You
This is a poem
I'm writing to you
I know you don't know me
But i feel like you do
By reading my stories
I've told you alot
Whatever i've lost
And whatever i've got
This could be real
Or this could be fake
Just give what you give
And take what you take
Thank you for giving
A minute of your time
To read what i've written
In this little rhyme
poem by Lucy Vernezze
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Fake Smile
When I feel so sad
I just hide it when I'm around people
I put on my
Fake smile
Behind it's a hurtful and depressed girl
Who feel she can't get back up and
Smile for the first time
Since this guy make her like this
I feel like broken picture frame
I need a push to do it again
I try to smile but I can't
I'm lost so I put on a
Fake smile
When I have to
I feel like I will never smile again
I lost it unless one person
I know who will do it and is you baby
I know you are the one
I just have mixed feelings for you
One minute I Iike you and next minute I don't
One day I will get my smile back and
It be thanks to you or to whoever can do it
For right now I have to show a
Fake smile
You did this me and
I did this to myself
It turn out after you been gone awhile
I don't think or cry anymore
I forget you after all
This is real smile and not
Fake smile
poem by Christina Phan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Apology To The Reader Who Has Written Me A Message I Have Not Answered
AN APOLOGY TO THE READER WHO HAS WRITTEN A MESSAGE TO ME I HAVE NOT ANSWERED
The real apology is not this poem
It is one by one
Reader by reader
Answering each one
Who has ever written me.
It is reading all the poems of others
I do not want to say
A ‘real no’ or a ‘false yes’ to.
It is opening myself
To perhaps a true friend
To perhaps one whose writing
I see better than my own.
The real apology
Is in opening up to the poems of the many unknown others.
Will I do this
Will I give it the time
When I already am guilty
Of not using my limited time
To correct my past work?
Dear Reader,
I apologize, I do not know.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Poem
i like to read your poem
and i like to say it is a poem
there is a difference
of course
between the two statements
i like to read
it is your poem but i may
after reading
that
saying that i am honest though
and can distinguish a poem
from one that is not a poem
that your poem is one that i only
like to read
and may
say that it is not your poem
but it is yours you are sure of that
but what i am saying is that
i am reading your poem
but i feel that it is not
a poem after all
i can say one when i read one
so i just say i like reading your poem
which could not really be a poem
not even prose
i just like it
but it is not anything about what
i feel i like it to be
a poem or prose
i am reading it, it isn't
like this one for instance
you know that
now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Poem That Perhaps Never Should Have Been Written
THE POEM THAT PERHAPS NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
Not the poem of yesterday
Nor the poem of tomorrow
But the poem of today-
What gives life meaning now.
Not the poem as it is read
But the poem as it is written.
Not the certain poem
But the poem that does not know
If it truly is a poem.
The poem that gives hope only when it is written-
The lesser poem-
The poem that perhaps never should have been written.
The poem I am writing now,
Perhaps for myself alone
The lesser poem
The poem that perhaps should never have been at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To All Those Whose Poems I Have Not Read
TO ALL THOSE WHOSE POEMS I HAVE NOT READ
To all those whose poems I have not read
Who have said a kind word about mine-
I apologize
I simply am too selfish
And do not want to give the time-
I too do not want to lie
What if I do not like your poem?
And also I do not want to recognize
So many ‘equals' when I am after all to myself ‘the poet'-
An apology is of course not a real answer
Perhaps I will try to do better in the future-
But I do feel badly about this-
Please go on without me
There is a big world out there
And many listeners who hopefully
Will give time and attention to your poem
As I have regrettably not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Your Dog Dies
it gets run over by a van.
you find it at the side of the road
and bury it.
you feel bad about it.
you feel bad personally,
but you feel bad for your daughter
because it was her pet,
and she loved it so.
she used to croon to it
and let it sleep in her bed.
you write a poem about it.
you call it a poem for your daughter,
about the dog getting run over by a van
and how you looked after it,
took it out into the woods
and buried it deep, deep,
and that poem turns out so good
you're almost glad the little dog
was run over, or else you'd never
have written that good poem.
then you sit down to write
a poem about writing a poem
about the death of that dog,
but while you're writing you
hear a woman scream
your name, your first name,
both syllables,
and your heart stops.
after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.
you wonder how long this can go on.
poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Did You Understand It?
You've written something with several typographical errors.
And I question the correctness of your language usage.
Plus it had been written in mixed tenses.
I read it more than once.
And after the third reading it finally dawned on me,
You may have done this intentionally.
'Did you understand it?
What it was I tried to do? '
I'm not sure.
'How would you critique it? '
I don't know if I can.
'And you read it three times? '
At least.
'Why should I bother to correct it?
If 'you' read something I wrote...
THREE times?
And you have never expressed any interest before?
In anything I've ever done?
Why should I correct it?
This is the first time you and I have communicated,
In years.
Who knew...
All it took was a few errors,
To get you to give me what I have been wanting.
Here...
Read this! '
Your first and third lines rhyme.
But the rest of it...
Well,
I think this is a bunch of garbage.
'Thank you.
And all this time,
You had me believing...
You didn't care.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When I Write About Giving Up Writing
WHEN I WRITE ABOUT GIVING UP WRITING
When I write about giving up writing,
I am not giving it up
I am instead trying to find another justification for continuing-
I am not giving up then-
If the whole effort is futile
If in the end it will mean nothing
If I despair of it even as I continue it
Still
I will not give up.
I cannot give up.
What else do I have, after all, except the writing?
After all these years of giving my life to it
What other work could ever mean so much?
Even if I fail in it
It is who I am
And what I can do.
I am writing again now
What else can I do?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This Time Around
It's getting colder in this ditch where I lie
I'm feeling older and I'm wondering why
I heard they told her it was tell and live or die
I didn't know her but I know why she lied
I didn't know her but I know why she died
Yeah
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
Whoa yeah
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
Yeah
And we won't go down
Yeah
I heard them say that dreams should stay in your head
Well I feel ashamed of the things that I've said
Put on these chains and you can live a free life
Well I'd rather bleed just to know why I died
Yeah
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
Whoa yeah
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
Whoa yeah
And we won't go down
And we won't go down
And we won't go down
Yeah
And we won't go down
Yeah
All I know is that fear has got to go
This time around
...This time around
I've started feeling like I don't want to fight
Give in to the given and put out the light
Cannons a blazing shower these moonlit skies
Then I remember and I know why he died
Do you know why I'd die
Yeah.
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
Whoa yeah
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
Whoa yeah
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
Whoa yeah
You can't say I didn't give it
I won't wait another minute
We're on our way this time around
And we won't go down
And we won't go down
And we won't go down
Yeah
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I'm Not Like You
I sit here now,
Writing this poem.
You read it now,
No matter what’s goin.
Sometimes it’s rainy,
Sometimes it’s not.
You read this poem now,
Go do you the homework you forgot.
Life can be simple,
It can also be complicated.
Be when read this now,
Please don’t get frustrated.
Thanks for reading this,
You’re a cool person that much is true.
But to spend the time and read,
I’m probably not much like you.
I Wanted My Poem To Be A Real Poem
I WANTED MY POEM TO BE A REAL POEM
I wanted my poem to be a real poem-
I have read and studied and memorized
So many real poems-
I wanted my poem to be one of them
Which others would read and feel and memorize
And make their own –
We want and we want and we want
And who are we with all our wanting?
Who am I with all my wanting?
One more dreamer
One more ambitious person
One more lover of poems
One more writer of poems
One more wanter of real poems
Who writes this poem
For others
who dream like me
of writing real poems.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Before I Sleep Tonight
i have written many poems
and you have been reading
perhaps all of them and you
even remember what i have
written and left there, i always
tell you i am busy, for i am,
doing anything, reading and
writing each poem, each
feeling, but before i sleep
tonight, as i will write this as
my last poem, let me tell you
given the choice between
poetry and you, you know too
well, that i will choose you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Poem I Did Not Write Today
THE POEM I DID NOT WRITE TODAY
The poem I did not write today
Will never be written.
No one knows what it is
Or where it is
'How it can be? ' is another question
No one can answer.
The poem I did not write today
Never went away
It is always here with me and with you
It is the same simple poem
Written over and over again
In our everyday minds.
It is the poem of love of life
The poem of happiness
The poem of belief in God
And in the goodness in the world to come
It is the poem which believes too that poetry will help save the world.
It is the good poem
The happy poem
The poem I did not write today
Is the poem my life is writing now and always
And with you it says
‘What a miracle it is that we are here
reading and writing
and loving life as we do’.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Not In The Wondering Of 'Why
No time I have given you,
Has been for you to dissolve and waste.
Not a precious moment have I spent in the giving...
Has been meant for you to take and fake,
Anything.
When I give with decision,
It is from a choice I make.
If my giving is accepted,
I would like it shown...
You appreciate.
No time I have given you,
Has been for you to dissolve and waste.
Not a precious moment have I spent in the giving...
Has been meant for you to take and fake,
Anything.
And now there is a nothingness for you I feel.
It is much like an empty space.
A place that has been cleared to be left vacant.
And I am not in the wondering of 'why'.
Or trying to give it time to do it!
Not anymore like many times before.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Time Heals all
when my brother had a bad car crash and nearly died
i was told to give it time
time heals all
one after another my four grandparents died
i was told to give it time
time heals all
when a mates brother hung himself
i was told to give it time
time heals all
when my friend turned her back and distroyed my life
i was told to give it time
time heals all
when i got epilepsy and lost peoples trust
i was told to give it time
time heals all
when i got depressed and lost control of my life
i was told to give it time
time heals all
i gave it time
but i'm not healed
so when dose time help
when do people stop relying on time
and get off there butts and help
cause time dosen't heal all on its own
Kaleidoscope and Harpsichord
As I've told my wife too many times,
the meaning of any poem hides
in the marriage of cadence and sound.
Vowels on a carousel,
consonants on a calliope,
whistles and bells,
we need them all
tickling our ears.
Otherwise, the lines
are gristle and fat, no meat.
Is it any wonder, then,
my wife has a problem
with any poem I give her to read
for a second opinion, especially
when the poem has no message
and I'm simply trying to hear
what I'm saying and don't care
if I understand it.
The other night in bed
I gave her another poem to read
and afterward she said this poem
was no different than the others.
She had hoped I'd improve.
'After all, ' she said,
'you've been writing for years
but reading a poem like this is
like looking through a kaleidoscope
while listening to a harpsichord.'
Point well taken,
point well said.
But then I asked her
what should a man do
if he has careened for years
through the caves of his mind
spelunking for the right
line for a poem
only to hear his wife say
after reading one of his poems
that it was like
'looking through a kaleidoscope
while listening to a harpsichord.'
What should he do-quit?
'Not a chance, '
she said this morning,
enthroned at the kitchen table,
as regal as ever in her fluttery gown
and buttering her English muffin
with long, languorous strokes
Van Gogh would envy.
'He should write even more,
all day and all night, if need be.
After all, ' she said, 'my line
about the kaleidoscope and harpsichord
still needs a poem of its own.
It's all meat, no gristle, no fat.'
poem by Donal Mahoney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Books
Books are my first love, I’m so proud to read;
They give me knowledge and help life to lead;
Hours, days just pass by, by reading life-time;
Life would not be worth, if not for my rhyme.
Great are those people who write books all life;
Burning just candles, with Goose-quills in strife;
Tired of writing though day-long or night,
They keep on writing in such a bad light.
Books serve a great cause; their value can’t cease;
It takes years to write but reading is ease;
Book-makers struggle to print a few books;
And keep spending time to, improve their looks.
Some find their way to libraries in town;
Some remain untouched and nev’r taken down;
Silver-fish, Moths eat the books that are old;
Some are gone obsolete, some sold like gold.
Some are in tatters and must be rebound;
Books are Man’s best friends where solace is found;
Reading for long hours, does help you to learn;
Books give much knowledge and wisdom to men.
Read books with great care whose weight is in gold;
Serve generations though they may be old;
Source of much Info, deserving respect;
Books are life-partners whom you ne’er reject!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poetic Sayings
The best part of reaching a goal
in not attaining the end,
but lies in the grappling and
searching: those hardships you spend.
***
One who finds their destination
also loses their determination.
***
Retirement is not to be comfort, and rest,
but a time for one to be at their own best.
***
The greatest pleasure one can give
is to tell good stories of how they live.
The greatest way to feel old,
is to have your ancient stories told.
***
When the party is over
start planning another.
***
What is love-
but to give a measure above.
***
She gave of her living-
that is loves' way of giving.
poem by S.W. Clark
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Storyteller's Word
In a decent book, I can lose myself,
For, at least, a good couple of hours.
A well told story, for young or old,
My mind will quite hungrily devour.
I’ve always loved a real page turner:
A story, which, is totally compelling.
Sometimes, there’s a story, true or invented,
Which, simply, deserves, and needs telling.
Sometimes, a person in a book,
To me, can feel like a true friend;
You share their life and adventures,
And feel rather sad, when it all ends.
A story can stir up a mixture of emotions:
I’ve cried tears, and gasped with surprise.
I’ve found myself completely captivated,
As a story unfolds before my very eyes.
A good story, has the ability to transport you,
To different places, and to different times.
You just never know where you may end up,
When you sit and read those immortal lines.
Stories should never be kept locked away:
With others, they should be readily shared.
There is no other past-time, known to man,
With which, reading a book, can quite compare.
Whether a story is based on a person’s life,
Or whether, it has been quite purely invented,
A story can make such an impact upon you,
That, forever, in your memory, it is cemented.
I’ve always adored a really well written story,
Regardless of, by whom, or when, it was written.
Snuggled up, with a book held in your hands,
It is so easy, to become completely smitten.
A story can make you lose all track of time,
When, in a book, you are totally immersed.
I love reading a story, and really drinking it in;
For reading books, I’ve developed a real thirst.
There are many stories, the world over,
Which, are still waiting to be heard.
Nothing on earth, is quite so powerful,
As the power of the storyteller’s word.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Do Not Read! ! !
Don't read this poem!
Turn back while you have the chance
Or you will regret it
This poem is a poem of darkness
This poem is a devourer of souls
It will destroy you
Consume you
Absorb you into its black depths
I tried to warn you
I told you not to read it
Why are you still reading?
If I had named it 'READ THIS POEM! ! ! '
Would you have even bothered?
This poem is pulling you in
It has your feet
It's eating you
It's shattering your soul
It's never going to let you go
It's murdering you
This poem is a murderer
It is a criminal, it is evil
It is unnameable, unbreakable, imperfect
This poem has you
It's too late for you now
There's no escape for you now
Too bad
This poem has you
This poem's devoured you
Yummm, good
This poem is satisfied now
You should have listened to me
But you didn't
And now the poem's taken you
You're dead.