An Ode To The Poet Friends
Note: Please, read this poem only after reading
PLAYING A HOST FOR YOU
submitted by me prior to this. The old GUESTS please, go ahead.
.....................................
O poet friends from lands far and near,
I thank you all for having been to my small abode
For an evening`s chat and for smiling at one another.
You have all left for once; not for ever.
You are all gifted with Apollo`s fertile mind and I swear
You are laden with thoughts never ever on the same line made
As your lands and concerns are there much diverse with one another.
Your wet pens now write more often than ever.
O poet friends, read what is writ large on this world`s forehead
And speak out to your friends what we all ought to do now
To save ourselves from the discomfort of alienation of ourselves
And whisper into the skies your dreams cherished.
Each day you awake a little earlier to see the sun surging
And before the stars spill around to twinkle never say, 'good night'.
Each poem you write must flow like a rivulet quiet
Though the floods and the ebbs may still ring within it.
Near my abode I shall plant a tree of a high breed root
And grow on it fruits like your own ones delicious and sweet.
I shall play on its branches often and still will break none!
And in your great castles its orchards will be once grown.
O poet friends, blow your horns unto the heights and depths
And let the waves thereof transcend our dwarfed earth
Into a Jupiter of cheers, hope and right fauna and flora.
I beseech you all to tune your music that will ever be heard!
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
This Poet Is Always Beside You
You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God is the creator
God is the creator
poem is a creation
Poet is not God.
I am a lover of poem
Poet is my hero
God is hero's hero.
I just read poem
I just enjoy reading poem
I shall continue to read poem
As long as I enjoy poem.
At times
Poems are being written by me.
The credit goes to God
God direct me to write poem
And I write.
God only can explain the meaning
I am just an instrument
And nothing.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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You are the poet
Poet is a journalist
Watches the feelings
Watches the emotions
Watches the world
Watches the light and
Watches the dark
He thinks everywhere
Others can’t imagine
-o-
Chasing the thoughts
Searching the words
Forming the sentences
To give the expression
To put the life in it
-o-
Poet is like a cook
Collecting good ingredients
Cooking the feelings to
Present in better way
-o-
Poet is like a soldier
Fighting in the war and
Fighting with the self
Feeling the pain and
Bleeding the emotions
Making room for self
To express the story
To save the people
-o-
Poet is like mother
Cooking the soft food
Feeding smoothly
Treating the readers like his own kids
Reader’s happiness is poet’s happiness
If you can’t praise, no problem
But don’t forget to acknowledge
-o-
Poet is the center of universe
Editors, Music directors,
Composers, singers, musicians,
Media everybody is rotating around
-o-
Poet writes to quench intellectuals
Poet writes to entertain good listeners
Poet writes to move hearts
Poet writes for a cause
Poet write for entertainment
Poets write to express themselves
Poets write to share their feelings
-o-
When time is running
Poem is the history
In present it reflects the story
Poem gives the hope in future
-o-
Poet is the planter
Plants seeds into your hearts
Make sure that it sprouts
Brings the thoughts into actions
-o-
Poet is the director behind your actions
Poet is the motivator behind your feelings
Poet is the coach who puts you on track
Poet is person whom your heart likes
-o-
Poet is the soldier when he uses poem as bullet
Poet is the coach when his poem moves your heart
Poet is the love, when he gives poem as flower
Poet is the parent, when he consoles you in your troubles
Poet is the healer who heals souls
Poet enters different roles
To justify the poem and to justify the people
-o-
Poem is the form of literature
We can find in holy books
Poem is the feelings
Poem touches the hearts
-o-
Sun can be seen in day
Moon can be seen in night
But poem is there day and night
Poem is powerful than nature
Poem don’t have life and death
Just it flows from heart to heart
Poet is the instrument
In the hands of the poem
-o-
If you drink a cup of alcohol
It may stay there just for hours
If you read a good poem
Nobody knows how long it gives the kick
-o-
When you have time, read a good poem
When you have time, write some poetry
When you have time, share a poem
-o-
You will be the poet, when you read a poem
You will be the poet, when you put on paper
You can be the poet to change your self
You can be the poet to change the world
You must be a poet, to enjoy this life
Waiting for you, to listen to your poem
-o-
poem by Bhavani Polimetla
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet vs Poem
Does a poet makes poem
Or poem makes poet?
The eternal war goes on.
The big confusion who will solve it?
Poet fight with sword of pen.
Poem armoured with shield of senses.
Poet tries to rich sky high,
Poem pulls rope of meaning and tenses.
Does poet sketc the poem
Or poem drags him through the invigible gravity.
A piece of paper becomes battlefield.
The war of ink and vocabulary,
Creates a historic beauty.
Poet cages the poem in a book.
Where the world will look.
Praises all to poet 'oh how great'
But the poem is what counts after his death.
poem by Saurav Karki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Right Mask
One night a poem came up to a poet
From now on, it said, you must wear a mask.
What kind of mask? asked the poet.
A rose mask, said the poem.
I've used it already, said the poet,
I've exhausted it.
Then wear the mask that's made out of
a nightingale's song, use that mask.
Oh, it's an old mask, said the poet,
it's all used up.
Nonsense, said the poem, it's the perfect mask,
still, try on the god mask,
now that mask illuminates heaven.
It's a tight mask, said the poet,
and the stars crawl about in it like ants.
Then try on the troubador's mask, or the singer's mask,
try on all the popular masks.
I have, said the poet, but they fit so easily.
The poem was getting impatient,
it stamped its feet like a child,
it screamed. Then try on your own face,
try the one mask that terrifies,
the mask only you could possibly use,
the mask only you could wear out.
The poet tore at his face til it bled,
this mask? he yelled, this mask?
Yes, said the poem, yes.
But the poet was tired of masks,
he had lived too long with them,
he snatched at the poem and stuck it in his face.
Its screams were muffled, it wept, it tried to be lyrical,
it wriggled into his eyes and mouth.
Next day his friends were afraid of him,
he looked so distorted.
Now it's the right mask, said the poem, the right mask.
It clung to him lovingly and never let go again.
poem by Brian Patten
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cat Poem - with discussion
I must not write a poem
because I want to write a poem.
I must try to write the poem
when the poem has to be written.
Yes but what if my cat dies?
Yes, what if my cat dies
and I know my cat lived a
good and honest life
I can write a poem?
I can can’t I
I can have a cat poem can’t I
Life of an honest cat and that
Yes I know, I said the cat was honest
but I didn’t say that I was, and
I lied about the cat
________________________________
Discussion:
The poem begins as a slightly
finger wagging exercise in telling
people not to write just because
they want to write a poem - it must
be DRIVEN by the poem's insistence
on being written. The poet is
unable to sustain this arrogance
hence the cat. Then, using the
cat as an excuse, writes the poem
but in the end has to admit that
the cat was just a device to break
the rule outlined in the 4 opening
lines. (Secretly of course the poet
believes or at least hopes that the
poem is good enough to excuse itself
and be allowed to break the rule.)
But of course it isn't
poem by by unknown author
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I read another poet I could not understand
I READ ANOTHER POET I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND
I read another poet I could not understand
The metaphors racing one after the other
The eternal thoughts taking on a new particular dress
Words and more words
Lines and more lines
Rushing toward meaning and beauty.
And in it all my simple not understanding,
My waiting to hear words that would return to me-
My understanding
That only by my own effort
By my reading again and again
By my willing to believe
Could I make another poet real.
But do I want another poet to be real
When I am a question,
And when there are already others real for me also?
Oh selfish little man oh poor poor reader-
Write your poem alone again
As if no one but you will ever be able to write
The poems which are real.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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267
This poem shall remember
The port of Dumaguete
The gentle waves of the boulevard
Where we once walked
Under the moon and stars
Where the wind was fresh and cool
Where time was once eternal
To your children and husband
And to my wife
And even to our friends
This poem is nothing
After all we never made it
But to me
This poem is more than significant
This is a love poem
To be recited again
In Dumaguete
The moon and stars
shining at night
And the waves of the sea
Bouncing on the boulevard
Still so excited
Like how I feel today as I write
This poem
I am not sure
Somehow somewhere
sometime
If it is still
With you
********************
and if by chance
you read this
do not blame
me or anybody
or yourself
do not even
blame the stars
they are just
taking their
own course
****************
this is nothing but just
another poem for you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This poem is just a poem
This poem shall remember
The port of Dumaguete
The gentle waves of the boulevard
Where we once walked
Under the moon and stars
Where the wind was fresh and cool
Where time was once eternal
To your children and husband
And to my wife
And even to our friends
This poem is nothing
After all we never made it
But to me
This poem is more than significant
This is a love poem
To be recited again
In Dumaguete
The moon and stars
shining at night
And the waves of the sea
Bouncing on the boulevard
Still so excited
Like how I feel today as I write
This poem
I am not sure
Somehow somewhere
sometime
If it is still
With you
********************
and if by chance
you read this
do not blame
me or anybody
or yourself
do not even
blame the stars
they are just
taking their
own course
****************
this is nothing but just
another poem, candice.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Could Not Write The Poem I Dreamed
I COULD NOT WRITE THE POEM I DREAMED
I could not write the poem I dreamed
I wrote the poem I am -
A minor poet? No poet all?
Only what I can-
No one cares and no one reads
And no one knows my name
Yet I continue writing my words
And playing my happy small game.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Hope Always To Write
'hope always to write more
not to be a good poet'
the words of my friend
Hosny Soliman defined
my thoughts perfectly
to write just a little more
to gift just a little more
to give just a little more
with no thought wasted
upon desire to write
a good poem a great poem
Splitting image from the poem ‘We Sing Our Love In Life Worships’ by Terence George Craddock.
Dedicated to the painter poet Hosney Soliman.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
I'll Write You A Poem
I’ll write you a poem
Which will by the day remind you
That I’m still lurking around
As a good friend who’s always true
I’ll write you a poem
About friendships that fickle
About friends like fiends
So that you’ll remember I
With radiance like a star up in the sky
I’ll write you a poem
Of my longings and want
Which by the day makes me hurt
Bleeding black blood
Shedding tearless tears
How inside they flow
Because we’ve refused to water
What earlier we had sown
I’ll write you a poem
That will forever remind you
That as you are needed elsewhere
I need you too
But now please, allow me
To sip from my cup of coffee
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Goodbye Poet! ! ! !
Very sad when a Poet close your book
leave his pen and left us
So we say: There goes, Aphrodite, Apollo, Hades
find your ethereal Muse and make peaces with God
Because
The Poet goes different
He goes taking all of us with him
He goes but leaving your scrolls, hymns
His Ilíadas, Odisseias
For ever and Never
Because
The Poet let us different
He dare to be absent without a motive
confront dead and write the more beautiful Poem
Poet's heart now beats alone!
So go Poet
Go, because you are different
poem by Mirna Morgan
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You Do Not Have...
you do not have to
read me
for me to become
another poet
i am
and i can be
and i will be
even without you
and you are
and you can be
and you shall be
even without me
i am a poet
because i have decided to write the poems
and the poem shall be there forever
until the right reader comes along
the one who loves
a poem even without me
even without you
even without the world
this poem and that poem shall be
even without us
for these are words
and words shall be words even without the world
for it was the word which came first
and shall remain
till eternity.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poem About The Poem
The poem about the poem
And what is a poem?
And what is a poet?
And will the poem
Save me?
Help you?
And is writing the poem
The best I can do?
Or is it only words and more words?
Is the poem about the poem
For the poet only?
Or for each one reading and speaking and hearing it?
The poem about the poem
On this sunny spring Jerusalem morning
Peace and happiness in me -
The poem about the poem
For now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem The Poem And The Poem Again
THE POEM‘ THE POEM AND THE POEM AGAIN’
‘The poem the poem and the poem again’
Isn’t there any life without poetry?
Why is it always ‘The poem the poem the poem’?
Let it be some other dream
Or some other small facet of our endless realities
Why always ‘The poem the poem the poem? ’
The poet who lives and dies for the poem
Is only one kind of poet
And perhaps not even a good one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0009 Favorite Poem
and you can’t remember much
about the first time you read it except
that it held you to the end, but most of all
this one line, which seemed to hold
the key to the whole poem
as if you were opening the closet of your mind
to bring out something which you knew was there
but instead something way at the back
called to you and you remembered
a moment from way back you thought
you had forgotten
and then you read the poem again
in company with the poet and
yes that’s it, and the two of you
became friends for life, almost
related.
So, now you’ve read all their poems,
feel some more than others but
as if you wrote them all in the same room
where you read them together
and you wait for their new book with
a sorta family pride
and like family,
you leave the poems for a spell,
grow up a little, then
come back to visit -
they mean more;
can it be,
you've both grown?
each time you come back to them
you carry them more close to you
in fact you feel that you could write
poems very much like theirs
as if you’d inherited, too,
the family gift
and though you wouldn’t of course
seek them out in person except
in a reading where you’d
have to share their warmth
with the rest of their extended family
but not say much since
you are a, well, close relative,
if you happened to be driving a route
not far from them, you’d detour,
park a little distance from their house,
but have it in your sight,
hope you might catch a movement,
wait a few minutes, then
start the car with almost a sigh
half relieved that you didn’t have to try
on their cautiously polite doorstep
to find words to say
you love them in their words,
which you almost wrote together,
lived them together;
love them like life itself,
love them
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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