Melodies Without Sound (Revised)
The first time I was asked for my ideal I said To
become Faust and learn everything there is; by
dramatic phrasing I meant being a student for-
ever- she derisively replied, Get real child, what
a pretentious ideal - I was deeply mortified
Studied philosophy, science, quantum physics and
relativism, wondered about astronomy; astrology
explained the characters we deal with in life; read
everything that evoked my curiosity, unsure where
the quest would lead - the joy of doing it an end in
itself - and while stimulating discussion is limited
I write to clarify emotional problems, practise the
art of expression and learn to use sonorous words
to create melodies without sound, learning from
the poet I most admire because - HIS poetry
sings at all times
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Related quotes
Knowledge is to remove ignorance
Learn science to know the world.
Learn psychology to know your mind.
Learn philosophy to know your soul.
Learn history to know the past.
Learn not astrology to know the future.
02.06.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Tutorial for David de Santis
I read some poetry today
by long dead poets from the past,
which I enjoyed I have to say.
Their golden words were meant to last
.
Though they long since returned to dust.
The legacy they left behind
for poetry students is a must.
It is as if they were designed.
To act as templates we can use
as we learn to write poetry
It would be foolish to refuse
to benefit from history.
So find a poet you admire
from the past or present day
You might just find his works inspire
you to write a different way.
Experiment with every kind,
free form, free verse, formality
then in due course you’re sure to find
which one of these is your forte
The time you spend to learn the rules
is one investment you must make
Like any trade you need the tools,
Before you can attempt to make
your claim to be a master bard.
The road to fame is long and hard
with very little cash reward.
you have to try, no one is barred.
30-May-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Never You
Over my decades of sojourn on earth
There is but a lesson I've come to
learn;
Is that you never, never, never quarrel
with a poet
For he takes you up, puts you in a pot
Season you, and finally, he eats you up
with his words.
His tongue is cursed and poisoned
Like a warring deadly disease.
DO YOU.. DO YOU.. DO YOU really think
That poets are as friendly like you think,
Well, listen now friend, let me tell
You a little secret about poetry.
Like philosophy, it could be quite
contradictory.
My mentor Mr. Taban Lo Liyong
Would say: poetry is not a song
That a lover sings to a love of his
He only wishes for a bite or a kiss
But yet, let us sit and ponder on it
Taban was right about poetry;
It is a science, with rules like we
have in mathematics.
Thoughts arranged in lines are
called poetry,
Nobody writes poetry,
You only utter your thoughts
With much love for the world.
So we can now say poetry and
thoughts are one.
Never let a poet eat you up
With his thoughts or his words
For in his heart lies an abyss
And a void, like we have in Tartarus.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Learn
when broken
learn
when happy
learn
when bored
learn
when you float and does not know what to do
learn just the same
when filled with idealism
learn
when fed with what you cannot swallow
learn again
when the times get rough and you want to kill yourself
learn, learn, learn
you still have many things to learn
faces of life
bodies of life
learn, learn, learn everything
do not surrender
for in truth, you do not do what you only want
you will also do what you are told to do
no questions asked
or you will be left out
or you will be not a part of the picture
this life
learn, learn, learn, always learn
do not surrender
live, learn, live, learn
you will soon do all that others will tell you
learn, learn and learn again
and sooner you will have learned everything
and then do what you want to do
with firm conviction
you know now what is right
and that is what you will do,
now without even being told
you have become yourself
but still learn, learn, and learn again
because
you might be wrong,
try thinking some more, learn
relearn, learn, learn, learn, forevermore....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Dream of a Perfect School
I dream of much,
For my child,
They should be trained,
And not run wild.
They should learn French,
And Arabic too,
They should learn English,
It’s long overdue.
They should learn karate,
And self-defense,
Gymnastics, Soccer,
Not sit on a bench.
They should learn Art,
To sing and perform,
They should learn drama,
For this is the norm.
They should be taught,
A hobby or two,
Cooking, sewing,
Or how to cure flu.
They should learn Science,
An –ology or two,
Geology, Radiology,
Yes, any will do.
They should be taught,
All this and much more,
They should not simply,
Stare at the floor.
When asked the square root,
Of four sixty three,
Their heads should be high,
At the ripe age of three.
Rocket Science,
Math and Astronomy,
The state of the world,
It’s economy.
And, by SK,
They should know all this,
If it’s not done,
Something is amiss.
After all, am I,
Not doing my part?
I’m sending them daily,
Surely that’s a good start?
I dream of so much,
For my little one,
Now Principal, can you tell me,
When will it be done?
poem by Aisha Sherazi
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We can begin to create new goals for ourselves, ends for our days! A new discipline for life will spring into being, a new will and power to live, a new ideal to measure the value of our lives by! … We need a new leader who will teach us that ideal, who by his life will exemplify it and make it a living truth for us — a man who will prove that man's fleeting life in time and space can be noble. We need, above all, to learn again to believe in the possibility of nobility of spirit in ourselves!
quote by Eugene O'Neill
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Self
Bluff it is
If I say I'm a learned poet
For I'm not a scholar
So too my poems
My master's degree..
Lost in the abyss of oblivion
Searching out of and on
Those learnt reminiscences
I write to learn
Learning to write
And that learning
For my heart's happy content
You're welcome to read my words
For shared should be my happiness
Pat or hit..I don't bother
For I'm not a learned poet
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The greatness of human actions is measured by the inspiration that it brings. Blessed is he who carries within himself a God, an ideal of beauty and obeys it: an ideal of art, ideal of science, ideal of country, ideal virtues of the Gospel! These are the wellsprings of great thoughts and great actions. All reflections illuminate infinity.
quote by Louis Pasteur
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I learn
I learn when I teach others
I learn when I listen
I learn when I read
I learn from children
I learn from animals
I learn from nature
I learn how to breathe
I learn how to live
I learn how to love
I learn how to be a human being
I'm always learning ...
poem by Viorel Vintila
Submitted by anonym
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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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Touchdowns and Fumbles
My poetry teacher tells me he isn’t a poet
He just writes poetry
I tell him I want to transfer out immediately
He shouldn’t be teaching
I mean anyone can write poetry
And if you say you write it good but aren’t a poet
Than you’re an arrogant prick
Give me a poet to learn from
Good or not, they still stand by their writing
While people who write poetry are weak.
Standing behind what people believe is good
And tossing away what people don’t like
A football player takes it all with him.
Touchdowns and fumbles, passes and interceptions
While couches talk about years when they
Were the best, but forget about all the others.
I can’t learn from a poetry writer
I need to know the mistakes and shortcomings
Or else history is damned to repeat itself in me
Give me a poet any day.
poem by Reyes Suarez
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A Real God
One day a child asked me, “Is there a real God? ”
From a baby of six I thought the question odd.
He had yet to learn the vagaries of this earth,
Yet questioned a mystery far beyond his birth.
My answer to this child was heartfelt indeed.
I’m unsure of where a supreme spirit will lead.
Is he only a concept I need when sad and alone?
Or a force who will judge each one on their own?
Was bible’s god subject to suffering and tears
Or is man from the sea after billions of years?
I’ve lived a long time and have faith in what is so.
I told him a loving life will surely help him know.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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A Peculiar Kind
Some say he’s a genius
Others that he’s strange
Me I find him an inspiration
The way he spews out words
Playing with images and feeling
Like a child’s toy
I could read his diary
Just to hear his thoughts
Try piecing together
The ideas he built into poetry
So I may write like him
Learn to be crafty
Twist verses into lines
That lead you away
And catch you off guard
Many fail to understand
Or don’t wish to learn
They say he is strange
But when it comes to people
I like his kind
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Before a war, military science seems a real science, like astronomy. After a war it seems more like astrology.
quote by Rebecca West
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Before a war military science seems a real science, like astronomy; but after a war it seems more like astrology.
quote by Rebecca West
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Evil Created by God?
Challenged with this university question,
One researched Truth's 'whole confession.'
How many, to such a question, might dare say yes;
If God created evil then He is evil, one might guess.
But, then, one student did profoundly asked:
'Tell me professor, does cold exist to last...? '
The professor replied, 'Of course it exists.'
What was this brassy student's logic, or gist?
Amazingly, the bold student retorted, 'That's not true.'
'With laws of physics, cold is the absence of heat (for you) .'
All can succumb to a proven study, as energy will transmit.
Cold does not exist; the word only describes how we feel, to fit.
The calm student continued, 'Sir, does darkness exist? '
The confident professor retorted, 'Of course it does.'
The student replied, 'Again, Sir, that's not right;
Darkness is actually the absence of the Light.'
Newton 's prism is used to break light into colours of aura.
Wavelengths cannot measure an unilluminated area.
The light's ray can break a world of darkness, illuminating it.
Darkness is termed to describe the absence of light, present.
Finally the youth asked, 'Sir, does evil exist? '
A bit unsure the man said, 'Of course (not wanting to resist) .'
At last the youth replied, 'Evil does not exist Sir (neath God's rod) .'
Evil does not exist 'unto itself, ' it is simply the absence of God.'
'God did not create evil, He created beings with free-choice.'
The youth was Albert Einstein; I am 'only relating his voice.'
poem by ArmourQuill Hunter
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Delightful Eyes
It may complicate if wrongly assumed
Things can never be presumed
As it lacks strength and logic
It has some element of basic
What we some time think is not error?
But it may create problem for others with fear
It may cause agony and embarrassment
This is not real as it is simple harassment
It may and has to be misreading
As it may not help in leading
To the end of the road
As it may be burdened with load
Love is to steadfast and sacrifice
Keep up the words with promise
That must be borne in mind till demise
Then only it may be called wise
What you do in consideration is mere infatuation
It has no relevance with continuation
You are simply drawn by outer beauty
This can’t be called ideal with fine quality
Even animals show some discipline
They also sometime refuse to go by and decline
Some sense of ideology seems to be in their head
Only we fail at some of point time to read
Love can be read in shining eyes
It has all the colors, aspirations and flies
In right direction with no illusion at all
Responds to immediately with sincere call
If at all one wants to perform ideal
He or she must think twice and act real
It has some sort of invisible bond and not deal
One baths in it with satisfaction and delightedly feel
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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To serve the people, one must write for the ideal reader. Only for the ideal reader. And who or what is that ideal reader? God. One must imagine, One must deeply imagine that great Attention. Only so, in lonely dialog, can one reach the people.
quote by Denise Levertov
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Poet Becomes The Poetry
THE POET BECOMES THE POETRY
After years of striving to write Poetry
The Poet becomes the Poetry
No word is not poetry in him
And no silence is not the sound
his own writing makes
Wherever he is
Whatever he does
is Poetry
Mediocre or not
Real or not
Loved or not
Understood or not
The Poet is Poetry
Unable forever to escape
what he Lives.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In Search Of Metaphors And Images To Express Yourself In A Poem
it is the expression that matters most.
it is the relational flow from the writer to the reader
the bond that is created anew, just like an ordinary conversation
one fine day.
why can't poetry be simple and direct? that is the question that poetry
asks
to itself, in itself.
the poet in us can be lost because of so much demands for the absurd,
this metaphor fits, this imagery is perfect, what is it?
you do not accept the sun and the moon and the stars.
cliches of their poetry. You do not show compassion for his feelings
of being abandoned
simply because there are no images that tickle your senses.
even if he jumps with joy, you do not relate to his joys
simply because the images are bland like
burger without the black pepper.
it is enough that one bleeds, one wants a listener, one wants to open
up to the world
Like a bud turning into a flower
(oh forgive this lousy metaphor
i am not a good poet somehow at imaging
at imagining.
Am not a camera.
My eyes are clumsy at details.
And my ears are not sensitive to sound of
beautiful words. They even hide behind my head under my hair.
And there is no compulsion for high highfalutin
Ivory towers of similes from the gods and goddesses of
Literature)
Why can't poetry be just an expression? Just that. A dialogue.
This one, this monologue.
It is enough that you write from the heart.
It is enough that you are true
(oh forgive me, can i be really
true to you? Do i have to be naked and tell you that i am beautiful?
Do i have to master the art of metaphorisms
to be your poet
for the night?)
Or is it that poetry is simply our hiding place
From this world of pain?
Or our chapel for our prayers
Or our playground where we can be children again?
I am tired of squeezing my brain in the quest of the perfect metaphor.
I have read what they have written.
I pretend i like them. They sound so well.
They must be poetry. Real poetry
Those that garner plaques.
Prizes from the jury.
Honestly, I do not understand a thing. Those poems of my idols.
But I read them just the same.
Hoping that I am in and be counted as one of the stars in those
Metaphoric Heavens.I watch every meteor that drops
to the ground. Their tails.
I am not a star. I am just a pebble.
And it is enough for me.
The poem says, just write me.
Don't squeeze your brain to have metaphors
To draw the images.
Just be yourself, and for God's sake if you have something to say
Just say it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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