.
There were expectations.
With few exceptions to debate.
Some believe what I do is easy.
Even making comments...
Abundant with amusing quips.
As if I command each selected word.
Without a single pressured thought,
Connected to the delivery done of this!
With no apparent devotion...
Or committment attached to it!
But nothing has come to this man easy.
Oh, I've felt the queasies in my stomach.
And threw up more than I admit!
I've learned it takes effort to get around,
Those who have missions to knock me down.
To cripple my abilities to get up and stand.
But no clues do I give to tease.
In regards to that strength kept inside of me.
Nor who it is that I am...
That makes me stand tall,
With an arrogance that is grand!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry Has Its Own Music
POETRY HAS ITS OWN MUSIC
Poetry has its own music-
A mind empty of it
Wonders where it is.
Poetry has a rhythm of its own
Without that rhythm
Dead words dead lines dead pages.
Seeking the rhythm the music of poetry
Flat lines come
And the poem is a parody
Of true poetry.
How many flat and false poems
Have I written
In order
To help me try
To come alive?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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0026 To live in poetry
So often, poets
with their poetic eyes,
ears, minds, hearts, souls,
record actions that
are already poetry or poetic
in themselves
or so it seems
which makes it easy
for poetic poets to write
poetic poetry
as when I watch you
poised so still, sitting there,
your face against the light,
painting meeting sculpture,
still as any animal,
still as any goddess
roaming the cosmos in your mind
seeking, ballpoint poised,
the answer to some hidden
crossword clue
living in poetry
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Regretting Their Actions
Unfortunate are those,
Who select their victims with venom.
Those who are blinded by an agenda picked,
Without facts that are offered to them...
But set with a mindset,
To appease a personal illness.
And this had been done with ease.
Unfortunate are those,
Deciding to choose the ones perceived,
As vulnerable.
Those they believed were without friends.
Those they have chosen,
To be open and defenseless.
Unfortunate are those with minds like this!
And they are the ones to ultimately suffer the most.
First to scream an unjustice has been done.
Although they are the ones,
To instigate...
Their own pain and defeat!
And exposed to be evil...
From discretions selected privately.
Now publicly observed as acts to deceive.
Unfortunate are the ones like these...
Regretting their actions,
At the expense of destroying their own lives.
Weeping and seeking...
Places to hide!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Poetry
Poetry.......
Poetry defines me
Poetry.......
A place where you be you and I'll be me.
Poetry.......
We are best friends for eternity.
My Poetry.......
Is the daughter of my emotion,
There I've said it, no need to interpret the connection.
Poetry.......
Where my pen and paper are sealed with a kiss,
So easy to write for my mind is a bliss.
Poetry.......
Poetry has multiple meanings,
An indescribable feeling when I realize others understand them.
My Poetry.......
It just comes natural to me.
My Poetry.......
Is out there, , , , , away from exile,
And style of writing is very versatile.
Poetry.......Poetry.......
P oetry.......
It speaks out to me.
poem by Anita Khelawan
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Scoring The Most 'Browny Points
'What on Earth,
Are they doing over there? '
Making attempts to discourage the messenger,
From delivering the message.
'But...
We have the same assignment.
We all are doing the same thing.
Have you been discouraged? '
No.
Not at all.
In fact...
I have experienced just the opposite.
Have you been discouraged?
'No.
Why do you think,
They have selected him...
To be the one discouraged? '
I don't think they realize,
He is loving every moment of it.
Afterall...
Who amongst us,
Is scoring the most 'browny points'?
Do you remember what we were told?
'Yes, I do.
The more difficult the delivery,
The brighter one's star shines.'
You know what?
I hadn't thought about that.
Oh...
He thinks he's the slick one, huh?
Well...
Comeon.
Let's go lay under the Sun.
'To do what? '
Tan.
Do I need to get more specific?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Man Became Addicted To Poetry
A MAN BECAME ADDICTED TO POETRY
A man became addicted to poetry-
Wherever he went he read or wrote a few lines-
Poetry became much of what he did-
Poetry and poetry and poetry-
As if that alone could give meaning and pleasure to his life.
A man became addicted to poetry
And so lost at times
What true poetry is –
Now he writes without knowing
Whether he is truly writing
Or merely using the ‘idea and world of poetry’
For his own peace of mind.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Through Poetry
More than a stage set,
To burn depths of love and passion.
More than a spotlight to focus,
Upon the social ills...
That trap ideals in delusion.
More than a fence attempting to mend,
Broken relationships that hit dead ends.
And more than a safety net,
To catch embittered disconnections
From good intentions misunderstood.
Hearts find themselves protected,
When this can be done without moving lips.
Or visited impressions made...
To be misinterpreted.
Through poetry environments can create such spells.
Through poetry there are no requirements,
One should receive it sitting...
In a perfumed fragrance.
Through poetry one can be inspired...
Without requests of limits met.
Unless this is the desired wish of the poet!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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!
The Death of Poetry
Poetry is dead and God is alive.
I heard these words and began to cry.
Without poetry what would become of me,
Drowning in a sea of Christianity?
Poetry is dead and long let it lie
With its Thee and its Thy and its Thou and its Thine
May we never see another line
Of iambic pentameter with end-stopped rhymes.
Poetry is dead, and so it shall lay,
Mouldering at the pit of its shallow grave.
And no longer will they give a hoot
For the quatrain stanzas or the metered foot!
Poetry is dead at the bottom of the sea
With its anapests, dithyrambs, dactyls and spondees.
And also eight to sixteen lines
On your innermost feelings or the meaning of life.
Poetry is dead but how long will it stay
Before they resurrect it for another day?
Has it not been just a few years time
Since they said it was God who was dead—
-and poetry alive?
poem by Theresa Haffner
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