Poeticating What a Poeticator 'Do
Blank is my mind like a canvas.
Not filled with disarray or confused with thoughts.
A melody may come into mind.
Finding an image!
And thinking of a time...
To begin a poetic line,
That may or may not rhyme.
As a mental search begins,
Defining an image.
Before surrounding that with meaning.
Something accessible.
Lean!
And has comprehension in it that screams.
Bites!
Then frame it with...
A title meant for it!
That's the task of one who 'poeticates'.
In creative ways...
That uses the reader as baited prey!
'Poeticates? Po-et-o-cates, okay?
One who is in the process of preparing,
A poetic verse to be spoken publicly! '
If it sounds good,
Make your own stuff up!
That's all it is anyway!
Finding something that connects.
And reflects with anticipation.
Not to be confused with po' etiquette!
And depending on the nature of the 'piece'...
That too is invited!
Poeticating what a poeticator 'do' when done!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
My Mind Is In a Poetic Meter
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
Until it was produce to seduce,
To make aware.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When It Is Advantageous
There comes a time for one and for all,
When an honesty felt that has been taught...
Is adopted as a natural process.
To be digested.
With a comprehension that connects...
In one's mind that becomes understood.
But there are still many of us...
Still confused as to its use.
There are some who choose to manipulate it.
And when it is advantageous,
To benefit our wants.
And not necessarily to increase the feeding of our needs.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The age of image.
The people who know you
Are the canvas on which
Your image, good or bad,
Is drawn rightly or not.
Mind! The image you built
Will die with the canvas
When it’s torn or worn out.
Yet, each one wants an image.
Don't we desire leaving
A child for our copy,
which will not last long though?
02.01.2009.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Almost Poetic
It's almost poetic
The way you speak
It's almost poetic
The way you think
The way you sleep and dream
It's almost poetic
The way I feel for you
It's almost poetic
The way we argue
It's almost poetic
When we say goodbye
Not knowing the next time
We'll see each other
You are the curved line
And I am the dot
That creates the question mark..
And it's almost poetic
If it were not so pathetic.
poem by Jeremy Rascon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Blank Canvas
A blank canvas waits every morning
as the sun begins to rise.
It waits for me to start thinking
of what today will be my prize.
Whatever it may be, I know
a new destination will come aboard
and my creations will be my guides to follow
to new adventures I will afford,
seeking and finding the colours and words
to fill in the emptiness of my blank canvas.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Occupy Your Mind
(neil tennant / chris lowe)
Satisfy your reason
It will occupy your mind
Even when youre dreaming
Believe
Find another meaning
To determine what you need
Experience this feeling
And believe
Believe
In a world so confused
In a world so confused
In a world so confused
In a world so confused
Believe
Love will pierce the dark cloud
Of unknowing and reveal
All that you were dreaming
And believe
These communications
Will descend on you en masse
So what Im saying, baby
Is believe
Believe
In a world so confused
If you feel love refused
Believe
In a life so defined
You could find time
To change your mind
Believe
In a world so confused
If you find love refused
Believe
In a life so defined
You could find time
To change your mind
Believe
Occupy your mind and youll believe
Occupy your mind and youll believe
Occupy your mind and youll believe
Believe
In a world so confused
In a world so confused
Believe
Occupy your mind and youll believe
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetic Warrior
A poetic warrior with a ball point sword
A typewriter dagger to lose he can't afford
The computer screen or the note pad are his battle field
Inspiration from others are his strong sturdy shield
Negative critics and writers block he can always defeat
Sometimes his heart might be broken still he keeps it concrete
He can take pain and suffering and use it to create
So his wounds can be a weapon knowing others can relate
He is a poetic warrior from the beginning of time
Defending his homeland of metaphor and rhyme
A hero to the reader always saving their mind
In search of shining armor it is him they do find
They are protected from the uninspiring
The ones who are in love with art defiling
It is them he sends spiraling, into the depths of hell
They can feel the truth and the warmth in his rhythm
In his wordplay many messages are unhidden
He is their poetic warrior from the beginning of time
Defending their homeland of metaphor and rhyme
poem by Sam Edison
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Confused
I am confused with love and fear.
I am confused with the taste of my tear.
I am confused of where I'll go.
I am confused of what I'll know.
I am confused of whos my family.
I am confused of what makes me happy.
I am confused by what I do.
I am confused of what's true.
I am confused by your touch.
I am confused oh so much.
poem by Jean Pullman
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Lunch With a Poet
I had lunch with a poet, just the other day.
A poet who has written fine and lofty verse,
Conveying his experiences, emotions and his ideas, in
Vivid, imaginative ways, condensed in simple language,
Choosing words for sound and power,
Rather than impressing readers with poetic adulterations.
Almost apologetically, he said he uses 'nickel words'
To write his inner thoughts. It was as if he were at fault,
As though he thought those simple sounds
Had lessened the intent of his poetic worth.
I emphasized how wrong he was, and tried
To make clear, a poet writes in sympathy with his reader,
Overleaping the barriers of understanding by the simplicity
Of his language, and of his words.
To write with words of misty meaning does not make
A mystic.
To write with vulgar words does not lift up the poem
On wings of song, it only floats as high as the poet's
Commonality who, mistaking flatulence for inspiration, becomes
Enmeshed in a literary byproduct of the foulest of excretion and Smells.
My friend failed to intellectually understand,
But spiritually Accepts, as his writings reveal,
That clarity of thought and mind is the poet's
Highest point of the poet's integrity.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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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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The Three a.m. Burst
I was woken in the early hours of this morning
by an overwhelming mental burst.
My mind bombarded me with random words
and compelled me to write poetic verse.
Words were branded upon my thoughts,
like initials on the hide of a steer.
But then strings of words in a jumbled mess
in different colours began to appear.
Like calculated numbers, words fell into place
adding their value to the score.
Another sentence brought another verse,
which begged for even more.
By breakfast time the burst was over,
the words had been laid to rest.
Several pieces of paper had been filled,
and my mind had been freed from stress.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Poetic tips — but read my lips
A piece gets writ not ere ‘tis penned,
Poorly or well, hailed or hollered,
To have tried is not to have sinned.
A good one gets born from no good,
Poorly penned better is than no poem,
Get started, fodder is someone's fond food.
A poet, howso good or great,
Has poor poems writ sans number,
Without one, no'ne can a good one create.
It sure does help— a theme of some heft—
Love always is as is death, destiny,
The canvas vast is; nothing need be left.
And yet beware, heftier a theme,
Deeper does lie the devil in details,
What surfaces from bottom is fine cream.
Let not thine pen every nut, bolt explain,
Go ‘head, say what ye do want to say,
Let readers weigh thine labour's pain.
Poetic forms a mere walking aid is,
But learn to walk with and without,
Discard as shackles— soon ere they seize.
A poet does not pen, paints an image
That walks a mile when words weaken,
And wobble O with years of age.
As poet, thou hast a heart thine own,
And it aches unlike any,
Only heads reap seeds by self sown.
A piece with no title to head,
Much like a nameless lost child is,
Lazily fathered, dies when not yet dead.
A poem needs but a thought, a pen,
A blank paper to paint,
But milieu a good Muse is— eight of ten.
Retire to woods, any a place is good,
Let pursuits creative be heart o'er head,
Create an island of solitude.
Even a limerick, dirty or dull,
A good fun is, as good a try,
Dangerous is a longish lull.
One perfect line in a long spell
Though makes it well worth a while,
It makes the rest stand out as hell.
Kiss not away the worst of thine shame,
Nor keep private demons off the page,
Keep an honest pen within prime frame,
And send thine babes to open world
O to put head and heart to test,
Cage is no place for a free bird.
Poetic lines oft do easy flow,
Putting every pea in a perfect pod,
Slog nor struggle, shame's not too slow.
If not a good one, nor e'er great,
Each can a better poet be,
Heed not thine head; let heart ‘lone let.
No promenade on a paved way,
A poem is new path to explore,
O not for long on it to stay!
poem by Aniruddha Pathak (2011)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Pen Gone Dry
Barren fields…empty places
Mind devoid of idea and rhyme
Sterile imagination…featureless faces
Webs in memories, frozen in time
Fingers flaccid, mind unwilling
Heavy lies this heart of mine
Creative forces not fulfilling
Empty flask of poetic wine
Dried up source of poetic spring
Used up store of poetic phrases
Emptied purse with untied string
Like worn out shoes and old frayed laces
Time away… might grow the field
Time away… might fill the empty places
Perhaps time will let the emptiness yield
To imagination…and full featured faces
Now...inkwell empty
Tear in eye
Pristine paper
Pen... gone dry...
poem by David Whalen
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It Is Poetic And Prophetic
It is poetic and prophetic,
With some tongue in cheek stuff.
It is poetic and prophetic,
With some tongue in cheek stuff.
It is poetic and prophetic,
With some tongue in cheek stuff.
And...
This could be interpreted,
As comments from a cynic.
'I see the holes in shoes.'
And...
This could be interpreted,
As comments from a cynic.
'Those shoes have not been used.
Since many are afraid of walking.
But talk about nonsense,
They choose to do.'
It is poetic and prophetic,
With some tongue in cheek stuff.
It is poetic and prophetic,
With some tongue in cheek stuff.
It is poetic and prophetic,
With some tongue in cheek stuff.
And...
It could be interpreted,
As comments from a cynic.
'Lips flap flip flop so much.'
And...
This could be interpreted,
As comments from a cynic.
'Flipping lips lick ears to touch,
With venom spiced and nothing nice to say...
Yet quick to pick from empty pockets.'
It is poetic and prophetic,
With some tongue in cheek stuff.
It is poetic and prophetic,
With some tongue in cheek stuff.
'Woe goes the mogul to spend from thieving.
Wishing to steal more.
To take and not to give.
Or...
Sympathize with those begging.'
And...
This could be interpreted,
As comments from a cynic.
'I see the holes in shoes.'
It is poetic and prophetic,
With some tongue in cheek stuff.
It is poetic and prophetic,
With some tongue in cheek stuff.
It is poetic and prophetic,
With some tongue in cheek stuff.
And...
This could be interpreted,
As comments from a cynic.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do You Know What You Want
Someone who treats you right
Stay with you day and night
I can tell that's what you need
I know just what to do
I'll take good care of you
Baby you can get that from me
I can tell she's not treating you right
Every time you look at me
So which one will you choose
You look so confused
Tell me the truth
Do you know what you want
Do you know what you want
Do you know what you want
Love's so hard to find
So make up your mind
Do you know what you want
Oh baby can't you see
One minute you're with me
Next one you are all over her
She talks behind your back
You know I'll stay on track
Something she wouldn't for sure
How can I help you to make up your mind
Boy you're running out of time
So which one will you choose
You look so confused
Tell me the truth
Do you know what you want
Do you know what you want
Do you know what you want
Love's so hard to find
So make up your mind
Do you know what you want
[BRIDGE]
Please call me and say
I am the one
You need in your life
The game that you play
Ain't no fun
Please answer me now
Gotta know what you want
I can tell she's not treating you right
Every time you look at me
So which one will you choose
You look so confused
Tell me the truth
Do you know what you want
How can I help you to make up your mind
Boy you're running out of time
So which one will you choose
You look so confused
Tell me the truth
Do you know what you want
Do you know what you want
Do you know what you want
Love's so hard to find
So make up your mind
Do you know what you want
song performed by by M2M from Shades Of Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like The Sun
In light of my present mess
In light of my mental weathers turn
In light of all the crash and burn
Ill open my mind as wide as ever
The line behind the lesson
Soul in the open well
It might have been fate
It might have been fortune
It might have been wine and a mellow head
Im finding my way
Finding the words
One body breaking
Someone come and rise up
Rise like the sun
Youll find the world
Somebody save me
Someone come and rise up
Rise up and hold me now
I know that at times life kinda hurts
I know that I will live and learn
So more than survive
I will endeavour
The mind behind the message
Alone on an ocean swell
It might have been great
It might have gorgeous
It might have been why Ive settled in
Im finding my way
Finding the words
One body breaking
Someone come and rise up
Rise like the sun
Youll find the world
Somebody save me
Someone come and rise up
Rise and show
A helpless man
A held out hand
Defining images
That flow through my hope
Surrender the broken moments
And pointing fingers
The closing of open minds
I might have been delayed
I might have been delirious
I might have been otherwise
Taking hammer blows
Like an animal
For others
So heavy was my way
Im finding my way
Finding the words
One body breaking
Someone come and rise up
Rise like the sun
Youll find the world
Somebody save me
Someone come and rise up
Im finding my way
Im finding my words
Im one body breaking
Someone come and rise up
Rise like the sun
Youll find the world
Somebody save me
Someone come and rise up
Rise and show
Show us
Something
song performed by by I Mother Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Moderns
To many reading modern poetry more interesting the meaning in the metaphors they seek to find
They feel it makes their brains work that much harder that it is good exercise for the mind
Rhyme for their great brains seems that bit too simple it does not test their thinking power at all
'Tis not a poem to them if it seems simple and the meaning in it easy to recall,
Yes rhyme for them it does seem that bit simple and deciphering it to them is not a test
The hidden meaning in the metaphors is something that does seem to try them best
Rhyme poetry to them is too simple and far too easy for to understand
It has to be blank verse with dozens of metaphors for their interest for to command
They look on rhyme and bush poets as inferior their preference in poets and poetry they make known
On literature they air their opinions like it is said to each their own
Their poetry evenings do seem quite exclusive rhyme poets to read they never do invite
Their unmusical lines that are laced with metaphors to each other they do recite
They do not like rhyme or they do not like bush poetry to them it is of another time
And in their poetry evenings there is no place for the men and the women of rhyme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Nothing us but only in between us
In finding you
I find me, in looking for you
You look for me, so in finding you finding me,
We finally find out, there is nothing us but only
You and me finding you and me, there is really
No us, just some things between us, always finding
You and me finding you always finding two
Not one, nothing one, but always two, a separate
You finding me and me finding you in this search in futility
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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A Writing Break
I sit and write
Literary expelling my mind
On thoughts and feelings
In words I sometimes reflect
Seeing my every image
My pretence of character
Both good and bad staring back
Between the lines of the page
There in stories made up
In verse I see captured
Broken up pieces of myself
That others may relate to
Its all a humane experience
Literary coming off the page
In poetic dedication
I sit here and I write
Feeding my obsessive addiction
Now back to writing
poem by Matthew Holloway
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