The Creation of a Single Composition
It has been said, poetry is nothing more that placing
The proper word in its proper place.
How simply stated for the effort of a single composition!
Beneath the primeval of our subconscious mind
Lies the clay-material of all creation,
The strata of spiritual sedimentation,
Laid down before our birth.
From this wet plastic matter comes the substance
Of our imagination, the foundation
For the architecture of our reflections.
Sculpting images by the vocabulary used,
The writer cast, molds and shapes
The verbs and nouns into their final stage
Of fluid acquiescence.
Thus, the poet, by placing each word
Into its proper place, gives power, vision and speech
To every inaimate object;
Translating the infinite invisible,
Into sacred symbols,
From the potter's mind of thought.
(Blank Verse)
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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Related quotes
432
When You Got In
I Went Out
Such Is The Wrong Timing
Of Your
Compassion
Then We Talk
About The Proper Timing
Of Our Desires
You Set The Time, The Place, And The Mood
Now It Is Not Just Desire But
Love
Yes, Love,
But Sometimes I Still Wonder
What Love Is
When Two People Meet At The Proper Time
The Proper Place, And The Proper Mood
When Everything Seems Right
And Yet
Feels So Wrong
When Everything Is Supposedly Proper
And Yet
There Is Still This
Feeling Of Impropriety
I Am 48 Years Old And You Are 49
And I Am Just Asking
When We All Want To Be Inside The Room Of
Ecstacy
And Yet
They All Want Us
Out
Just Because They Also Feel
That The Timing May Be Right
But It Simply Does Not
Look All Right
And Then You Are A Little
Bit Irritated And You Ask
Finally
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wrong Timing
when you got in
i went out
such is the wrong timing
of your
compassion
then we talk
about the proper timing
of our desires
you set the time, the place, and the mood
now it is not just desire but
love
yes, love,
but sometimes i still wonder
what love is
when two people meet at the proper time
the proper place, and the proper mood
when everything seems right
and yet
feels so wrong
when everything is supposedly proper
and yet
there is still this
feeling of impropriety
i am 48 years old and you are 49
and i am just asking
when we all want to be inside the room of
ecstacy
and yet
they all want us
out
just because they also feel
that the timing may be right
but it simply does not
look all right
and then you are a little bit irritated and you ask
finally:
why do you talk too much?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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His vocabulary
her vocabulary
every word fits into its space
like a classroom
her vocabulary
each word carries its own weight
as it files into my mind
her vocabulary
notes of the morning birds
that strain to sing
her vocabulary
my mind polished
like silver
her vocabulary
the calisthenics of her mind
in my mind
her vocabulary
the precision of her mind
etched onto my heart
her vocabulary
sublime as a glass of
evening whisky
her vocabulary
strikes like
glitters of diamonds
his vocabulary
my brain has no space
to breathe
his vocabulary
every piece of writing
has become a thesis
his vocabulary
he asks to take him
as he is
his vocabulary
she feels he is not true
to his own feelings
his vocabulary
she asks it is weaned from
dictionary or experience
his vocabulary
she asks he is out to impress
or express
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Keep It Proper
Keep it proper!
You never know on you who might peep.
When you do a thing discreet.
You never know on you who might peep.
It's best that you keep it proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
Especially when you're seen in the streets.
You never know on you who might peep.
Keep,
It
Proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
Distorting what you do to deceive.
You never know on you who might peep.
It's best that you keep it proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
When a seeker seeks a weakness to heat.
You never know on you who might peep.
Controversy lovers love it,
More obscene.
People feed sensations that wound and bleed.
With a caring less of who's affected by misdeeds
Keep,
It
Proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
Distorting what you do to deceive.
You never know on you who might peep.
Yes it's best that you keep it proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
When a seeker seeks a weakness to heat.
You never know on you who might peep.
It's best
That you keep it proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
Yes it is best
That you keep it proper.
You never know on you who might peep.
Yes it is best that you keep it proper,
That business to express on the streets.
You never know,
On you
Who might peep.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Poet Loses His Power For Poetry
A POET LOSES HIS POWER FOR POETRY
A poet loses his power for poetry
He can put down words
But they no longer have poetry in them
Something of the feeling of what real poetry is
is gone.
He strives
He writes again and again
He puts words down in the forms and in the shapes his poems usually take
But he has no poetry in him
He has lost what he is
And all he can do
is strive again and again
Word after word
Silence after silence
To hear within himself again
A voice he does not have.
The poet is writing poetry
And it is not poetry
The poet is dead
And he is pretending to be alive
Is this a poem?
Is he a poet
Is he dead?
Is he alive?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Word That Wouldn’t Fit (Fun Poem 25)
A writer’s life is full of woe,
you find a word you like,
then you write something,
and try to fit that word in,
but when you look again.
That word you thought of
it just won’t fit in,
no matter how hard you try it,
that word just will not go.
In a fit of frustration,
you stick it here and there.
Just like jigsaw puzzle
where the pieces will not fit,
so this word will not go anywhere.
In the end you say, “OH heck! ”
Then you put the word
to the back of your mind.
Maybe another day
in another poem,
that word just might fit.
Having said all that,
I’m not betting on it.
poem by David Harris
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At Right Moment
'You have blown my mind' one of the reader commented
It was with reference to one of my poems posted
'Are there any more words for poet to say' she added
Now it was my turn to feel speechless as I was highly graded
It is nice to feel, when some one staying far, is commenting
Her feeling in simple but in effective way and presenting
I can understand about the state of mind when you are moved
There exists no double thought or opinion to be removed
'We are potter's clay' I humbly stated
We have found no other way
We sing in His praise and enjoy
That is how the life is to be spent with joy
We also know that not all pots survive
Potter makes all efforts to save them and revive
Yet he expresses helplessness at the end
Looks towards sky as if that blessing god has sent
How come poems emerge from tiny mind?
It has no place to store and convenient place to find
I have wondered many times but simply surrendered
It is nothing but a grace that has been showered
I shall relentlessly strive to present
At any place and in any form like crescent moon
It may not offer enough light but a rare glimpse
Still more to say that feeling of divine force
I would love to praise not only about him alone
But nature as well to have come to our aid as one
We fail to notice the merciful act from time to time
Yet they are sent regardless of what we err sometimes
I bow my head in silence and thank
To all those who have become my close friend
Not out of any personal bond or attachment
But due to simple words to have come at right moment
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Poetry
Only place where I feel at home is poetry
Everywhere else I am always lost
Nothing seems proper, when verses of English poems are not present
All that I feel like doing is write and write
Sometimes, I do admit that I do get lost
However, I really belong only with poetry
Still, I always feel that nobody ever does understand my feelings
A blank space is always present within my heart
As sometimes I start to feel that things which I express are not good enough
I do not really know why?
This is just how I feel sometimes
Since, often the mode of being depressed comes to my life
Then, I become a depressed poet who has only past memories
Nothing else I have as remaining to love or care
However, still I keep on penning things, only to still remain alive
Otherwise, I would be dead without words
Only place where I belong is poetry and here I feel being at home.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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As 42 Is the Answer to Everything (revised)
Might I interest you
in a poem of 42
where the answer to everything may be found
There color can be heard
And number is the word
exceeding every expectation ere earthbound
Might I share with you
a secret you once knew
though you left it in the backyard of your youth
when regrets arrived there never
and tomorrows stretched on forever
where only hopes and wishes spoke the truth
Should this proposal you avow
your mind may then allow
suspending laws of both time and space
Beyond boundaries of science
perhaps you’ll learn reliance
on a power that proceeds from inner place
Should 42 appear deficient
perhaps your imagination’s insufficient
to step beyond the box like trappings of your mind
Please believe me when I say
you can go everywhere today
for there is no end to the universe you’ll find
Dreams never secede
Or imagination exceed
Should you but loosen grasp on the limited material
Greater riches you would find
In the bright light of the mind
No earthly treasures can meet measure the ethereal
Having been there myself before
I often return to explore
lately considering it as a permanent address
Spirit houses I do find
to be simply quite sublime
Though where to place the mailbox I can’t guess
Might I take you with me
through visions we can see
when we have learned to look without our human eyes
There 42 makes perfect sense
the finest truth one can dispense
For it's only the word ‘IMPOSSIBLE’ that lies.
Readers note: For some insight into the inspiration for this poem
you might wish to Google: ‘42’ or alternately search ‘the answer to everything’
poem by Mary Havran
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An Un Anyone?
Careful
there are Nouns here
which innocently
can
contain your life.
Were it not for 'Un'
all would be lost.
So many of our utterances
not only restrain the brain
but prevent
emphatically
new things being said.
Language is a universe
in which you cannot be understood
unless you already agree
with its assumptions and premises
of right, wrong or the good;
A universe in which you cannot conceive
anything really new
because you do not have the language
to express the idea;
a language which does not yet exist.
So the problem is
how to say something new
when you lack a vocabulary
or utterances?
I don't have a final solution
but I do have a start:
dismantle the current language first
starting with the Noun.
To see the new
we must first Unsee the old-
here my friends lies salvation-
in the utterance Un.
Un-love
Un-done
Un-believe
are an excellent start
because they get us to begin
the unraveling
of that which is wound so tight
that new meaning can't get in.
To continue:
Un isn' t simply the opposite-
it is a pronouncement
a nullification-
a cleaning out-
of that which occupies that noun space
so something new can get in.
Now let's take Un-love.
To Un-love is not to hate
for here
we simply state
we are not in the state of love.
Not so strange,
it happens to all of us.
We simply
one day
fall into Un-love
meaning love has gone away.
Doing this has caused so much misery
yet we have no word or meaning
for what Un-love means.
You see the problem
or should I say the unclarity
that Un-love brings.
If I
one day
suddenly
Un-love you
what does this mean?
Not I suppose
just that love
has gone
but where has it gone to?
In Un-love Land
there is no hate
not even perhaps
indifference
but, perhaps
to an empty space
prompting a need to find new
words, nouns or even vocabularies.
Now you see the problem;
the conundrum here-
no such words currently yet exist-
unless we pause now
to invent new words
to fill that void
and in doing so
create a whole new language
or description of what is meant
by Un-love.
Here my point exactly.
we don't know
what Un-Love means
or its vocabulary
until
some poet
creates the vision
and the new words to
that go with it.
Pointedly:
how do
I now
un-write this poem?
See what I mean?
Can't be done
unless I create
somehow
a vision
and words
to capture it.
Humm,
Consider this the Un-Write.
Maybe it will catch on.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Ch 04 On The Advantages Of Silence Story 08
Several officials of Sultan Mahmud asked Hasan Muimandi one day what the sultan had told him about a certain affair. He replied: ‘You must yourselves have heard it.’ They rejoined: ‘What he says to thee he does not think proper to communicate to the like of us.’ He answered: ‘Because he trusts that I shall not reveal it. Then why do you ask me to do so?’
A knowing man will not utter every word which occurs to him.
It is not proper to endanger one’s head for the king’s secret.
English Language Bastardized
Isn’t it unfortunate how
the English language is bastardized
to suit someone’s twisted mind?
How good words cannot be used
in their proper context
without someone looking strangely
and giving a stupid grin.
Years ago, when I was at school
a beaver was a small animal with a flat tail
that lived in water and built dams.
Now most kids know its meaning as
describing a woman’s gentiles.
In England, we sometimes have faggots for tea
and again this had been corrupted from
food you eat to describing someone’s sexual gender.
Gay is another word that is taboo.
You will get strange looks if you used it in its proper context.
If I wrote a title forty years ago, I was gay
everyone knew that I was feeling happy
and not what it means today.
The list of bastardized words go on and on
and I wonder what the next word from our dictionaries
that will enter that no go area of words we cannot use,
being bastardized to suit some one’s twisted mind.
11 October 2009
poem by David Harris
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At A Loss For Words
Some time had passed since a verse had come to mind
a mental blockage I have had, nothing seemed to rhyme.
No words of creation the supply had gone
no thoughts, or imagination, nothing, not a one.
The source had stopped for some strange reason,
as though there was a break in the poetry season.
I tried and I tried, but nothing would come together,
not even with a change in the weather.
In the early hours I woke up and had to pick up a pen,
for some strange reason I began writing again.
It is quite odd and I’ll never get to know
why periods of poetry come and go.
But I’m thankful when words and lines come to me
it is as though they are sent telepathically.
It doesn’t matter if the poem is incorrect or good
or if it’s taken as silly, or is misunderstood.
As long as it relays that moment’s thought
an instinctive message that cannot be taught.
To me it doesn’t matter if its only two lines long,
or whether it has many verses, or even sounds wrong.
When thoughts of words or sentences come to mind
I have to write them down no matter the place or time.
If I don’t record the thought on paper right away
they become lost forever in the space of night and day.
poem by Orlando Belo
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I've always been spiritual but I've never had a proper context, and it took me awhile to find the proper context. It's hard to realize you can have any kind of relationship with God you want... and so I now have a punk rock relationship with God.
quote by Billy Corgan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Going Through My Head
Is it worthy to keep and maintain notes,
On the proper execution of social etiquette?
Or expressing flawless elocution,
When asked to publicly speak...
At a dinner party when a food fight erupts,
Over misunderstanding what was heard.
When the key speaker mispronounces words,
Intending to impress.
Or leaves those who are contributors believing,
They are being described as leechers...
Instead of donators that has afforded a success.
There has been an absence of preparation.
'I specifically asked my speech writer,
To replace the word 'suckers' for philanthropers.
That word might have been a thought,
Going through my head in the early stages...
To incorporate 'my' own experiences.
And not meant to be verbally said.
This has clearly been a misinterpretation of intent.
And for that I apologize.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lord of 'The Perti-Lays of Pages
'Sir...
There are some folks in the courtyard,
Who make claims they are long lost relatives.
And they've seen you take in the morning Sun
On the terrace,
But care not to return their waves and shouts of hello.'
Who are they claiming to be?
'They say the are...Pertee'Lars! '
That's incorrect.
My great, great, great grandfather...
He himself 'then' a poet used the pen name 'Pertill-ah'
And people would 'ooh' and 'ahhh'...
You know,
That sort of thing!
However,
When the Baron of Chestnuts
Bestowed upon my descendants the family crest...
We then became 'The Perti-Lays of Pages'
Royals of Crisp Speech and Poetic Verse.
Do you detect anyone among them with arrogance...
And a large ass ego?
'Yes...
In fact!
They all do! '
ALL?
What on Earth are you saying?
'I am saying there are thousands of them out there,
Just like that! '
LIES!
WHO are they 'claiming' to be...hmmm?
'Pertee'Lars of Public Service, Gorgious Looks...
And Impeccable Dress! '
LIES!
My goodness...
No way?
'Way,
Your Fabulousness!
Much 'way'...
And may I say,
The one giving much 'tude and 'flair'
Says 'he' is the 'original' Lord of 'The Perti-Lays of Pages'
Royals of Crisp Speech and Poetic Verse.
And you are...
Wait a minute.
I've written this down.
He says you are a 'Pompous, Plagiaristic, Two-face
And Twisted Fraud'...'
Hmmm...
And how was the spelling?
'Perfect.'
Any grammatical errors?
Anything denoting a noncomformity
To the rules of language use?
Any verbs, nouns out their proper placement?
Anything at all?
'None.'
Just let 'him' in!
Perhaps we can negotiate a deal.
He seems to be incredibly resourceful.
I am not a match for that kind of mind power.
We need to work together.
And bring this fantasticness under one roof!
'But how...
King of Delusions and Impossible Dreams.'
We'll have to feed from the same recipes!
And build a new wing onto the palace.
And..
IF all of them can cook like he can,
Have mercy on our hips, thighs and asses!
Send him in.
We must chat!
Distribute keys to the 'chalets' surrounding the kingdom,
To the others.
I want flags of the family crest hanging from each terrace.
And I don't want not a one making attempts,
To personalize with slang or nickname garbage!
OR...
Have a raised eyebrow.
Maybe a dropped jaw or two.
None of that...
'I can't believe it business.'
I want them all in comfort!
'What about expenses?
Who will provide for them? '
Don't be silly!
How do you think what is here, happened?
I made it all up? ? ?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pebble Justice
he picks up a pebble
and throws it into the sea
from a cliff
he asks: this is not a place
for pebbles
so this is not a pebble
i will return it to the sea
and be with the sands
and shells and
waves and winds
and seaweeds
and crabs
does he not wonder at all
if he has the power to decide where a pebble must be?
sometimes people assume so much
behaving like a god
must he think a little deeper and realize
that what is proper for the people is not proper for a pebble
that pebbles too have minds of their own
and who know if the same pebble to thinks
that the cliff is not the place of man
assuming to be its own god?
must he be considerate enough that pebbles too have
their own invisible feet
and well developed brains
and that when the man throws it into the sea
on the ground only of
impropriety
that the pebble may have objected it vehemently and could have
used its own hidden powers
but only that it did not show it
by reason of pity that this man
is so dumb
and so limited
in the flesh of its
own selfish
understanding?
does he not know that a pebble too demands respect
have privacy
and soon shall take its
inevitable revenge?
'bury mankind! they have thrown us away
without our consent' that is their clamor now
in their own
Pebble Court using their Pebble law
to be judged later
by their Pebble Magistrates.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry Is Movement Without Effort
Poetry is movement without effort
Poetry should take you to places far beyond what your eyes can see
Take you to places where you can be free
Poetry is movement without effort
All you have to do is think and feel
and it will move you
and make your experiences real
poetry can cause pictures to form in your mind
speak a thousand verbs, a thousand nouns, or a thousand rhymes
all written for you to experience on a personal level
poetry is a journey
to self discovery
out of a thousand doorways to roads never walked travelled or taken
poetry can cause your eyes and your heart to awaken
remind you of a friend’s love remind you that your never forsaken
because while you live you can experience life to the full
poetry is movement it is a tool
for cataloguing things seen and unseen
for poetry can be the very fabric from which we dream!
poem by Daniel Hooks
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Relaxation
Relax breathe at ease
let out a laugh
let all be calm
to panic there is no need
let all over anxious tension
melt away face all fear
seize the brand new day
let mind thought untangle
from emotions
Sink deep
immerse self in calming solvent
of inner space
let life flow free through the senses
no attachments let all fall into
proper place
remember poetry is a sacred occupation
a joy a gift a blessing a passion
don't let become obsessive obligation
Allow mind down time relax
recoup recline with ease
pay attention to bodily signals
indicating need for rest
no need to turn a thing of beauty
into a source of guilt and stress
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Poetry In The Closets
Poetry in the closets,
words are all stuffed away,
Open the closet door once more
so the words can say
'Listen friend and catch the thoughts
and make them come to bear.
Don't leave them where they can't be heard
for poetry takes you where
you fall in love with words again
like no prose itself can do.'
It opens your mind to brand new ideas
and then when you're through
you'll say
'Poetry in the closets
come out where you belong.
Take your proper place once more
beside each touching song.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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