Breaking The Poets Code
To write of each emotion
And so vividly express
Into the mind and heart of others
That all which is written is felt
To tell a simple tale
With such rhythm and colour
That all who come to read it
Swear they to were on the journey
What is this craft called poetry
To which so many aspire
Quietly sitting penning worlds
Flowing each stanza with ease
Like a river across the page
The gentle metaphor graces
Each carefully chosen word
To depict a thought or memory
And express in its verse
That all may feel perhaps see
The word world of a poet
The code of what is writ
Revealed for those who care to see it
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Verses From God
I’m just the pen; God is the ink, Who fills me as I write and think,
And God’s ink never runs dry, as it flows from His Spirit on high.
Penning verse that never ends, as He talks to a world of friends,
As I go to God in prayer, He pens down each blessing and care.
In a trial God helps me through, He pens verse to share with you,
And the blessing He brings my way, as He helps me, day to day.
As I write every word and line, I do not claim the verses as mine,
For as the pen to page is pressed, it is my heart that is blessed.
Blessing seem to come my way, as He helps me, in what to say,
To illustrate to all those who read, that Jesus is The Lord indeed.
His Words just seem to flow, not knowing where His idea will go,
But His point He makes every time, as God speaks on each line.
He draws from deep inside, my heart, where His Scriptures hide,
Always used at the proper place, to pen down a verse of Grace.
And as the page begins to fill, it is not my poem, but God’s will,
That fills lines with His Word, which some who read, never heard.
It’s God above who fills my pen, with words for the eyes of men,
By means of only poetic verse, to claim victory, over sin’s curse.
The page is filled by God above, with true examples of His Love,
Penning Truth for men to see, He’s a God who loves you and me.
(Copyright ©08/2007)
Revelation Definition
'Love' Not one word in the dictionary can be so hollow.
The word itself is fake and we know it
although we try and not show it.
We use this word to express a feeling of compassion
an undying feeling that can last a life time.
But do you really feel that way?
Can you feel that 'love' you say you have?
No! We all know we don't
The word love is a lie.
Say it to your parents do you feel anything?
Say it once to your lover and you feel something.
But keep on saying it
and it loses its value.
That Gold heart known as 'love' will soon be pure silicon
after its first uses.
So why say it, why speak it, why need it, why not lose it...
To express it, to express 'love' is something more than the word.
It is indescribable thing that we feel.
'Love' is a cast off teddy bear.
Let us lose the word but keep the definition
for the expression is the true Diamond heart that
we must keep and should remember.
Remember this, write it down and not say 'love' again.
Written: April 11,2009
poem by Ryan Collins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Belief in Writing Poetry
For me a poem should be easy
Like a river flowing seamless
Without need to stop and think
Like a river reflects the world
A poem should reflect also
In each passing pace of rhythm
Every bend and curve of a river
Could be the twist and turn
Settled into every verse
Which flows with gentle ease
Beautiful and refreshing
Passing by so slowly
There amongst nature I find
An honest belief in poetry
The simplicity of it all
How easy a poem should be
Not to be understood
But to be felt and known
Not to become explained
But to be seen and realised
My belief in writing poetry
Is a river flowing and reflecting
A simple beautiful honesty
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Proud poet
I’m a Poet
I’m a poet because I Love Poetry
I love expressing myself in writing
I expressing myself in word
I express myself wanting to make a statement
I love making an impression
I wanna suppress depression
Suppress the painful feeling inside
Express and get rid of the depression that is stressing
Forcing me to go for counseling
So I write to be right
I write and to recite
Poetry releases the frustrations
Poetry frees prisoned souls
My personality improves
As I grow with my knowledge and experience
Why should there be competition
Why should you diss me
I ain’t trying to hate
Just trying to release my thoughts
I’m a poet by birth
I’m a poet by growth
I’m a poet by nature
I’m a conscious woman of poetry
I’m a respectful woman of poetry
I’m a confident woman of poetry
I’m a phenomenal woman of poetry
And this is only an opinion
Yet a true confession.
Zanele F Mavuso
poem by Zanele Mavuso
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Journey Of A Poet
A journey begins with
A thought in our mind
Words are chosen and formed.
Lines of poem
Well Written with meanings
With words of emotions and expressions
A poet starts with
An inspiration of mind,
An aspiration in soul mind
With reflection
On our life experience
We start to
Compose some
Wonderful poetry
Expressing our innermost thoughts
With deep contemplation
To put them in poetry words
A journey begins when
A poet takes his imagination
To a place where
No one ever dream or imagine before.
A poet's journey ends by
Writing another lovely poem
And deep reflection
A poet remains
As a poet
When he or she
Continue to
Write and Share
lovely poems with the world.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Poetry... All The Time
All Poetry … All The Time
I Love To Read In Rhythm & Rhyme
I Love To Write Of Wistful Wishes
And Lips Speak Of Love Like Bold Kisses
All Poetry … All The Time
Poetry, Is A Medication For My Mind
Poetry, Has A Power To Overthrow Pain
Poetry, Should Be Spoken, Again and Again
All Poetry … All The Time
I Am Really Thrilled To Find
More Poet Lovers, and Their Word Artistry
All The Time … All Poetry
All Poetry … All The Time
May Each Poetic Puff, Rise & Climb
Into The Clouds, Up To The Stars
(Or Maybe Just Linger, Where You Are) …
All Poetry … For All Of Time
Written & ©: 5/24/10
By: MoonBee
poem by MoonBee Canady
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Woman And Poetry
writing poems together
with that woman is so much fun
i write mine, (i am much better than that woman)
i ask her to read my poems she obliges with her spectacles
as she opens her mouth to syllabicate
i gulp some saliva to my mouth
this woman is terrible
she makes me giggle
i have her word for word i have her metaphor per metaphor
there is no time to discuss
i like her to undress this time
i'll take the magic of her word
this time i will open my mouth
this time i will read all of her
i will not discuss i will not understand
i will just feel these metaphors
this mouth this tongue this body
this most important poetry
this love this lust this moment
after we have written
our poems together.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0008 A Ghazal about Ghazals
A poet friend spoke of a poetic form called a ghazal
and said, why don’t you try to write a poem like a ghazal?
They’ve been revived in recent years in English, in fact
there’s even a periodical devoted to the ghazal…
and you’re rather keen on that mystical poetry stuff?
and love and such? Why don’t you try the ghazal?
My usual reaction to suggestions like that is, no..
but I googled Wikipedia out of curiosity, on ghazal
which told me everything about it except
why anyone should choose to write a ghazal..
which as you see, is such a restrictive poetic form..
And then I found a passing mention about the word ghazal
it said that the name came from the cry of the gazelle…
and that, told me more than anything about the ghazal…
since a gazelle, like any animal, bereft of the power of speech
and thus of poetry, is the very essence of the ghazal
in that, whether from pain, from danger, from love
- or visited by God - cries the same cry of the gazelle – the ghazal;
as poets, seeking to express the inexpressible, are as limited
in their success, as crying animals, in their way – the ghazal
may thus be seen as every poem that ever poet wrote;
crying within itself, one cry alone...So the ghazal
must choose the human word for its repeated call
with care... ah! yearning heart! ... for One or All! ... Ghazal!
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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But is it
Right down within the depths of me
there lies a vein of poetry
Wherein I find when I have leisure
words which are my greatest treasure.
Words with which I can fashion verse
some silken smooth and some perverse
Each one is chosen carefully
then put together artfully.
I find them raw and unrefined
then with the power of my mind.
I create intricate designs
of words that some idea defines.
A poet is an artisan
who follows carefully a plan
that’s handed down from days of yore.
Which many men have used before.
To create formal poetry
to demonstrate their artistry.
Perchance I sometimes get it right
in verses which I choose to write.
I can imagine nothing worse
for those of us who write in verse
Than poetry which does not scan
and lacks all structure, has no plan.
Just words which incoherently
are juxtaposed haphazardly
. Which critics now suppose to be
the future form of poetry.
22-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet-Me
I sat me down
my Poet Me
for discipline's tight regime,
hollowing out clear intent
for syntax, line breaks and such.
Meter, Rhyme and Rhythm too
joined the group.
We discussed Constructs
and Literati.
'Now, I am in charge here' Poet said.
'everyone of you has a role.
At my pen
you'll line up
while I align your countenances.
Every poem like an orchestra,
needs a conductor,
the welder of Word and Form,
the rest of you are instruments
to play my minor chords'
'Well' said Rhythm, 'nothing fits
without me.
I am the heart-beat,
the sail upon the sea;
I am the up and down
nothing moves without me.'
'No' said Rhyme, 'I am the
music line, the melody sublime.
My efforts elicit;
guide the listener ship.
I am the note's completion.
With my friend Meter
we are the helm of this ship'
The Reader said 'No I am the ultimate.
I'm the Consumer of the Trade.
Who prevails in all of this
is only for me to say.'
'All of you are undisciplined,
are nothing, ' said Cacophony
'I'm the proof of that.'
'Where would you all be
without me? ' Emotion, said
who could barely constrain himself,
'no emotion no feeling, no poetry.
That's my motto.'
'No me, no me, ' rang out
and everyone talked all the same
Me, Poet Me and I,
had lost control
of them.
Til' at the door the familiar knock;
the owner of the house returning.
Figure quite imposing,
came in
sat down
thumping on the table.
'Everyone quiet down and listen up
here is what we are doing.'
In minutes all the quarrelsome brethren
lined up picture perfect.
Each took his place
sang his best
in the final orchestral poem.
Each time it goes this way.
I tend to forget.
Poet Me, I and all the rest
exist only in Imagination's mind
flowing.
in this the best
of all possible
poetically inspired
word, meter, rhythm and
syntax-governed
poetic worlds.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Depict This Different
Depict this different,
From the others sent.
This one has meaning.
With some evidence in it.
Depict this different.
Pick off the lint.
Wrap this around your mind,
Feel the warmth in it meant.
Depict this different,
From the others sent.
This one has meaning.
With some evidence in it.
Thaw the cold you hold in your heart.
Depict this different.
And don't let a freezing,
In you start.
Depict it!
Rub and cuddle up.
Depict it.
With purpose and a reason.
Appreciate each season,
With a new breath to breathe.
Depict this different,
From the others sent.
This one has meaning.
With some evidence in it.
Depict this different.
You can depict this different.
Depict this different.
You can depict this different.
Rub and cuddle up.
Depict it.
Pleased as a breeze.
Depict it.
Give your troubles up.
Depict it.
And be free.
Depict it.
Don't give them any hints,
Your mind's at ease.
Depict this different,
From the others sent.
This one has meaning.
With some evidence in it.
Depict this different.
Pick off the lint.
Wrap this around your mind,
Feel the warmth in it meant.
Depict this different.
You can depict this different.
Depict this different.
You can depict this different.
You can depict this different.
You can depict this different.
You can depict this different.
Depict this different.
Feel free.
To depict this different.
Feel free.
Depict this different.
Feel free.
To depict this different.
Feel free.
Depict this different!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Alankar(Decor) -79
Alankar(Decor) -58
Sail O'Soul Sail(Chain Verse)
Chain Verse is composed in one of three ways:
1 Chain Verse is composed
with the last word or syllable of one line repeated
in the beginning of the next line.
2 Chain Verse can be stanzaic, most often written in any number of quatrains
but any stanza form will do, linked by repeating the last word of a stanza
as the first word of the next stanza.
The repetition of a word from one Verse or stanza to the next creates a chain-like link.
usually rhymed, linking rhyme as well as alternate rhyme.
often syllabic, alternating longer-shorter lines.
One example is alternating 8-7-8-7 syllables the other is alternating 6-5-6-5 syllables per line.
3 Chain Verse can be written
with the last line of the stanza repeated
as the first line of the next stanza.
3
Sail O'Soul Sail
Once boarded why you fear o' soul
Just be watching where sails your mind
Aspiring to horizon-goal
All set on a smooth float by wind
All set on a smooth float by wind
On gentle waves across your sea
As you sail assailed by your mind
How those desires hit your heart free
How those desires hit your heart free
As of a choice in heaven's trade
That your mind is on aiming spree
In illumed dreamings in fate's shade
In illumed dreamings in fate's shade
While your sail is mid way caught up
How your sea baits in storming grade
And shocked you struggle to catch up
And shocked you struggle to catch up
For not yours but your mind's misdeed
Helpless you are jailed in lockup
Your vessel too shattered indeed
Your vessel too shattered indeed
Such is your sea of greed and lust
Such is the fate of your sea's heed
Wind too is feeling difficult
Wind too is feeling difficult
Now that the sea somewhat calms still
Wind settles in silenced cool mute
Atlast your vessel too nihil
Atlast your vessel too nihil
And sea gone in presence of Nought
You are freed atlast to your will
To board the next the way you're caught
sea-life, wind-breath, vessel-body.
poem by Indira Renganathan
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Elusion of Love
Lonely, the word is my millstone
Hung heavy about my heart
I have felt love, I know of it
I have read and written about it
Though I am yet to be in love
At times it keeps me from sleeping
I sit awake, alone thinking of it
How can a word have so many feelings
Leaving it almost an impossibility
It has been sought by so many
It tests the human resolve
In its absence, its elusive presence
A hole is found wanting
No silent whispers of a sweet romance
No kiss or touch of a hand
Just a solitary word to express
The weight of this feeling
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The life of a Poet
The poet listens
the poet hears
he writes down
all his fears.
He observes things
that others don't
going to places
that others won't.
Inspired by simple things
like a sound or smell
the poet has lots
of stories to tell.
Even when asleep
his mind isn't at rest
in fact this is the time
it's at it's creative best.
The poet can be a restless soul
his life reflected on the page
some verse can be sweet and mild
then full of anger and rage.
The poet can be mysterious
and write in a strange way
he will say Black is White
and that night is day.
The poet is an artist
but instead of paint it's the word
painters want their work to be seen
but poets just need to be heard.
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Being A Poet
I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.
Or when I’m out walking, or sat on a train,
Words and ideas, all rush round my brain.
Sometimes, ideas just appear in my head,
Or may be a result of something I’ve read.
At fellow passengers, on a train, I take a look;
Some chatter away, while others read a book.
But, me, I’m sat there, quietly composing verse;
With dozens of ideas, my creative mind bursts.
If I compose lines on my way into town,
I repeat them over, until I write them down;
If they are not written down straightaway,
Around my mind, other thoughts then play.
There are many things which inspire me to write,
Such as animals, the seasons, and the sky at night.
If I try to force ideas, they just do not flow;
The poem itself, I find, just will not grow.
I like to write on a layperson’s level;
In too much information, I do not revel.
Having chosen a decent subject or idea,
I then need to get my brain in to gear.
Of a subject, I like to consider all of the aspects,
But I keep my writing simple; not too complex.
To make a poem rhyme, words I may change,
But I only use words that are within my range.
In using unfamiliar words, I can see no point;
A nice poem, tricky words, can really disjoint.
Words, within my head, I keep batting around,
Until the perfect combination, is finally found.
With poetry, I really love the creative process,
But over time, I’ve become slightly obsessed.
Sometimes I find myself talking in rhyme;
That I am a poet, this must be a sure sign.
Of my finished poems, I often feel proud;
One day, I’ll be brave and read them aloud.
Into my swirling head, ideas continue to pop;
I love writing poetry and never want to stop!
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0005 Letter to a Younger Poet
Thanks for your letter. Though
you’ve caught me at a rather awkward time –
I’m going into surgery tomorrow – a rather
risky op; so I’ll try to put all the answers that I’ve got
into this one letter;
I hope you'll understand...
and that helps me to make my first point to you:
write as if you, too, may not live
beyond tomorrow – write as if
it’s the last thing that you’ll ever write –
give it everything you’ve got,
hold nothing back;
or better still – write as if
the world will end for everyone tomorrow:
write so that in their last hours, too, this
will make them feel, will make them know
we’ve faced life fully, faced it so complete
that death is relatively unimportant now…
write as if it were only yesterday
that, in an air crash, all your family –
parents, wife or husband, partner, children, and best friend,
had lost their lives; write as if,
were you not to write,
your heart would break forever, or you would go mad...
write as if you’re writing somewhere
where there’s no such thing around, as ink;
you’ll have to use your own blood in the pen,
so use it carefully; so red, so living,
look at it… so beautiful, so precious,
and so solemn – use it carefully, don’t spill a drop…
write as if you’re borrowing every word
from the very centre of the universe, where suns and gods are made;
and need thus to account for every word
with your whole life, no less; know that every word
must be given back, cleaner, stronger, brighter
with your own power, than when you borrowed it;
write as if every poet that ever lived
is leaning over your shoulder, so that you
can feel their breath upon your neck as they say
‘Tell them all that we would tell,
but cannot now; tell them all of this’…
this, now, is how you must deeply be and speak;
write as if you are the only being on earth
who can tell them this; as if tomorrow, if tomorrow comes,
you shall visit them every one, at home,
and look them in the eye; write as if
you love them more than they will ever know;
write as if you were offering to live their lives with them;
write as if you were a force of nature in yourself:
as if whatever earthquake, hurricane or flood might do,
whatever law or love may greatly do,
whatever gods or men can speak, in fullest force,
this you may do, because the sound of poetry is such;
yes, write ‘as if’ – but know you really write ‘because’…
write as if – no, write because –
you know that only poetry can tell
all, that must be told, and must be known;
and as all hearts melt in the heat of your own love,
be in no doubt – and see that all are in no doubt too –
that life was never, never more serious,
never more glorious, than it is right now;
write all this.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Poems Too Simple
MY POEMS TOO SIMPLE
My poems too simple
Sans symbol - metaphor
Essentially surprise-less
One – dimensional bores.
No inventive language
No mystical lore
No flowing lyric
No word- worlds explored-
They focus on me
And my and me more
They’re an I- I- I song
Others ignored.
They may tell my soul
Whatever I feel
But ironies aside
Can they really be real?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Alankar(Decor) -76
Bhaji-(Chain Verse)
Chain Verse is composed in one of three ways:
1 Chain Verse is composed
with the last word or syllable of one line repeated
in the beginning of the next line.
2 Chain Verse can be stanzaic, most often written in any number of quatrains
but any stanza form will do, linked by repeating the last word of a stanza
as the first word of the next stanza.
The repetition of a word from one Verse or stanza to the next creates a chain-like link.
usually rhymed, linking rhyme as well as alternate rhyme.
often syllabic, alternating longer-shorter lines.
One example is alternating 8-7-8-7 syllables the other is alternating 6-5-6-5 syllables per line.
3 Chain Verse can be written
with the last line of the stanza repeated
as the first line of the next stanza.
----
2
Bhaji-(Chain Verse-6-5-6-5 syllables
With linking rhyme only)
I found a guava plant
Silent in a nook
Along my garden stroll
On a rainy day
Day was cool in showers
No wonder taste hyped
Picked some fresh guava leaves
Wishing for bhajis
Bhajis are many types
Of veggies and leaves
Can make tasty bhajis
Guava leaves too used
Used are gram and rice flours
With salt and chilli
Mixed in are leafy bits
And soda a dash
Dashing batter ready
When mixed with water
The center line Strung out
Dipped leaves get coated
Coated leaves then deep fried
Out from deep hot oil
Season's snack was ready
Why wait, munch said I
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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