A poem's prehistory
When the poem has at last
been brought to birth,
I rest, or stand, as both proud parents do,
blessed by the loving bed;
but I love too, the memory
of what brought being to this poem:
the seeming insignificant events of the day,
that neighboured with some memory;
that chimed with books half read;
which joined half-thoughts together like new-stringed white pearls,
and then spoke in some wordless tongue
and mental paintings without form
somewhere in mind;
and behind it all
the briefest flashes of the workings of the world…
and wonder; awe.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by David Carter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by Aisha Patterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Half The World
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Half the world hates
What half the world does every day
Half the world waits
While half gets on with it anyway
Half the world lives
Half the world makes
Half the world gives
While the other half takes
Half the world is
Half the world was
Half the world thinks
While the other half does
Half the world talks
With half a mind on what they say
Half the world walks
With half a mind to run away
Half the world lies
Half the world learns
Half the world flies
As half the world turns
Half the world cries
Half the world laughs
Half the world tries
To be the other half
Half of us divided like a torn-up photograph half of us are
Trying to reach the other half
Half the world cares
While half the world is wasting the day
Half the world shares
While half the world is stealing away
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ars Poetica
A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb
Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown -
A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,
Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind -
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs
A poem should be equal to:
Not true
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea -
A poem should not mean
But be
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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This Poem Is Not A Dream
THIS POEM IS NOT A DREAM
This poem is not a dream
It comes from where so many true poems come
From the other side of the mind
When it does not know peace -
From the waking desire
The hunger that is not satisfied
The lonely life and the lonely mind-
It comes from the search for love
And the love itself – the joy of love-
And from the memory of what we most deeply know when we are ourselves in love of another-
This poem is not a dream-
It comes from the waking world and the waking words-
The hard truths the bitter small things
The disappointments and rejections
The endless small humiliations which Time and Chance make of us all-
This poem comes from where we are most human
With the pain of those closest to us-
And our longing to save them and be loved forever by them-
The dream is not the poem
Life in its all its endless difficulties is the poem
And this poem too
Does not say half of all the hurt I have suffered in this one small day alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the spirit of Rumi - 67 - To Rumi
I’m not too proud to say
please write a new poem through me
and I promise not to claim that
I wrote it myself…
or if that’s too much to ask,
just a line somewhere, that I’ll watch
as it writes itself and know
that you, not I, write it
or if that’s too much to ask,
open an old book at
a page that smells just faintly
of attar of roses, and know that
Rumi read this page too
or sitting quietly waiting for a poem,
or after a poem, and there’ll be
a slight breeze for a moment
carrying the memory of a rose
from an old Persian species
mixed with the faintest scent of wild herbs
after desert rain
or if that’s too much to ask,
just the occasional memory
that you lived, and wrote,
and a poem comes to mind
as if you’re reading it first to a friend
and I’ll smile and look at
the rose in the blue and white vase over there,
neither of us caring about time
while your book lies open by the window,
the breeze turning the pages gently
as if it knew which poem to choose
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Especially For You
I write this poem,
Especially for you.
Hope you like it too.
I love this poem,
Hope you love it too,
Especially for you.
I love you so much that,
I Dream of you every night,
Especially be with you.
I write this poem,
Especially for you,
To remember your loving smile.
Give me your smile,
Give me your cheerful face,
Give me your Laughter.
Only this poem can,
Take your heart away.
Especially made for you.
I say this poem,
Especially designed for you,
In remembrance of our True friendship.
In this moment of life,
I share this poem
Especially with you.
In this precious memory,
I want you to know that,
I forever love you.
To say the right words,
At the right time;
Especially for you, is hard.
More than any right words,
I composed this poem,
Especially for you,
So that the world may know that
I fall in Love with you again.
Especially with you.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Half The World
Half the world lives,
Half the world makes,
Half the world gives
While the other half takes.
Half the world hates,
Half the world runs away,
Half the world's late,
Half the world praises the day.
Half the world is,
Half the world was,
Half the world thinks,
Half the world does.
Half the world lies,
Half the world burns,
Half the world cries
While the other half turns.
Half the world cares,
Half the world weeps,
Half the world shares,
Half the world keeps.
Half the world sings,
Half the world laughs,
Half the world brings,
Half the world tries to be the other half.
End.
On Love Half Realized
Even in the dream
Never lay your lashes
For half-realized love.
Half curtailed dreams
Torment the eyes.
Implant not half-recalled memory,
In the terrain of heart, for it pricks
And wheezes restlessly therein,
Rattles agonizingly,
And flashes like lightening in the blood.
Let go away love half-realized
For Love, Fondness,
And Love Madness
Are always unfulfilled, half-realized.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Would Write A Quiet Poem
I WOULD WRITE A QUIET POEM
I would write a quiet poem.
There is so much noise in the world.
A poem to be read in silence
A poem to give comfort and rest
A poem of peace
Of mind and soul.
A quiet poem
Against all the furies and pains of this world
A poem of peace
Restful as the most bliss-filled sleep.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Ode Poem To You
My mother gave me an ode poem, oh how I love that poem
The scene of her perfume on it, the picture of me in her arms
This letter I keep with me all the time, I love it so much I sleep with it under my pillow
To her nice hand writing, to the black ink she wrote in, she wrote until her ink went low
My poem is great, my poem is wonderful, to the white paper she wrote on it’s beautiful
To the green words of the title, my poem she gave me is the best
I love how she gave the lip stick print on the top of my poem, sad to say she's at rest
I will always love the poem she gave to me before she passed
To the words in the poem she gave me will always endure
Word by word my lovely poem is speaking to me gratefully
This ode poem was from my mom and for only me sincerely
I love my poem, oh how wonderful it can be
Its so wonderful do you want to read,
Take a look, take a look and you will see
poem by Twilight Simmons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem
A poem is a string of words
lovingly threaded through.
Some tell of tragic events,
others tell of love bursting through.
A poem is constructed in our mind
from the wisdom of our thoughts
and delivered with sincerity
on how we observe our lot.
A poem has many styles
each is written to suit our taste.
A poem is all this and more
as it coveys our love for words.
3 June 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Does The Park Have A Poem Today?
DOES THE PARK HAVE A POEM TODAY?
Does the park have a poem today?
Purple Berebis, Pale yellow leaved Ligustrum
That Shimrit Ginnot (Of Blessed Memory) planted.
The sunlight on the morning road-
The fresh wind of autumn-
The bench upon which Rabbi Eliezer Yakov (Of Blessed Memory)
Used to sit,
And on which I sit now.
The Beauty of God’s world
On this the fourth of the Ten Days of Repentance 5770.
How cool the wind
How warm the sun
In this holy place now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Past Is An Old Man's Poem
The Past is an old man’s poem
And all he was
And all he can never be again
And all the people he loved
No longer here-
And all the times he can barely remember
And never forget
And all the love lost
And all the waste
And all the sadness
And all the joy and the still strong happiness-
The Past is an old man’s poem
Written in his memory
And waiting to be said again and again
While he lives through another day and another night and another memory lost
The past is an old man ‘s poem
And that poem too will be gone before long.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thoughts on a memory
There is so little I can say,
and yet so much thought
has gone in today.
How the mind wanders
on the different alleys.
To retrieve a thought, a memory,
it's brought forth in vivid view,
to haunt my tormented soul..
I cling to the memory
of the almost-nothing.
Thinking it through
to create the almost-something.
As the days draw by
I think of that single memory.
I ponder on thoughts,
I know I should not have.
Yet, when the heart beats yearningly,
don't we all return to the memory?
To that single moment
when one word could make,
a whole new memory?
poem by Ranger Lady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Memory Of The Kiss! ! !
This was the memory.
The memory kissed had played with the heart.
The memory kissed through fast the heartbeat.
The memory kissed made thoughts simply played with the feeling.
The kiss was the feeling of coming tempted promised heaven.
The feeling kiss appreciated each other.
The feeling kiss loved each other.
The feeling kiss gave each other.
It was the kiss through perfection.
The memory kissed had brought the wound.
The memory kissed came with yearning.
The memory kissed flirted.
A kiss not only played with the lips.
Because the kiss was destiny.
Because the kiss was to fill up the world was full of the colour.
This the kiss was the nature song.
This the kiss accompanied the prayer.
This the kiss accompanied the love.
And more significant the kiss always brought yearning.
The memory of the kiss had felt.
Shared the love shared yearning.
The memory kissed still was felt on the perfect lips through perfection.
A Simple Poem For My Mother From My Mother
A SIMPLE POEM FOR MY MOTHER FROM MY MOTHER
All I am is a simple poem.
A few words in language
A child can read.
Simple words
Like my beloved mother
Of Blessed Memory’s Talk-
Simple, straight
Sometimes with quiet humor-
Happy trusting loving
And in intention
Good for the other.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The First Poem
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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