Gods Favoured Me
Heat – no air-con today – realising France’s dream of
saving their coastline due to the Greenhouse effect,
went for a lunch-break stroll singing all the way,
refusing to contemplate office problems
The gods favoured me on my first day, email connection
restored, now I am so privileged to read criticism of the
work I did before leaving on holiday, I am still girdling
my loins with positive thoughts
Before tackling heartbreaking rejection of words I wrote,
New Year’s Resolution: never face today what can be
deferred to tomorrow, stop and smell the roses, I can
read nasty remarks any time
The mere fact of having an office in which to be miserable
is such a source of joy and delight, not to be spoilt with
feelings of inadequacy; why cry about the humours of
those in charge trying to convince me I am
A disaster because I cannot write the words they dictate,
cannot march to the tune they prescribe, kept in my place
by them changing their translation rules every day - I am
thankful that I can still think and feel after years
As a civil servant, I should have turned into a cyborg ages
ago, yet the incessant stream of criticism proves I am still
the same human I was at the beginning – people like me
cannot be changed into robots
No matter how much criticism is directed our way, olé!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
If government, or those in positions of power and authority, can silence criticism by the argument that such criticism might be misunderstood somewhere, there is an end to all criticism, and perhaps an end to our kind of political system. For men in authority will always think that criticism of their policies is dangerous. They will always equate their policies with patriotism, and find criticism subversive.
quote by Henry Steele Commager
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I've had trouble with criticism, I guess. It's hard to know what role criticism plays in either encouraging poets or in getting other people to read them.
quote by Kenneth Koch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Neither praise or blame is the object of true criticism. Justly to discriminate, firmly to establish, wisely to prescribe, and honestly to award. These are the true aims and duties of criticism.
quote by William Gilmore Simms
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chima
My poetry is about love and,
My mind is about the muse of imagination!
And like the joy of the singing birds in the air,
But your sorrow will fly away so soon like the wind.
From the views of a bird i became a bard,
And from the views of the public i became a teacher;
But your love is why i am here today,
And like the muse of joy in the land of peace.
Chima my friend,
The mysteries around you do have masks on them! !
But i am here today to love you for who you are;
Because, the calendar of my life is now hanging up in your room!
No mere works of academic criticism,
For the spirits taught me how to read and write! !
And now my will is like your will in the land of peace,
But purported to have come from the realms!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Principal's Office
Now as I get to school I hear the late bell ringing,
runnning through the halls, I hear the glee club singing,
and as I get to the office I can hardly speak,
cause it's the third late pass that I got this week,
so to my first class I run and don't walk,
all I hear is my sneakers and the scratching of chalk,
and as I get to the room I hear the teacher say,
Mr. Young I'm very happy you could join us today,
I try to sit down so I can take some notes,
but I can't read what the kind next to me wrote,
and if that wasn't enough to make my morning complete,
as I try to get up, I find this gum on my seat,
so with the seat stuck to me, I raised my hand,
and said, exscuse me but can I go to the bathroom, maam?
the teacher got upset, and she screamed out no,
it's off the principal's office you go,
Verse 2:
12 o'clock comes with mass hysteria,
everybody rushes down to the cafeteria,
picked up my tray to have Thursday's lunch,
and as I tried the apple sauce, I heard it crunch,
I'm running up the stairs with my front tooth broken,
the nurse just laughed, and said you must be joking,
I looked up at her with a smile on my face,
no joke 'cause my front tooth is out of place,
so I walked to school with ice on my lip,
the nurse's late pass like a gun on my hip,
my books are real heavey, I'm walking, I'm dragging,
ain't no school lunch next week, I'm brown-bagging it,
forget class, I'm a shoot some ball,
with the late pass I got no trouble at all,
but then the nurse walks up and says what do you know,
it's office to the prinicipal's office you go
recess
Verse 3:
passing notes is my favorite pass time,
I can't wait to find a girl to pass mine to,
to express my feelings,
give me a week B, and the girl' be dealing,
now one young lady was looking at me,
I said hi my name is Marvin, known as Young MC,
but then the ball rang, and the teacher came in,
and that's when the game of passin notes would begin,
I wrote the first note, told her she was fine,
and I hoped that the two of us could spend some time,
she wrote me back and told me you're fine too,
I'd love to go on a date and spend some time with you,
so then I sat there reeling, and looking at the ceiling,
words can't express the way that I was feeling,
then I though to myself, the sure way to get her,
is to write another note, oh yes, a love letter,
when I finished the note, it was ready to pass,
the teacher took it, and read it right in front of the class,
she read it word-by-word and line-by-line,
and everybody who was laughing was a friend of mine,
even then my girl was laughing, and it was too late,
for me to write another note 'cause there would be no date,
the teacher looked at me, and I said I know,
it's off to the principal's office I go,
yo, you think this is bad, wait til I get my report card
song performed by by Young MC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Home With My Writing
how often do i have to read
other people's work hoping that i may soon hone mine
and get
the admiration of other writers?
that is a long time ago and i guess
i have changed
whether admired or not we are all writers in our own ways
it is just a matter of self-expression
a way of telling those who will be left here that once we were here and we have written a lot, a legacy in words, that we are the ideas of our own time,
and time perhaps is glad about it
how we wrote and what we wrote for and whom
it's perfectly nice living life at your own pace
saying the words you want to say and leaving everything for the rest to see and judge
so to say, i am finally at home with my own words and style.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It is a New Day
Today is a new day
today is a new life
today, yes today is a special day
it never has occurred before
the sun light cast on today is ancient
the words I will speak will be for the first time, today
The air I breath is new today
the aches are new as well
the feelings are new today
my cats meow is new today
todays lunch I have is new
the thoughts I think are new today
the life I live today is new
indeed today is a new day
poem by Bullion Grey
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I do see value in music criticism. Most of the criticism I have received over the years has been very good.
quote by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have been frequently accused of deliberately twisting subject matter to my point of view. Above all, I know that life for a photographer cannot be a matter of indifference. Opinion often consists of a kind of criticism. But criticism can come out of love.
quote by Robert Frank
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the Critical Attitude
The critical attitude
Strikes many people as unfruitful
That is because they find the state
Impervious to their criticism
But what in this case is an unfruitful attitude
Is merely a feeble attitude. Give criticism arms
And states can be demolished by it.
Canalising a river
Grafting a fruit tree
Educating a person
Transforming a state
These are instances of fruitful criticism
And at the same time instances of art.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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The Declining Art Of Communication
We all seem to be living our lives
At an ever increasing pace.
We are finding less and less time
To meet up with people face to face.
You often read stories in the press,
About people being fired or dumped by text.
The way in which we communicate has changed so much,
That you do find yourself wondering 'Whatever next? '
There are some things, which by text or email,
You just really shouldn't say:
Like, if you're telling someone that they're no longer wanted,
Or that someone they know has just passed away.
You can check your email at your leisure,
Unlike if someone contacts you by phone,
But like they say, it's good to talk,
So you really shouldn't moan.
I love receiving letters on fancy paper from my friends,
And hear them dropping through my letterbox,
But the whole idea of 'snail' as opposed to email,
Is a concept which, nowadays, is often mocked.
If you're talking face to face,
You're less likely to get the wrong impression.
You can connect more to people's thoughts and feelings,
If you are able to read their facial expressions.
Tackling a sensitive subject with someone,
Often has us trembling with fear,
But is it really better for it to be discussed
Electronically, rather than ear to ear?
Sometimes, you can spend hours together,
During which time, very little of importance is said.
Then, later, you log on to your computer,
And discover all the gossip is on there instead!
If you put all of your news on Facebook,
You may find your face to face conversation is suddenly dead.
When you next meet up with someone and mention your news,
They will turn to you, and say 'Yeah, you said'!
The world of communication has come on in leaps and bounds,
But, in some ways, it has advanced too much.
Communication can now be so impersonal,
That we seem to have lost the human touch.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Great Poetry?
How could anyone ever truly
Define great poetry?
Factors are so many that contribute
To the way each person does hear-feel-and see.
The season, the day, the very time,
Along with each readers wisdom-knowledge-and mind.
A line read one day
May deeply stir the spirit
While the very next time read
The reader simply just can't 'get-it'.
Besides, who is to judge,
And who is to decide?
Who always speaks truth,
And who pray tell has never lied?
Let the one who has never struggled with emotion and word
Cast the first critical stone,
Let the pure, perfect poet
Read and write completely all alone;
Enshrined by himself
Upon his own empty throne.
After all, it is supposed to be
A bit (or more) of myth and mystery,
A little difficult to decipher, somewhat vague,
Meant to speak, but not brag.
For Goodness sake, it's poetry.
Not prose, not essay, and certainly not the news.
It's forms are many and free,
It's thoughts different and deep,
It's direction everywhere the heart can see,
It's origin, and destination, ineffable...
But to write, one must try, or die... such is the poems strength.
So, let the creator of words create.
With wild and wonderful words to decipher and debate;
And never let the beauty of it all
In trivial criticism suffocate.
What is great poetry though you still inquire?
I should have told you from the start;
(But, then you would not have listened)
Great poetry is always, and only,
Beautiful words written truly
From, and for, the heart.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Affirmations(2002-2004)
Today, I will get up before my alarm
Today, I won't close my eyes until dusk
Today, I will not get a speeding ticket
Today, I will count this day as a first
Today, I will enjoy the life that has been left to me
Today, I won't frown over the may-have-beens
Today, I won't cry over the should-have-beens
Today, I won't wonder about the could-have-beens
Today, I'll smile.......Today, I'll Laugh.... Today, I'll relax
Today, I won't feel alone because I don't see you
Today, I'll find something new that wasn't true of you
Today, I won't be afraid to look upon a new face
Today, I'll step up and take my place
Today, I won't think about what I've lost
Today, I'll look forward instead of behind
Today, I'll find some piece of mind
Today, I'll hope.... Today, I'll pray... Today, I'll believe
Today, I'll dream as if I always did
Today, I'll wish on a star the way I used to
Today, I'll reach for the heavens and sigh
Today, My heart will start to heal
Today, the biggest miracle is ME.
Today, Yesterday's problems ceased to be
Today, the rain has stopped and the sun has returned
Today, the breath of kindness is found in words
Today, I wonder.... Today, I am a child.
poem by Lillian B. Rose
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A Revolution Poetry Is....!
Are you writing words of rhythm according to thoughts?
Or are you coining words of thoughts according to rhythm?
Or are you writing poetry both working at the same time?
Asking so, if they ask me how to write poetry, what shall I say?
Poetry writing is natural, spontaneous expression from heart!
How can this be taught to anyone to write poetry ever at all?
Poetry is a spontaneous flow of words direct from heart ever!
I wonder many a time how am I writing poetry at all ever!
But this is happening to my great surprise since longtime!
Due to engagements ever poetry only I am able to write
Though my aim in the beginning was writing stories.....,
Novels, short stories and nonfiction articles of criticism!
Poetry books too I have completed writing so since long
But what a pity there is no reception for poetry books...!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Good morning Boss
Day spoils if start is not at all good
We can do away with no good food
But certainly not with bad start
You may wear gloomy face and feel bad heart
It is said “whose beginning then his day too will be bad”
He may find it difficult with brother. Mummy or even with dad
There may take place unusual things to disturb whole day
You may loose patience and find no other good way
In office day starts with “'good morning” to boss
you got to always yes and never no even at some personal loss,
He is the one person in office who is always in tension,
You can’t expect any thing bad worth to mention,
I always take steps for its prevention,
I never ask or raise any question,
Simply fall in line with him ready to go with his words
try to show the sincerity and keenness in special work
I or for that matter no one can afford to loose his grace
Loosing favor means you won’t have any trace
All odds against you and problems to face,
Why simply to enter then unnecessary race?
Try to be near him but not so close,
Butter daily with kind words and offer rose,
Stand by with him in the time of need
Never show bad gesture and prove your worth in deed
it is hard time to show sincerity and prove best class
Hide the discomfiture and feelings under dark glass,
don’t try to create any flutter and allow the day to pass,
Allow his name to be seen plate with shining in brass
If you ever happen to fall out of grace
Ready yourself to challenge and face,
Offer very good smile and use kind words,
Remain obedient and sincere as you remain with lords
After all he is bread provider and boss
We can’t afford to alienate him at any cost
Our relation may at any time go frost
But it is not the end of the day or love lost
Try to reason out your obedience
Prove that office is at par excellence
It is only because of his brilliance
Office has got reputation only by his presence
It is no exaggeration to use few good words in his honor
You may find that he too may stand for your favor
In fact it is the presence of all that count s for performance
There is no use if we undermine his authority in others presence
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Many French directors, having now realised there was no more real criticism, that the standards of the past have gone, are very offended about the quality of film criticism.
quote by Wim Wenders
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wrote Nothing Today
I WROTE NOTHING TODAY
I wrote nothing today
I did not do my work
I played around
I read what I wanted
I searched the Internet for nonsense
I did not face the work and reality I have
I wrote nothing today
I did nothing today
I am to blame
The world will fall apart
The sky will never be blue again
The night will go on forever
No birds will sing and no rivers will flow
All the trees will lose their green-
I did nothing today
It's all over
I did nothing today and I am nothing and I will forever be nothing
And I am ashamed of being nothing and guilty for being nothing
And still I am nothing
And writing this does not make me something either
Because it is not the work I am supposed to do
Which I am still escaping
What a loser I am
What a failure-
After this tirade
Will I at last have the courage to begin the real work now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Donkey Life 4 Office
today
i was sad
so.. sad...
i my office
officer
bite me
at hard words
words are very fool
so
i am not cool
i am very hot
so thinking
my officer words at home
i did not sleep well
i did not eat well
next day
i am going for office
not a healthy person
with patent
on body...
on mind...
office life is
donkey life...
what can i do...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Donkey Life
today
i was sad
so.. sad...
i my office
officer
bite me
at hard words
words are very fool
so
i am not cool
i am very hot
so thinking
my officer words at home
i did not sleep well
i did not eat well
next day
i am going for office
not a healthy person
with patent
on body...
on mind...
office life is
donkey life...
what can i do...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Exemplary And Lavish Extravagance
Aaah, Madame La Pompadour needs time off
from the office they had built her, soundproof,
air-con, and everything she wants inside, today
she plays chauffer to the children in her neigh-
bourhood and visiting her mother in the old-age
home - she condescendingly told us - though
there is really no need why we should know
where she is, she is the free incumbent
Madame La Pompadour suffers agoraphobia
at home and claustrophobia in the office, her
problems are debilitating; she needs a bigger
office of course, with user-friendly interior
decorating - I sigh in admiration, such a very
exemplary and lavish extravagance, with the
cool presumption that a James Bond would
envy her, she does what she wants
Madame La Pompadour looks down on the
mundane civil servants - us - who man the
open-plan office, why should she earn her
salary like a slave when she gets it without
ever leaving her home?
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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