Thrusting Lines
Praised for single-minded devotion to duty only,
my lines subjected to minute scrutiny as I lack
the tools to reproduce literally; rephrasing to
create fluent, mellifluous texts is wrong
We are employed to be a conduit faithfully re-
laying source texts through mindless copy-
ing which causes my brain to shut down
so my boss thinks me incompetent
Unable to deal with the soothing repetition most
people deem a real treat, I'm learning to accept
being the worst official in history, not given any
responsibility, only checked and monitored
Lost access to my inner being while ignoring the
enchantment of words dancing in rhythmic lines,
I shall have to create a sacred space where
sound can be freed to reign supreme
Where the rhythm of lilting vowels formed into
notes with various beats by rushing, explosive
consonants, creates melodies rising and
falling in thrusting lines
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Related quotes
Poetry Has A Rhythm Of Its Own
POETRY HAS A RHYTHM OF ITS OWN
Poetry has a rhythm of its own
I have lost it
I have words
I have sentences
But I have no rhythm-
I have flat lines
One after the blank other
A mind without depth
A sense of lack
But no real way
Of making a music of poetry
All my efforts now
Are like these lines
Without resonance
Simple and single in meaning
Not what a poem at its best
Should be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dead Library
There they go, bearing him in tears;
another gift for termites and earthworms,
another place in history foregone.
Just humus to the soil for all his toil.
Had I known, the poor fellow cried,
a break from pursuit of wealth and health
I would have taken to make felt
my Name in the pages of history.
Jets, cars and chariots all shall fade.
Castles, plantations all shall be obscured
with time's demise but history salutes
those who march on it in inky lines.
They that add no lines to the living
library get dead alongside their texts.
Selfishly, they read and saw nothing to write.
Read by none, their texts are in the Dead Library.
Mazi Ikechukwu Bismarck Oji
18th June,2010
poem by Ike Bismarck Oji
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Growth of Free Verse from the Metrical Verse.
When you think and feel
in terms of iambs or trochees
and sing them in series within,
you feel the pulse of a regular
rising or falling rhythm.
The recurring feet or beats make the lines
monotonous or surfeiting;
may be dull and flat at times..
The increasing anapaests
Makes the movement fast
But dactyls keep the tempo slow.
The epics and long tales of the past
with thrilling and grilling events
recharged our minds to linger long
in tasting of those sonorous lines.
You pen the shoddy lines
of words and phrases you think,
with a natural mix of humour and rhetorics
images and word-music
in long end-stopped or short enjambed ones.
Free verse lines of syncopation
blossom out of syncronised patterns
to sing the beauties of the mundane
and supreme things.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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What Is Written In Red
I am written in red,
I am sliding across the page of life.
I am racing across the lines of language.
I am red.
I write words,
I create lines and sentences,
I am kept in solitude
I am red.
I create paragraphs.
I create signatures.
I know what you're thinking before you speak,
I am red.
I cannot breath because I am enclosed in a capsule.
A capsule that covers the knowledge inside.
All I do is stare at pages,
All I know is pages,
I become apart of the pages,
And the pages become apart of me.
I become apart of english,
I become apart of words,
I am RED.
BY: Takisha Fields
poem by Kiesha fields
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In Between The Lines
In between the lines
as we go about our lives
we often seem to think
no one loves no one cares
In between the lines
we drag our weary feet
and often think who cares
and shuffles mindless
to the beat
In between the lines
we search for gloom & doom
we come up with outrageous stories
that we plant between the lines
In between the lines
we throw caution to the wind
making out the lies
to be a bitter truth
so just bare in mind
what’s just been said
we always learn life’s mystery’s
in between the lines
poem by Kaila George
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Out Of The Confines Of Definitions
They wish to define soliloquies,
As a dramatic monologue...
Spoken in a reflection,
By one who rambles in prose.
You know...
Those who profess to be 'scholars'.
AND...
Degreed!
They wish to 'confine' poetry,
As a delivery of lines...
For those who believe,
They have an expertise...
Of what they perceive,
Is an etiquette definition of poetry.
Something, of course...
That elevates the nature of it,
To proper standards that are elite.
Well...
When I receive an image,
And it is written to create an effect.
I am not the one to count lines...
With a caring done if it has rhythm or rhyme.
If I am emotionally affected and what I read connects,
The author of what I read that touches me...
Could be a literary genius!
Or someone considered out of their mind.
And most times,
People who create are just that.
Out of the confines of definitions,
To create their own.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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B.P.M.
Just lose yourself
Give into the music
Ooh you can do it
(Yeah, yeah)
And free your mind
Don't think about it
Now that we're riding?
(Dancing, dancing)
Won't apologize
Baby I know
What I want tonight
I'm on a super highway
Baby better give way-a-a
(Yeah, yeah, yeah)
Don't wanna turn it down
I'm hungry for your sound
I wanna lose myself
Ooh I like your rhythm
I can't help myself
For me there's no one else
I wanna lose myself
In your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Feeling high (high)
Twenty-four/Seven
Ooh... It feels like heaven
(Baby)
Thru the night
Keep it flowing
It's cool and you know it
(Yeah, yeah)
Can't run or hide
Baby I know what I feel inside
A fascinating rhythm divine
(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Don't wanna turn it down
I'm hungry for your sound
I wanna lose myself
Ooh I like your rhythm
I can't help myself
For me there's no one else
I wanna lose myself
In your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Ooh... Ooooh I can't deny it (No, no, no)
All these beats got me flying (Ohh)
Ooooh your trying (Ooooooh)
(Yeah, yeah)
(Yeah, yeah)
(Yeah, yeah)
(Yeah, yeah)
Don't wanna turn it down
I'm hungry for your sound
I wanna lose myself
Ooh I like your rhythm
I can't help myself
For me there's no one else
I wanna lose myself
In your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
(Yeah, yeah)
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
Woah, woah
Your beats per minute
song performed by by Kylie Minogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poet Tried To Shackle My Words
A poet tried to shackle my words,
as if from every poem
the message was stripped,
as if nowhere there was any mastery
of rhythm and sound to be found
as if I had sold my soul
to masses of people reading my verses,
as if I live in disrespect
to the expertise that a great poet
displays in his work
as if every line of mine
was just a wild cacophony
that I had flung together
in a utter hurry
to shower down on crowds of people.
Yet I while I swam against a tempest sea,
sticking to the truth and integrity,
trying to find answers to life’s mysteries
and problems
trying to expose injustice and oppression
there was boasting about a elitis clique
that totally excludes me
but they were going along the path
of political correctness and maybe indifference,
being far too scared to ruffle some feathers,
writing verses sixty times over and over
before they were becoming poems somehow,
before their words were catching some magic
believing that a great poem,
is like a jigsaw puzzle,
that you have got to unravel
with a dictionary,
where simple words can fuse together
with a own type of magic,
lacking in the ability
to find poetry in ordinary things,
to create poetry in lines
that by themselves fuses together
to create something great
but my words kept on coming,
falling into lines,
as if designed by a divine presence
and by themselves fused
into much deeper meaning
than I could find with my own abilities.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Twenty Lines
I just read this poem about using just twenty lines,
and it brought these words to my mind.
Who are they to tell us how many lines we should use to speak?
This is America where we have a law known as freedom of speech.
Just twenty lines tell you something about my life in words.
To me that seem completely absurd.
My life is much more than just twenty lines.
Hell I am thirty nine.
And if they except me to sum up thirty nine years in twenty lines
They are complete outside their minds.
How am I suppose to tell you how I nearly died when I was child?
Or how my mother harsh words took away my smile:
In just twenty lines?
Like I said they must be out of their minds.
I guest I can do if I shorten my life.
I don't have to talk about how much I love my future wife.
But her love is the inspiration for a lot of my poems.
So to not talk about her would be wrong.
I have a lot more to say but I'm out of time.
I reach my limit of my twenty lines.
Be Renewed
Incoherent people cannot talk, cannot
use words to convey their meaning, explain
what they are feeling, incoherent people can
only wonder about the forlorn meandering
of their own thoughts
Notes twinkling like ice-cubes, passing me
by, no music left, only the darkness inside,
must learn to fill it up with gleaming
interest - the words are lost, empty
lines running on
Without rhythm and sound; tomorrow
will bring a new story of beauty, dragons
and glory, dreamers shall be victorious over
sorrow, bring joy of dancing fellows -
tomorrow life shall be renewed
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Who You Are To Me
if you read these lines this morning
these lines that miss you
these lines that say i love you
these lines are dying to touch you
to hug and kiss you
these lines that know every inch of you
if you read these lines well enough
then you know who i am
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If You Read These Lines This Morning
if you read these lines this morning
these lines that miss you
these lines that say i love you
these lines that are dying to touch you
to hug and kiss you
these lines that know every inch of you
if you read these lines well enough
then you know who i am
i, who is nothing to you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Time Lines
i have said nothing for time wont allow me.
time lines... time lines... time lines, what i felt for you has turned to confusion.
as time lines up our times together worry overshadows my 'influenced' judgement.
time lines..
our future perfectly sealed for i filled my heart with your promises.
time outlined your feelings for me..
times we spent together seem so far away like the times of the early bud.
our love has lost its will to florish like juliets rose.
time has outlined my affection for you.
time lines.. time lines..
the memories we once cherished together, the lines that have been put between us by time have destroyed the love once shared by you and me.
time has been thought to mend broken hearts ALAS, it has made matters worse.
time lines me and you. time lined our fate through spectatr critiques.
we possess souls joint together by time, YET its time that divides us.
time took its tole on our love.
is this forbidden love? that time has outlined
time lines my emotions of love for you..
time lines my emtions.
time lines.... time lines
poem by Njube Nangamso
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Taste
Im up and I can take what you give
And Im here but I dont want you to live with me
'cause all I want is a taste for free
Im down and I will drag you along and around
Until you burst into song and unwind
And leave your new life behind for a while
Cause I can see through the lines
Cause I can see through the lines
Im down and I will drag you along and around
Until you burst into song and unwind
And leave your new life behind for a while
Im out and I will stay here alone and without
Someone controlled by the phone and tv
'cause what its doing to me is fine
Cause I can see through the lines
Cause I can see through the lines
Oooh oooh
Step into space
Oooh oooh
Alter my place
Oooh oooh
That someone else made
Why I have stayed
Into things I could be
Or if I could see
Into fog that surrounds
And pins me to the ground
I can see through the lines
I can see through the lines
I can see through the lines
I can see through the lines
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Texts
The best
Texts
In your
Mobile
Are from
Me.
The worst
Texts
In your
Mobile
Are from
Me.
As I've
Loved you
In the best
And worst
Possible
Ways.
We may not
Relive
Those
Good and
Bad
Days
Yet the fact
Remains
I'll love you
Always
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Art
My pen glides
the paper slides
thick lines
thin lines
curved
straight
I scribble
never erase
I create
my art
my heart-
poem by Jeremy Rascon
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A Pigeon
I've picked up your name from the floor
and held it for long on the palm of my hand
watching it gently peck its lines
until there remained nothing not a single crumb
and your name well fed slept for a while
in lines of death in lines of life
in lines of the head and lines of the heart
in intricate patterns that sealed me for too long
there was a lullaby I wanted to sing
but I was not able to open my mouth
for fear you'll wake up and disappear
and I promised myself I would never dropp you again
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Solidarity In Lines
unemployment lines
lines of books
Lines of cocaine
Food stamp lines
Theater lines
Grocery store
car wash
school children
Soup kitchen
club
abortion clinic
Delicatessen
traffic lines
crosswalks
Traffic Jam
Lines on a map
Jules gets home and un-loads his rucksack
Gods laziness
Because of the machines and computers we will all end up lonely human beings
poem by Jerome Moore
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I Am A Poet Of Short Lines
I am a poet of short lines-
Of lines that are phrases,
Of lines that are small and broken-
I am a poet of short lines-
Of impatience and small breath,
Of hurrying and not taking time-
I am a poet of short lines-
Of condensation and conciseness,
Of maximum meaning in minimum space-
I am a poet of short lines
Short ones.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Hear The Voices Of Others In Me
I HEAR THE VOICES OF OTHERS IN ME
I hear the voices of others in me
It does not mean I have a voice of my own
I feel their lines and their poems their melodies and their harmonies
I feel the beauty of what they say
Each one in his own exceptional way-
I hear the voices of others in me
And wait to hear my own voice
And stumbling fumble these lines and more lines and lines
And I do not know
And only hope
That I am me
And I am real
And I have a voice of my own.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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