Poetician
Discipline to listen,
Observe and interpret.
Words selected to depict,
Life...
As one sees it.
Emotions come,
To overflow
With idealistic purpose.
Unknown until the poetician shows...
A creativeness that lifts imaginations.
In prose or to rhyme...
Sometimes without reason.
So it seems.
Yet those hopes and dreams,
Are written to be shared.
To freshen the air...
With the flow of possibilities!
Upon divergent mindscapes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Depict This Different
Depict this different,
From the others sent.
This one has meaning.
With some evidence in it.
Depict this different.
Pick off the lint.
Wrap this around your mind,
Feel the warmth in it meant.
Depict this different,
From the others sent.
This one has meaning.
With some evidence in it.
Thaw the cold you hold in your heart.
Depict this different.
And don't let a freezing,
In you start.
Depict it!
Rub and cuddle up.
Depict it.
With purpose and a reason.
Appreciate each season,
With a new breath to breathe.
Depict this different,
From the others sent.
This one has meaning.
With some evidence in it.
Depict this different.
You can depict this different.
Depict this different.
You can depict this different.
Rub and cuddle up.
Depict it.
Pleased as a breeze.
Depict it.
Give your troubles up.
Depict it.
And be free.
Depict it.
Don't give them any hints,
Your mind's at ease.
Depict this different,
From the others sent.
This one has meaning.
With some evidence in it.
Depict this different.
Pick off the lint.
Wrap this around your mind,
Feel the warmth in it meant.
Depict this different.
You can depict this different.
Depict this different.
You can depict this different.
You can depict this different.
You can depict this different.
You can depict this different.
Depict this different.
Feel free.
To depict this different.
Feel free.
Depict this different.
Feel free.
To depict this different.
Feel free.
Depict this different!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Words To Be Written
Words can be said, they can be written
they can be funny or sad or informed
words are sought after by everyone
papers, scripts, books, letters or texts
they can gossip, tattle or lie
honest, trust worthy, confusing
written to story or rhyme to rhythm
they can be found in our minds
written or printed they are strong
brought together the bring magic
imaginations, fantasy, real life
many stories and songs by words
have touched the soul with in
my words are to enlighten and entertain your mind
to put you in places we never dreamed
and to think I could of done that
my words to you is my soul to share
written with love, hate and sorrow
take the time to enjoy the words
words make ours dreams come true
poem by Michael Peterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flowin' Prose
I'm flowing prose to cons and cons to pros
I'm scheming rhyme against reason like it was flow against know
But beyond the concepts and emotions that rise
To the interconnectedness that underlies
The lies upon lies have lost their meaning
The plies upon plies of consciousness that is being
Over and over I fall I learned to walk from a crawl
It's not sad it's just the way and the purpose of it all
Now every word that you heard that I said that you felt
Was put in place in the space as they were shuffled and dealt
I steal feels from reels but I pay my respects
Paying compliments and disses and deciphering affects
Words are water as I court her
song performed by by Beastie Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Word Fervor
I am awake
weak with fervor
word residue
demand residue
draining words
leave in source
swiftly written
day upon day
without cessation
spring melt
is rapid
ice melt
winter melt
from high
mountain passes
flow neither waits
nor impeded hinders
observe flow waters
observe flow words
rapidly boiling forth
upon overflow rock
water force weight
unrestrained turbulent energy
unobserved water
still flows
unobserved without pause
lessons in
swift flowing waters
like swift flowing words
seen only
by those attentive
with sight to see
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words
Yeats so simply stated
' Words alone are certain good. '
And to the great poet
So highly rated
I try to listen, as I should; Yet
Being an untrained novice
Such as me
With verdant hopes of much improvement
- oh that I would -
I beg to slightly differ with W. B.
And offer here my humble opinion
- if I could -
Good certainly is not words alone,
For without humanity
To read and to write
How would they ever become known?
- For without the good of people
Who of these words would care
Ever to be heard, or even shared?
No, the good does not alone from words arise,
Rather from human beings
Whose entire story
Such words do attempt to comprise.......
- Words written in this time
May even the way
To a distant future find,
But not on their own
And never alone.
For it takes people's
- hand's to write
- eye's to read
- heart and soul to understand
The purpose, and the need.
Let it here be shown
Words alone
Are not the only good,
They need human beings
To give goodness and life
To their reason and meaning
For they are merely the vehicle
By which man's true good
Is found and understood.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Emphasis - Does Prose Satisfy?
Do rhyme and structure strangle sense,
Or emphasize emotions which
Eclectic rhythms render rich?
Stress reinforces verse, intense
Pleasure may be felt, with scents
Recalled from seasons past. Why stitch
On prose per prose that joy, its switch
So seldom magic supplements.
Excessive style is sterile, whence
Some seem to say that those who ditch
A long tradition feel the itch
To sense in rhyme mime or pretence.
It could be this misrepresents
So much which should be shared, keyed pitch.
Facts dry may well define a rose,
Yet can its scent pour through poor prose?
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Connects
I think your visons are very clear
And panoramic...
In delivery!
I could never tell a visual artist how to hold a brush.
Or a pen
To bring this depthness to surface.
Not like you've done!
In the way you did it to overcome me
With amazement!
I can only enjoy the finished product!
That's the only position I want to take...
And enjoy
What I 'see' and can perceive,
And escape within
This creation that's read,
And felt without touching!
'Yet touching!
I'm 'touched'...
On several levels accessible.'
When I've been 'awed' by a master!
And 'You' are that 'master'...
That captures everything within me.
Something clicks
And I am snapped back
Into a side of me inside
I hadn't seen in so long!
And 'that' is what you do too!
Being able to do that...
Provides such masterful views!
Shared and understanding!
'To do it and suspend me,
In imaginations!
Can not be done...
By just anyone! '
How you do it?
The way you get it done to do...
Lifts my mind to remind me,
The Almighty has created a wonderful family...
To interpret His 'conceptions' of evolving possibilities!
What it IS that you do...
Comes from your heart,
And it connects!
Dedicated to:
Ms Ernestine Northover.
'Ernestine, your creativity is magnificently 'placed'!
It shows that you are clearly not in rehearsals!
You are a student of 'something' DIVINE that has found you
To find a way that you have discovered to help and aid
In our 'awakening' process. you're terrific! '
~lsp~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Painting dreams...
Gazing at an empty page,
Thoughts and emotions run wild.
A portrait of words come to life,
Like dreams of emotions dancing.
Images of us live on in written words,
Stirring my mind and emotions.
A world of dreams built within the mind,
Forever floating upon the emotions of fantasy...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Word That Smells
I've found a reason not to rhyme.
Or open a door to flowing prose.
I suppose I am not feeling poetic today.
Nor especially free of speech.
Although there is a discipline to write.
Sometimes my mind turns off like a light.
And even though I said,
I've found a reason not to rhyme...
Something 'automatic' within me resists.
Something inside of me refuses to respond,
To my temptations that exist to just say...
It!
You know.
That word that smells when one feels like hell!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Will The Words Come Back?
Words slip off our pen
like warm butter off a knife.
They fall in unison across the page
with everything we write.
Then one day the words don’t flow
in unison like they used to before.
They have no rhythm within them
and just become no more than words.
We look at what we’ve written
and there is no bounce in them.
The words become no more than words
once written by a creative hand.
There is no meaning in what they say
they have no heart anymore.
They are just words written on a page
with no rhyme or reason for them being there.
Some call it a writer’s block;
others call it stagnation of the mind.
The creative juices fall away to nothing,
no spark to be kindled,
no emotions to be released,
no protests to be made,
no stories to be assembled
like a jigsaw in your mind.
Just an empty pen with words
that don’t make sense anymore.
Struggles without feeling,
ideas leading nowhere
on a spiralling downward turn.
You are no longer a writer,
your creativity is gone
and the only question you have,
will the words come came back?
13 July 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who stands with me?
True poets write in meter.
Not because they think it’s neater
but because the flow is sweeter
When their words are read aloud
as they perform before the crowd.
Their poems pass the acid test.
Prose writers do not choose to rhyme.
They see it as a waste of time.
Although their word choice is sublime.
Without meter it is prose,
not poetry as they suppose.
Their definition I contest.
Poetic prose it’s plain to see.
Can not be classed as poetry.
I can accept you disagree.
I know I have a biased view
I think I am entitled to
Decide which one I like the best.
I choose meter every time
Preferably with lines that rhyme.
I find such poetry sublime.
Though I enjoy well written prose.
Each to his own I must suppose
So write the way that suits you best.
I am old fashioned I admit
and not one whit ashamed of it.
I do not find rules inhibit.
Free expression of my views
They merely mean I have to choose
the words that will express them best
Free form, free verse, poetic prose.
Are methods other writers chose
as being fit for their purpose.
To rebel against fixed form.
Which was regarded as the norm.
Just to be different from the rest.
But fashions change and now free form
Must be regarded as the norm.
I see no reason to conform.
I choose to write my poetry
In the old way that pleases me.
A lonely voice raised in protest.
The wheel of fate will slowly turn
Metered poetry will return
and well deserved plaudits earn.
I hope I live to see the day.
when classic poets can display.
That fixed forms can outshine the rest.
Monday,06 December 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prose-Poetry
Once prose and poetry existed side by side
Two styles of literature, each with its bound
Jealously guarded by the literati
Lest prose masquerades as poetry.
The First World War smashed all fetters,
Soldiers wrote heart-rending poetic letters
To sweethearts, friends, fathers and mothers.
Newspapers published their anguish and horrors
The literati classed them as prose
And turned up their nose
At such a new trend of mongrelised poetry;
But the public gave it name and identity
Prose-poetry began to gain respectability.
Prose-poetry is a contradiction in terms,
An oxymoron; a paradox of many forms.
When well written, words flow as though in rhyme
Thought and syntax together dance with rhythm.
Some pen few lines haphazardly,
String words together arbitrarily,
Flit between thoughts randomly,
Structure their poems casually.
They want us to see them as thinkers
In fact, they are just wearing blinkers.
If only they could see their folly
They’d stop abusing prose-poetry.
poem by Isam Hussain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Talking River
I hear the river
Words flow down the pebble creek through my heart
Defy my understanding
It comes from unknown source, and
Proceeds to unforeseen destinations
It mirrors everything in my life, and says
It’s okay to make mistake sometimes
River passes us by, and
Flow on to other places
So often I listen to it for a second
Hold the words in the palm of my hands
Before it slips through my fingers
Always the river
Remind me love and hatred has no end
So are words has no limits
I will listen to what you say, and
We listen to the river again
The talking river holds its promise
Its steady flow forgives all blemishes
Its current washes off sinking debris
Cleanse our heart as we listen to it
Even If Fantasized
How I feel and use words to interpret those emotions
Has nothing to do with you
And I know
You believe yourself to be at the core of my being
But you are not! Even if fantasized
How I depict my experiences with justified merit
Is 'my' therapy
Go find your own
And I'm hoping your therapy does not include agitation
With a mission to sniff every crack I walk on
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Can You Hear Me?
Inspired by inspiration
A pen bleeds emotions ink
Saturating page in prose
As a parched palate, in need, have drink
Fluent, fluid, a liquid thought
Invisible until written free
Exposing itself in lettered form
Each line molding, what's soon to be?
Words oozing with vivid imagery
Capturing reader within its clasp
Eyes hearing, ears capturing site
A shared experience within words grasp
Inspired by Inspiration
A pen bleeds emotions ink
Drizzling, doodling, dripping
Ideas, can you hear me think?
poem by Wendy Bureau
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0004 The world has lost the ear for rhyme
The world has lost the ear for rhyme.
It still makes children squirm with pleasure;
and from some witty pens and minds, its fireworks fizz;
so, after all these centuries of rhyme
and all the games of meter, dancing words,
should we now mourn its passing?
Have we lost the music of another world?
Instead, the easy unpretentious discourse,
sober, light, familiar, honest -
the world of daily, homely, shared sharp life,
that's now preferred. Not prose;
much more than 'chopped-up prose' as those may say
who think that poetry should be more visibly hard-earned;
- as if a human life set down in honesty
were not a poem in itself, unwrit;
'prose with enhanced consciousness' it's often now defined;
and consciousness - now that's earned, if you like...
and simile, and imagery, and metaphor - all the repertoire
of glorious poetry - they're all still here
to work their magic; if more played down, now,
unostentatious as T-shirt and jeans;
unostentatious as the beating, bloody heart.
And yet, when years bring tears
and time brings death and dying,
it's time for rhyme, to heal the heart
and charm away the crying.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Without Knowledge Or Skills To Address
Would others judge so quickly,
If they were selected and picked...
To be gifted with intelligence?
And expected to provide evidence of it.
On a regular basis.
With nothing else to do,
But to prove it and not disappoint.
And those who are depicted that way,
Seem only motivated to a comprehending of life.
With a listening to achieve understanding.
Hoping that a discipline to accomplish dreams...
Does not continue to depict them,
As lucky when something done that they do...
Is given an attention.
While others seek with a hoping,
That their physical attributes warrants...
A getting of some attention that is mentioned too!
Afterall...
Isn't it how one looks and not what one does,
That achieves everlasting success...
Without knowledge or skills to address?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Verse or Prose
A verse written like a prose
Or a prose written like a verse
Is readable without divide
If it has a flow with a thought.
22.07.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flowin Prose
Im flowing prose to cons and cons to pros
Im scheming rhyme against reason like it was flow against know
But beyond the concepts and emotions that rise
To the interconnectedness that underlies
The lies upon lies have lost their meaning
The plies upon plies of consciousness that is being
Over and over I fall I learned to walk from a crawl
Its not sad its just the way and the purpose of it all
Now every word that you heard that I said that you felt
Was put in place in the space as they were shuffled and dealt
I steal feels from reels but I pay my respects
Paying compliments and disses and deciphering affects
Words are water as I court her, as she is pristine
Words and mics fall to dust and all thats left is the feelings
I give in and I win I try to never complain
Intentions venture to center and then they set the stage
But Ill remain sane making gain without pain
Staining trains with names and driving lanes to the refrain
And keep it positive as painstaking as it is
Ill never turn back cause thats the way Ive got to live
So like a cloud carries rain Im gonna carry my rhyme
Coming like thunder with lightening timing
No hesitation in gestation of thoughts and plans
Ferment time like wine no ploys or scams
Like the islands dot the oceans in the endless seas
Ideas coming to me in answer to my pleas
Woke up this morning right out of a dream
Reached for my pen and pad because my mind was on a rhyme scheme
What can I do with these bones and flesh?
With these animated thoughts in a world repressed?
Im going down like the rhythms on the winds of change
Im keeping calm under pressure like a deep-sea range
Im flowing prose to cons and cons to pros
Im like toucan sam when I follow my nose
Im giving shouts to gandhi, gravy and king
His holiness and all enlightened beings
Ill be the one who screams it on the microphone
Ill be the one who brings it inside your home
But the words aint mine I just pass em along
For betty williams and her friends I sing this song
And more ink from my pen and more tears from my eyes
And more crimes are committed as I say these lines
song performed by by Beastie Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words Woven - Parody Mary BEULEY - Words Woven
Words woven into speech
soon reach
intact thread spirit of each act,
knit warp and weft of wit wish fact,
dreams' tapestry may teach.
Words express essentials,
transmit, unwind
from mind to mind,
address ideas which, blind,
would grope for means to equate
sensations refined,
coarse, sophisticate.
Thus they incarnate
emotion's multi coloured coat, pattern twist
around ideas which form,
unform,
inform or disinform,
or take by storm
precisely or by gist
the geist soul kissed.
Words woven into speech
pen hand,
when scanned
from thoughts’ life blood leach
emotions, sense, dressed to suit
points phallic and points mute,
ideo-grand!
© Jonathan Robin Parody Mary BEULEY 1837_1916 written 12 December 1995 – Words Woven revised 31 July 2008 notably first verse below
Words woven into speech
soon reach
to knit the spirit of each act,
the warp and weft of every fact,
through dreams to teach.
______________
Words Woven
Words woven into rhyme
In time
Become a tapestry of thought
A canvas of experience in which
Our dreams are wrought.
Words are the evidence of what goes on
communicate
Within the mind.
They clothe the invisible
With robes of speech,
Sophisticated as silk,
Homespun as hessian,
And in between
The many-patterned, many-textured range,
Familiar and strange,
Of words -
Woven and dyed and spun
For Fun
Or seriously aware
Of what is there.
Words woven into rhyme
Or prose
Transpose
Giving the tiny embryo of thought
A dress to wear, most delicately wrought,
And caught for ever in a form know
And understand.
Mary BEULEY 1837_1916
© Jonathan Robin Parody Mary BEULEY written 12 December 1995
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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