The Hallmark of Poetry
Every day, the sun sets
you noticed?
in a great, glorious performance
of wraparound scenic splendour
as if it were the last day of the world
(we'd sue)
and all around the world
poets who've been chewing on their pencils all day
or gazing steamy-eyed at an empty screen
without as we poets say, the Muse whispering
an ode we're owed
as poets
wonder if it could be one last chance
to write the ultimate sunset poem
to get something down today
and justify our existence beyond existing
noting that at sunset
the red flowers in the garden glow so intensely
that you can feel it on your eyeballs
and the sunlight just when the sun disappears
lights up the whole landscape like a floodlight
on the stage set of our lives
that sort of stuff
then next morning the sun
rises on our ultimate sunset poem
and later sets
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For All The Poets
FOR ALL THE POETS
This is a poem for all the poets who have no name,
For all those who have written and failed,
And for those who have not written,
And failed.
This is a poem for all the poets who dreamed themselves poets,
And were never, and will be known as poets
To the world.
This a poem for all those
Who after years of effort
Still live in an oblivion
They will die in.
This is a poem for all those
Who whether they have poetry in them or not,
Will never be heard or read,
For what their hearts must tell
Someone else.
This is a poem for all the silent poets
Those who live in silence
And whose silence is eternal
For all those whose only poetry
is the poem they have lived within themselves.
This is a poem for all those who would- be poets
And a poem for those
Who despite their efforts
Did not make their poem known.
This is a poem which may be for you,
And I know is for me
A confession
To make us less alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Ultimate
It's been a while since i've scarcely moved
The earth vibrates through my skinny shoes
I think i heard a voice, not long ago
Stuck in anxiety for tommorow
I think i glimpsed a smile, not long ago
It breaks down, an angelic halo
You're not alone....not alone
Be gone, he fades
I wonder if he'd run away
I miss his dashing steps
I miss his shiny compliments
Yesterdays without an address
The ultimate sunset...
My ultimate sunset....
Oh, inhaling obsession
Fading depression
I turn my lights on,
Denying aggression
And i run as fast as the horizon
While the evening's slowly rising
I reach the skies, with opened eyes
To catch the stars of different types
Not the rare one caught....yet
The ultimate sunset....
My ultimate sunset....
You're not alone...
Im here on my own...
Still i think im not alone...
As i lie my head on top of grass...
To praise the sky and everything vast...
Even with a wounded back....
I think im just going to relax.....
To watch this view...
Displaying you.....
The ultimate sunset
My ultimate sunset
And the sunrise that's yet to come...
Oh, my sunrise that's yet to come...
Oh, i will be waiting right here.....
Where you crawl beneath my fears....
A pulse or a shiver.....
Sweet rather than bitter....
Oh, i will be waiting for once.....
I will be watching the skies
I will be watching this life
For the ultimate sunrise....
My ultimate sunrise to come....
poem by Lubna Hazeem
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Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.
quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunrise & Sunset
When the sun rises, we call it sunrise
when the sun sets, we call it sunset
Our sunrise can be someone else's sunset
someone else's sunrise can be our sunset
It is relative but one thing is certain
when you really live
a sunrise is a thought
a sunset is a memory
It is not relative
it holds every day, forever and always
poem by Sana Eddami
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I don't know if younger poets read a lot of, you know, the poets - the established poets. There was a lot of pretty boring stuff to sort of put up with and to add to, to make something vital from.
quote by Robert Adamson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunset
Sand beneath my feet
Sky above my head
Looking for the sunset
The sunset I have left,
I am walking all alone
On the beaches sand
Walking by myself
With seashells in my hand,
Looking for the sunset
the sunsets which are spoke
The one that lover’s kiss to
The one, poets have wrote.
Walking arm in arm
With a different thought
Searching for the sunset
The beauty, many have sought,
I am walking all alone
With the sky above my head
Still looking for the beauty
The sunset I have left,
For many have told me
Many have also explained
There is nothing like the sunset
Or the summer’s rain,
I am walking all by myself
From my cloudy life
Looking for the wonder
The beauty after night.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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As The Sunset
As the sunset I think to myself why.
As the sunset I sit down and cry.
Wondering why life got to be a lie.
As the sunset I dropp my head.
As the sunset I think about you instead.
How can I go home and get in my bed.
As the sunset I say no.
As the sunset I just don't know.
My love that I have for u just wont go.
As the sunset I look to the sky.
As the sunset I wait to die.
Tell me how to say good-bye.
As the sunset I say a prayer.
As the sunset how can I dare.
I'm giving up, I just don't care.
Sitting by the window watching the sun to set.
Knowing I'm going to see you again,
and you coming back home at the end.
By: Brittany Smith
9/25/08
poem by Brittany Smith
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Poets
Poets write
and when the poem is done
they search for words
to write another one.
Poets write
and when the poem is through
they search for thoughts
to write another two.
Such is the life of a poet.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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If I Knew What Poets Know
If I knew what poets know,
Would I write a rhyme
Of the buds that never blow
In the summer-time?
Would I sing of golden seeds
Springing up in ironweeds?
And of rain-drops turned to snow,
If I knew what poets know?
Did I know what poets do,
Would I sing a song
Sadder than the pigeon's coo
When the days are long?
Where I found a heart in pain,
I would make it glad again;
And the false should be the true,
Did I know what poets do.
If I knew what poets know,
I would find a theme
Sweeter than the placid flow
Of the fairest dream:
I would sing of love that lives
On the errors it forgives;
And the world would better grow
If I knew what poets know.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A poor pen
Pen is
Not great...
On the paper...
poet write at
Moon+ sky...
Stars...
Earth and sea...
All are in poets
Hand only
At poets hand...
Poets is think...
Poets dream...
Thats all
pen is very poor
Noock out...
undrestad to try...
Try too under stand....
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Our Poetry Critics
Our poetry critics ageing males on saturday evenings from six to nine
Meet at the literary room of the Lions Club to do what suits them fine
To talk of poetry and poets each to their point of view
Though they agree on one thing that good poets only few.
Well educated gents of course and they could not be rude
But contemporary rhyme poets only poetasters and them they exclude
From their talk of poets and poetry and in their literary knowledge they take pride
And who is or who is not a poet seems their right to decide.
They never talk about bush poets such verse they see as slipshod
And they see them as the children of the lesser poetry god
And for their years in Uni they have their degrees to show
And of poets and of poetry so much they think they know.
To them a poem is not a poem unless it reads like prose
And a ballad different from true verse as a weed is from a rose
And true poets only write for the privileged few that's what they do imply
And never for the ordinary, people like you and I.
Our poetry critics at the Lions they meet on saturday
And who is a good poet and what is a good poem each like to have their say
And if you wish to become a member of their club you must have your Uni Degrees
For if not to them you are not qualified for to talk about poetry.
poem by Francis Duggan
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(V – 2010) The Poet’s Nature
Reflecting Nature’s various hues
Poets write colourfully.
Echoing Nature’s innate songs
Poets write musically.
Learning from Nature’s righteous laws
Poets write more sensibly.
Drawing from Nature’s spotless love
Poets write more humanely.
Living with Nature’s poetic life
Poets write living poetry.
Versatilty
I think that I can claim to be
a poet who is versatile.
I try to write my poetry
in varied form and varied style.
I emulate and imitate
styles of great poets of the past.
To show that I appreciate
poets that time has over cast.
Although long dead their words live on.
A source of inspiration to
poets today.Though they’re long gone
and I give credit where its due.
Although some things I write are new
I cannot trace their origin.
I trust my muse as poets do.
She prods me until I begin.
She tells me there is no such thing
as writers block there cannot be.
A poor excuse for not writing
I’m not allowed to be lazy
That’s something she won’t tolerate
and drags me from my bed to write.
Though I protest the hour is late.
She is insistent that I write.
If she should choose to stay away
I’d seize the opportunity
to simple have a lazy day
Without my conscience pricking me.
11-Mar-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem I Did Not Write Today
THE POEM I DID NOT WRITE TODAY
The poem I did not write today
Will never be written.
No one knows what it is
Or where it is
'How it can be? ' is another question
No one can answer.
The poem I did not write today
Never went away
It is always here with me and with you
It is the same simple poem
Written over and over again
In our everyday minds.
It is the poem of love of life
The poem of happiness
The poem of belief in God
And in the goodness in the world to come
It is the poem which believes too that poetry will help save the world.
It is the good poem
The happy poem
The poem I did not write today
Is the poem my life is writing now and always
And with you it says
‘What a miracle it is that we are here
reading and writing
and loving life as we do’.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Letter To A Young Poet
Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent’ it never starts a war
nor finished it. Should a poet write something that resonance with,
the sentiment of a nation, you can be sure it will be used by politicians
and interpreted for their dubious plans.
So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the people a poet is regarded as a figure of fun
who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make sense
of a world they don’t understand. As my father said when I published
my first poem: “How much did they pay you? ” So if my words have not
scared you off you’re a poet. All you need is intellectual honesty.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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God's Poets A Good Poem & Love
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
Fly Me To The Sun
Like the bird flying high in the sunrise
I just want to fly to you
I just want to fly to your soul
Into the sunset, high in the sunrise,
Through the links in the chain I see it's to be
It all seems to fit, it just fits, thats it
Like a sunset within a sunrise, a night outside a day
As we spin in our souls and look at the sky... It's our sky
And I fly through the sunrise that takes me to you
We can glide, we can fly, we can be... we must be
We fly though the sunset that is always you.
Like the bird flying high in the sunrise
I just want to fly to your soul
Like the bird flying high in the sunset
I know the sun rises and sets within you.
poem by Mark Hopwood
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Poem about poetry - The poet's life is a poem
the conceited wrote only
one or two decent or
even great poems
and branded themselves
greater poets than the others
the greatest poets are those
whose life is itself a delicate poem
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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