The Bridal Chamber of Thought
From where do the words of poetry come?
Where, in the bridal chamber of the brain,
Is poetic thought concieved?
We do not know.
Could it be that concept is impregnated
Through a positive attitude of reception by a 'word, '
Thus, resulting in a creative impression;
Then, a unit of meaning, becoming recognizable
In its emergent form?
We do not know.
Where, in the belly of the mind,
Is the dilatable expanse for thematic gestation?
We do not know that, either.
What are the propelling elements that add
To the progressive embryonic change;
That prefetal product of conception,
From the beginning of implantation,
Through the rudimentry of imagery,
Unto the weeks and months of developemnt?
That, perhaps, we do know.
Sentiment, truth, love, grace, power, tragedies,
All manifold struggles, aspirations, and passons
Of modern life, become the thought-fetus,
Shaping a viable structure into a body of language,
Carried, and born through the author's labor pains
Of creativity.
(Blank Verse)
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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The Written Word Rules!
At the idea of poetry, some people seem to scoff,
As they consider it is an art form only for toffs.
They may think that the concept of poetry is boring,
And that it will leave them fast asleep and snoring.
There are all types of poems: modern and classical.
There’s something for everyone: it’s not boring at all.
The lyrics of songs are poems as such;
They often rhyme together very much.
People like to sing along with their favourite songs,
So why does the concept of poetry feel so wrong?
I’ve only started writing poetry in the last few weeks,
And, I have to admit that I thought it was just for geeks.
But, now I can see, that whoever you are,
Everyone has the potential to go really far.
I have to admit, I much prefer
The written, to the spoken word.
At night, I lay awake tossing and turning in bed,
With random thoughts running through my head.
By my pillow, I keep a pen and note pad,
To jot down any thoughts, which I’ve had.
At the top of the page, my thoughts I jot,
And I always plan out a really rough plot.
I like to include words which have a nice ring.
Words, like these, into my poetry, I like to bring.
I continually go through the alphabet time after time,
Searching for useful words which, pretty much, rhyme.
In simple terms, my ideas, I always like to express;
Complicated and fancy words, my mind doesn’t posses.
I’m sat here, writing this poem, on a speeding train,
As thought after thought, floods into my brain.
I’m writing notes on a mini pocket timetable,
In any tiny blank space which is available.
In my handbag, I’ve got no pad, but I’ve got a pen;
My scribbled notes, I just hope I can comprehend.
I really must start carrying a notepad everywhere;
To forget all these thoughts I’ve had, I couldn’t bear.
When I’m thinking of ideas, I just can’t relax;
My mind seems to buzz to the absolute max.
I’m not far now from my final destination,
And the train is due to pull into the station.
On this subject, there’s not much more to be said,
So, I’m now putting this poem well and truly to bed.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Almost
the beginning of light
wrapped in the warm wet darkness,
before time, or the concept
of being...
in each word we almost speak,
in each thought we almost form,
in each feeling we almost allow...
do you know me?
i danced the day you were born,
pulling stillness out of the falling rain.
my name is written in the
deepest cavern of your soul...
i sweep the steps of your temple
while you pray and offer sacrifices
from my body to yours!
from your body to the children!
in each word we almost speak,
in each thought we almost form,
in each feeling we almost allow...
now time waits for the fire
beneath the window...
waiting to devour and remove
the last vestige of having been...
and the liquor of our loving shimmers
in the beginning of light...
in the radiance of the fallen.
in each word we almost speak,
in every thought we almost form.
in every feeling we almost allow.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Selling a Poets Mind
Devoted to writing the words of poetic inspiration
I offer my mind as soul payment
Some say it’s a madness of strange conception
I claim a quiet misunderstanding
To follow each emotion with such intent
Expressing and expanding beyond reason
That I may flower in bloom a thought
Far beyond its own conception
I whore out my heart to illustrations
To better depict that which I seek to serve
A flow of endless poetic verse
Seemingly I have become detached
From a world I may never have knew
And so in my indifference
Some say I carry a strange madness
Perhaps I do, perhaps I do
For I am devoted to writing the words
Of poetic and beautiful inspiration
If my mind is the fee of creation
Then to poetry I shall cash in
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Eyes Impregnate
To perceive is to impregnate.
To be perceived is to get impregnated.
Conception is fetus and concept is child.
Woman has variant children to different fathers.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Poetry On The Chin
You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.
You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.
You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Kids! Kids! Kids!
You're once a sperm that your father didn't waste,
Dove to your mother's egg and gave her a positive test,
Became a fetus and made her crave for nuts and coke,
In nine months pain and joy; she's quite of a joke.
Valentine's day could have been better but you dare,
A name Valentino could've been your worst nightmare;
So you thought February thirteen is a lot wiser
Of choosing us as your parents; Kevin is much nicer.
Everyday, we watch you grow, walk, and play,
And we thought of your being alone is lonely;
Eighteen months thereafter is another baby,
A premature born named Kyle Wesley.
For a princess, it's a try but a condom got applied,
‘Cause mommy says: "two is enough to drive me crazy; "
Then, all of a sudden, a tubal ligation came up in her mind,
But what can I say, it's her choice; it's her body.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Had Thought
I had once thought about killing
But no-one could I ever kill,
I had once thought about robbing
But from no-one could I ever steal,
I had once thought about cheating
But to a love I could never cheat
I had once thought about lying
But to no-one could I cause deceit,
I had once thought about my death
But I did not want to die
I once thought about depression
But no longer did I want want to cry
I once thought about using
But no one could I ever use
I had once thought about abusing
But then to no-one could I ever abuse.
In my life I had these thoughts
As they would entered into my brain
But when they entered into my soul
From them all I did refrain.
I know what's right from wrong
And that truth can or will never change
Excuses instead of truth cannot be accepted
And sins cannot change their name.
Those ideals will still enter into my mind
Especially when temptation I had sought
But I will stay a virtuos and truthful man
When it comes to sins and lies, I too had thought.
poem by Randy McClave
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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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Ode To Poetry
Poetry is the best thing since coming out of the womb
Because if I didn't come out of the womb
I wouldn't know about poetry
Poetry's in motion like a freight train
Moving it's words through interpretation
By what we see from what one has written
It can be raw or it can have finesse
Either way it is art
The art of thought
And the art of language
Words speaking of twisted pains
And unraveling beauties
Forgotten love
Or someones duty
I must proclaim my love for poetry
And for the love of everyone else's
Because poetry is much better
Than almost anything else
poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
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I love poetry
What if the world don't recognize poetry?
What if poetry is banned in my country?
What if poetry has no meaning?
What if those who later care can't view my handwriting?
What if my poetry puts me in prison?
For it reveals the truth untold this season!
What if bard's brain is blunt?
And again famished then faint?
For my poetry makes truth to smile
What if in the prison i die?
And maggots dine in my belly
Still i love poetry.
poem by Adesitimi Taiwo
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Freedom Of Free Verse
its funny how in a america there is freedom of speech
and funny how in literature there is poetry
and funny how in poetry there is free verse
as an american i will excercise my right to speak
as a poet i will excercise my right to write
so lets begin
in the deepest corner of my mind lies lies
in the open space of my heart lies truth
in the unknown regions of my emotions lies insecurity
in the well known valleys of my attitude lies commitment
i be whom i should be and change for no one
i write what i feel and not what you want me to feel
i think what is for me to think and care nothing of what you think
i cry when i feel and not when you think you've made me feel
you whom are there have taught me
you are the and will disgust
you are there and will discuss me
you are there and will learn from me
you are there and will follow after me
you are there and will betray me
you are there and will not know me
you whom are the will NEVER control me
truth is in me and that will never change
love is in me and i dont want it to change
life is in me and that will never change
strenght is in me and i dont want that to change
wisdom is in me and i want it to change you
change is in me and that will never change
this talk of new beggining
this talk of love
this talk of truth
all this talk but no action
what a disappointment
WAIT
im not thru
how can you live with yourself
you have defiled yourself:
mind
body
soul
and spirit
what a waste
i dont live for you
i live because i have a purpose
and maybe i dont know what it is yet
but i have faith
and with this faith i beleive
with this faith i walk
physically blinded through swamps of evil
but, I know that GOD is there holding my hand
like a father guiding his daughter.
And like an alligator lurking in the waters
plotting a devious plan
is Lucifer the fallen angel,
waiting for any form of destraction
so that he can continue to corupt.
good luck..
4-leaved clovers
and horseshoes.
bad luck..
black cats
and cracks.
does it really mater
yes i keep in mind your feelings
as well as your sensitivity of your beleifs
but riddle me this
if a black cat with 4-leaved clovers
and cracks in its horseshoes
crosses your path what do you do then...
i think i've figured out me
but how could this be
when it took so long to see
that im here
to release fear
and enlighten your heart
to joy,
help you part
from being the devils toy
at least this is what i've seen in me so far
maybe this isn't true but how would i know
yeah,
it feels right
then again its not complete
so you now what right now im just going to live
free verse
meaning:
verse that does not follow a fixed metrical pattern.
to me its more of:
expressing without form or basis
well
this was my FREEDOM OF FREE VERSE
a young poet
in the eyes of many im a ticket out the hood
i dedicate this to no one in specific but
to all who have read or listened
and was touched and changed
by words that came
from my heavenly father
through a free verse girl.
poem by Elandra Poindexter
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Evolving Lies
Things which are set, do not evolve, this, my friend, is my resolve,
Holding fast to The Lord God, Who, reigns above this earthly sod,
Trusting in God's Eternal Word, not just suggestions to be inferred,
But Truth from the mouth of The Lord, Truth that cannot be ignored.
From mortal man's evolving thought, many deceptions are wrought,
Changing words, spoken by, The Eternal God, Who reigns on High,
High above this temporal earth, Whose Words are of Eternal Worth,
As they show disdain and reproof, for those who hold Eternal Truth.
Our ways aren't progressive at all, with beliefs too narrow and small,
To accept post-modern thought, in embracing their changes sought,
Changes sought by the liberal mind, as they leave all morals behind,
God's unchanging moral law, which causes liberals to falter and fall.
Falling because of darkened hearts, so from The Lord man departs,
Creating for men an amoral state, wanting all to progressively relate,
Changing ways that can't change, for God above remains the same,
An unchanging God in all His ways, Who is defied in the latter days.
God's Word, that does not change, to liberal minds may be strange,
But, His Word, that in stone was cast, throughout all eternity will last,
As man's thoughts will fade away, God's Words, shall eternally stay,
Being the only words of any stability, in a culture of amoral liberality.
(Copyright ©08/2012)
Prescribed Thought A Prescribed Mode Of Action
There is no such a thing
There is no such a thing as a most natural way
There is no such a thing as a most natural way of expressing a thought
There is no such a thing as a most natural way of expressing a thought a mode of action
There is no such a thing as a most natural way of expressing a thought a mode of action a form of logic
After so much thought
After so much thought about loneliness
It becomes apparent
Logic can no longer be relied upon
Logic can no longer be relied upon as a base for studying the structure of language
The structure of my poetry
The structure of my soul
The structure of my God
I dare think
I dare to know
I dare to think
I will not be hardwired from the thinking of my birth rising from some dogmatic slumber.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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But is it
Right down within the depths of me
there lies a vein of poetry
Wherein I find when I have leisure
words which are my greatest treasure.
Words with which I can fashion verse
some silken smooth and some perverse
Each one is chosen carefully
then put together artfully.
I find them raw and unrefined
then with the power of my mind.
I create intricate designs
of words that some idea defines.
A poet is an artisan
who follows carefully a plan
that’s handed down from days of yore.
Which many men have used before.
To create formal poetry
to demonstrate their artistry.
Perchance I sometimes get it right
in verses which I choose to write.
I can imagine nothing worse
for those of us who write in verse
Than poetry which does not scan
and lacks all structure, has no plan.
Just words which incoherently
are juxtaposed haphazardly
. Which critics now suppose to be
the future form of poetry.
22-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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How Ordinary Language Becomes Poetic
do not worry about images
leave it to the wise imagination of the reader
do not insult his powers
of extending the meaning of your ordinary language
beyond what you
are thinking or saying with utmost intention to drive your point
the poetry of indeterminacy
the meanings hidden in such plain words
as wolf and sheep
shepherd to this staff
river to stones
and clouds to rain and rain and rain and rain
and yes the trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrainnnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,
do not be too concerned
with form, the form comes and takes the shape desire before your eyes
what i am driving at is that
ordinary language becomes too poetic when
you shake because it is a very cold rain pouring in your roof
and you have no one
and you have no other place to go and you cannot call him because
he is too busy with other
matters of equal importance
i could be him and you could be her, in this ordinary language of
disappointments
why we met and why we regret the meeting and union
oh, why speak about something too poetic when ordinary language
can be so poetic
about pain, and hypocrisy, and mendicancy
of emotions, She herself is one of the few constant
features
on that landscape.
Wary, as always,
of holistic paradigms for the literary history
of poetry
dynamic, interactive condition of experimental poetry today
i cannot think
of any other recommendation,
Christian Boltanski's simulated documentaries,
I cannot think of a better introduction
to contemporary
poetry, this, oh,
so you understand a thing?
alright, how do you do?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poem: Embryonic Ideal
How can I change the World that I see,
unless I’m willing to begin with me?
Sharing the Word via the use of Godly platitudes
fails to work with the wrong heart’s attitude.
As human, we’re all inherently flawed;
we all need God’s grace and to not be judged by His law.
Although the world is in a hurting mess,
there's help available for these times of distress.
We have within us the ability to find
solutions for the battles of our minds.
It’s certainly possible to make Change real –
Embrace this seed of an embryonic ideal:
See the embodiment of God in others,
since we’re the keepers… of our brother.
------
Author notes:
Loosely based on:
Gen 4: 9; Eph 4: 23; Rom 8: 6
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http: //www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2011, All rights reserved.
poem by Joseph James Breunig 3rd
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I Write In Lead Part 2
You see I write in lead
cause having poetry impact my life
Everyday is empowering
Can't complete a thought 'cause
Before I can access feelings stored inside
My mind is weaving another strand of meaning and context
'Cause Poetry's deciphered my semantic properties
Unraveling down to the morphological units
Unlacing more of me
And that I don't need a pen
To bleed thoughts of truth
Let me know cause I don't understand
Can't put into concrete thoughts
My grasp of linguistics no longer suffice
To decode the relationship between
Mind and hand
pen and poet
Carefully marking down gibberish
Only understood by the two
I guess that's how it works
Some things have no outside reason to stand
But the only one that comes from within
An I write in lead cause
I can't get out the right pattern of words
I keep erasing
Always in search of a better way
To state how it is that I
am processing poetry
I don't want to use pen
cause fact of the matter is poetry
Shakes the profound core
My factory of thoughts
Engraved permanently in paper
Leaves no space to illustrate
How poetry pushes me to the edge of language
And then I realize
The edge is more like an extending bridge of vocabulary
I can continue building letters
Making meaning
There's no saying
Where interpretation will stop
That is what
poetry is
Making my hand ache
but the thought of not scribing
Leaves less space
For our bridge to extend
Connect To find a better way
to spill my insides out
Poetry's my speech therapy
Cause the more I interpret poetry's word
the more I record how its being comes forth
tough and registers in a soft key
Through syllables
The more clearly I see
through the lens I read
The world and my synthesis
is me
I want to take all of poetry in
So it lives endlessly in meaning
If the path of our voices crosses only momentarily
I'd like for poetry to still live through my expression
Aiding the love affair of
Mind hand and heart
poem by Samantha Campbell
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Of Poetry
Of poetry, beautiful is the name,
For my heart has manufactured its claim
Of words that adjusted it to flame.
Of poetry, wonderful is the power,
For my heart has blossomed like the light flower
With rosiness it arranges in shower.
Of poetry, tremendous is the peak,
For my heart through and through its beat did speak
Of profoundness that boosted it to tweak.
Of poetry, creative is the work
For my heart, in thought imagery did lurk.
Along inspiration, up it did perk.
Of poetry, heavenly is the joy,
For my heart smelt it like a baby boy
Of whiteness who does with glee to employ.
Of poetry, authentic is the life,
For my heart has acquired truth that is rife,
Decent in harmony to free it from strife.
Of poetry, intimate is the food,
For my heart to be lightened with high mood,
Be nutrified in a circumstance good.
Of poetry, radiant is the light,
For my heart got the view of sunshine bright,
It ascended up to the sky in flight.
Of poetry, elating is the drink,
For my heart towards merriment to link
Ever so aeonian to it to think
Of poetry, delightful is the sound,
For my heart to its music rich, is bound.
Bliss of paradise that soared in is found.
Of poetry, passionate is the love,
For my heart comports mildly like the dove
Shining with a lot of warm light above.
poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
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And what do Democrats stand for, if they are so ready to defame concerned citizens as the ""mob"" - a word betraying a Marie Antoinette delusion of superiority to ordinary mortals. I thought my party was populist, attentive to the needs and wishes of those outside the power structure. And as a product of the 1960s, I thought the Democratic party was passionately committed to freedom of thought and speech.
quote by Camille Paglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elements of Life
My mind is
a studio.
Always different
projects taking place.
Art, Dance,
Poetry, and Music.
Elements told in
different ways.
The art is
my creativity.
The expansion
of my mind.
The dancing is
what makes me stable.
To keep my mind
from running wild.
The poetry
hits hard.
Unleashing the emotions
locked away inside me.
The music is the
thoughts that i storm up.
To tell of my
understandings
These are the
elements that make
up my culture
And my culture
will not die
These are the
Elements that
makes me.
These are my
Elements of life.
poem by Edward Rios
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