Emily Dickinson takes a poetry course
Dear Ms Dickinson: I’ve just received
your amusing little trifle,
'Faith is a fine invention'
as your first week's homework on this course..
and hope that as your designated docent
(you may of course request a change..)
we may establish a relationship
that’s full of ‘ mellow fruitfulness’ – as
John Keats (1795-1821) would put it..
First, may I say that it’s more interesting
for the reader, not to use the first line
of your poem –especially one so short –
as the title…something more intriguing perhaps?
such as – in this case, ‘Natural Science’?
I have a feeling that you have within you
much more to say on this theme
(already well covered by the poets, did you know?)
than this whimsical – if pertinent – short verse…
Thus it’s best for the poet as beginner
not to attempt the succinct ‘apercu’
(I hope you understand a little French?)
of such as our more resonant senior 'gentlemen'..…
I do question the use of ‘invention’
in the first line; however,
I think I detect a hint of emulating
William Blake’s poetic stance here?
Now, in these days of sexual equality
it would be best, I think,
not to use ‘Gentlemen’… are there not
lady biologists and preachers? ...
and we don’t now use those capital letters
so beloved of our German poets…
Your setting-off of science against religion
is alas, so easily overdone; especially
in the context of so short a verse.. and
‘Microscopes are prudent’ is, I have to say,
not the most evocative of phrases; even though
poetic compaction is a worthy aim…
Nor is it clear what ‘Emergency’ it is, to which
you might refer – microscopes are, I feel,
an image of less urgent study?
However, Miss Dickinson, I suspect
that you have a confident personal voice
which we shall hope to bring out?
I shall not discuss the other verse
which you include: its punctuation
of unseemly dashes reads so breathless
that one may hardly bestow the designation
‘poesy’ upon it..
However I look forward to your next week’s
homework, Miss Dickinson – may I suggest
something a little longer for your next
poetic venture? There are many themes
out there, even for the
single lady? Yrs, E. Doolittle BA (Hons)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Faith
"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Faith' is a fine invention
faith is Nile's flood
setting ground for grace
faith - it flies in and out
a mother bird divides feed
the blessed a bushel
the others little by little
the almighty plays a game of chess -
- listens to spiritual music -
- and hums his heavenly nursery rhyme
that calms terrified earthly souls -
faith is Nile's flood that springs silent cheers from heart to heart
inspired by
'Faith' is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.
Emily Dickinson
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Out Running Time Poets
work published
altered significantly
to fit conventional
poetic rules of time
or published in purity
true feel of poet
an altered reality
verse meter beat?
unique for an era
short cryptic lines
slant rhythm rhyme
unconventional
capitalization
punctuation
themes of death
liberty immortality
two recurring topics
out running time poets
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Almost Poetic
It's almost poetic
The way you speak
It's almost poetic
The way you think
The way you sleep and dream
It's almost poetic
The way I feel for you
It's almost poetic
The way we argue
It's almost poetic
When we say goodbye
Not knowing the next time
We'll see each other
You are the curved line
And I am the dot
That creates the question mark..
And it's almost poetic
If it were not so pathetic.
poem by Jeremy Rascon
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A Spirit Of Poetry!
when a spirit of poetry decent,
it came
In a form of dove
When it came
Jesus became first poet under sun
And Almighty God
Was already, first poet over sun?
Using Poetry in poetic foam
Almighty GOD spoke through poetry
And he is a poet himself
Now his poetry is everywhere, and anywhere
We interact with poets
Words are like soil, are everywhere
Brighter that Sun
His poetic lights lead the way
When he likes
He will come
He will be in poetic foam
To Re-arrange poems
Schedule them in a poetic manner
On a judgment, He will met poets first
And secondly meet
Those who haven't written a poem
To Discuss similes, metaphors and personifications
Future of poetry is in heaven
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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18 Definitions Of A Short Poem
1) A short poem
Saves time,
2) A short poem
Saves time
For its reader, also.
3) A short poem is over
Before its read.
4) A short poem
Can be swiftly reread.
5) A short poem
Is a lightning flash.
6) A short poem
Is one metaphor only.
7) A short poem
Is less than nine words.
8) A short poem
Opens ones eyes
In the morning.
9) A short poem
May be a short prayer.
10) A short poem
May be a poem of a single word.
11) Poem.
12) A short poem
A small play on words.
13) A short poem
May be a single sentence.
14) A short poem is shorter
Than the definition of it.
15) It breaks up the icy sea within.
16) A chill down the spine.
17) There is no end
To making definitions of the short poem.
18) A short poem in Hebrew
Is shorter than than the same poem in English.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poem about Poery - Poetic World
a hindrance for poets
are those who read
some poems and
think they know what
all poets are up to
they live in a world
of make believe -
a poetic world indeed
that somehow clashes
with the actual poetic world
if the rain would just fall
down in one straight line
the ants all created in a single rank
and the wind, blowing from
one lasting direction
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Limerick
Edward Lear, poet and humorist
introduced the popular five-line
Limerick into England in the year
eighteen-twenty. I quote one
limerick by Edward himself,
followed by Starlite Cafe Poets:
Verse 1 - by Edward Lear:
There was a young lady of Riga
Who rode with a smile on a tiger
They returned from the ride
With the lady inside
And the smile on the face of the tiger.
Verse 2 - by John William McGrath:
There once was a man from Reno
Who went into a little casino
He lost all his pay
On that fateful day
To a fast-dealing young Philippino.
Verse 3 - by Joyce Hemsley:
There was a young lady from Hull
Who thought she was queen of them all
But to her surprise,
Not one of the guys
Asked her to dance at the Ball.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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The Poetry Groupies
Where are the poetry groupies
Those girls who’d give their hand for a poem
Who’d lay down for a verse so finely written
In the hope of some poetic dedication
If I write it, will they then come
To pay homage, adoration to my pen
Where are the girls who’d give their all for a poem
Those who are drawn to such a man
A romantic who writes to seduce
To sway the heads of each pretty girl
With poetic tales of a great love
How beautiful the object of all affection
What are all these poems and tales worth
If this question remains unanswered
Where are the poetry groupies
Who’d give their hand to a poem
And their all to a poet
poem by Matthew Holloway
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A poets prayer
A poets prayer
~
To the poets lost
please look upon me
as a kindred spirit
guide my words
that I may write well
watch over me at night
help me dream your dreams
teach me about poetry
~
to the poetic spirit
reveal your love to me
show me the beauty of life
in all its many forms
that I may understand
the ways of this world
and that I may convey them
in a verse to others
~
to the poets lost
and the poetic spirit
I ask of you this favour
to guide me in life
in the poetry I write
I ask of you also
to watch over those I love
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Poeticating What a Poeticator 'Do
Blank is my mind like a canvas.
Not filled with disarray or confused with thoughts.
A melody may come into mind.
Finding an image!
And thinking of a time...
To begin a poetic line,
That may or may not rhyme.
As a mental search begins,
Defining an image.
Before surrounding that with meaning.
Something accessible.
Lean!
And has comprehension in it that screams.
Bites!
Then frame it with...
A title meant for it!
That's the task of one who 'poeticates'.
In creative ways...
That uses the reader as baited prey!
'Poeticates? Po-et-o-cates, okay?
One who is in the process of preparing,
A poetic verse to be spoken publicly! '
If it sounds good,
Make your own stuff up!
That's all it is anyway!
Finding something that connects.
And reflects with anticipation.
Not to be confused with po' etiquette!
And depending on the nature of the 'piece'...
That too is invited!
Poeticating what a poeticator 'do' when done!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Preachers Turn To Poetry
preachers turn to poetry
which is a most natural thing to do
since most revelations are in verse;
preachers, like the wily snake in Paradise,
look for cunning new ways: and so they turn to poetry sites
and take on the roles of poets
and disguise sermons in verse
and Stalin-style Revelations of Guilt and Sin
and Fearful Humility as poems;
and in Ppreachers turn to poetry
which is a most natural thing to do
since most revelations are in verse;
preachers, like the wily snake in Paradise,
look for cunning new ways: and so they turn to poetry sites
and take on the roles of poets
and disguise sermons in verse
and Stalin-style Revelations of Guilt and Sin
and Fearful Humility as poems;
and in Paradise these will sit as Poet Laureates
winning Eternal Fame
churning out Infinite Praise in standard and approved stock and phrase;
and poets who talk about being human
and the beauty of the morning
and who so cannot make The Big Wizard smile
these wretched poets will bark doggerel in Hell...
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Pooh Bear learns about Enjambment
Pooh liked Autumn. Autumn means walking with a scarf round your neck and sometimes seeing your breath in the air like a silent conversation, and wet leaves underfoot and twigs going crackle or sometimes crack! which can be scary if you aren't holding CR's hand.
So here they are, walking together paw-in-hand down the path in Hundred-Acre Wood, and Pooh is humming a happy hum with words looking for it, rather like inquisitive flies that don't quite land on you, wondering if they should stay or not, and how the other flies feel if two of them land together...
'CR..' said Pooh, 'What's en-jamb-ment? ' It sounded like what happens when a wasp gets stuck in a honey jar, or perhaps a marmalade jar.
'That's a long word, Pooh...' said CR, wondering how to explain to a Bear Of Little Brain Yet Poetically Gifted, in the easiest way, when you're not too sure yourself...
'Well...' said CR at last, 'you don't really need it, Pooh, because your Hums all finish each line with a rhyme - so everyone knows just where they are....but suppose you get to the end of a line, and the line looks around like Eeyore does after a big mouthful of juicy autumn grass, and it can't see another line that wants to pair with it in a friendly rhyme.... then if you let it just go on being by itself - like Eeyore - and it's happy to be that way, if occasionally grumbly about it - that's called 'free verse'.
'So then you can just go on and on without thinking about when to stop... but then if you write it down so that other people can read it without getting out of breath, what 'free verse poets' do is like turning over the page of a book and wondering what's coming - like, is there a scary illustration on the next page, or a Surprise, or only a few lines and THE END - what these poets do, is to treat the lines the same way as pages, so that at the end of each line, you wonder a little bit more than usual, what's coming in the next line... instead of yawning and wondering if it's time for A Little Something...'
'I see..' said Pooh, in the way you do when you're a Very Polite Bear but don't really see, not yet anyway...
Then he remembered that poem by Rupert Somebody that CR had told him was an Extended Metaphor, which had that memorable line which the Poetic Bear could have written himself: '...and is there hunny still for tea? ...' though of course Pooh was always careful, himself, to have a line of hunnypots up there where you could see that the future was golden and hunny-coloured...
'CR...' said Pooh in that happy feeling when the brain seems to sorting things out for you, '...so if you wrote carefully in a book, '... and is there hunny still for tea? ...' you could write it with the first line
...and is there...
and people would wonder what you were going to ask them... or
...and is there hunny...
and they'd wonder, what you were asking about hunny; or
... and is there hunny still...
and they might be suddenly worried that the hunny had run out; or just
...and is there hunny still for tea?
which tells them exactly what you're thinking without making them think too much? '
'Exactly! ' said CR (though it sounded more 'exackly' because he was happy and excited) ' You really are a Poetic Bear, Pooh! '
And he squeezed Pooh's paw in a Specially Friendly fashion, and a hunny-coloured glow filled Pooh, as one more Useful Thing about Poetry was put into place...
And as they returned home for a Little Something, Pooh was humming a hum with words flying curiously around it, which would be his first Free Verse Hum With Enjambment which grown-up poets would read with that little extra interest, as they came to the end of each line, and know that it was written by W.Edward Bear Esquire, Poet...
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Sonnet: The Poet and Science
Is Science, a poet’s foe in poetry?
Why blame the world of science for its progress?
Out-moded’s the poet’s Nature-study;
Literature must wear a scientific dress.
Gone are the days of blind beliefs/ legends;
Man has landed on the moon many times;
No more the moon has myths it portends;
Let science therefore be thy decor in rhymes.
Decoded has man, the human genome;
Many diseases have a cure today;
’Tis unwise still to write the myths of Rome!
Poets incorporate what science shall say.
Science is no impediment to the art!
Let modern poets make a newer start.
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: My Poetry Today
Each poem that I write, gives me new hope;
Each sonnet I compose- fresh lease of life;
With Poesy’s wings, problems I can cope;
My heavy heart’s relieved; so is my strife.
My every line of verse gives me great joy;
My every theme new/old, has truths to tell;
New genres/techniques, I wish to employ;
With peace renewed, my heart and mind are well.
Sometimes, I feel I tell the same old things!
But it is not so: I tell in different ways;
In words of melody great, my heart sings;
And thus, I forget my unpleasant days.
Despite my grief, my face keeps wearing smiles;
In Poesy’s domain, I’ve traveled miles.
9-20-2002
poem by John Celes
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Oh How That German Could Love!
[1st verse:]
Once I got stuck on a sweet little German
And oh what a German was she
The best that was walking, well what's the use talking
Was just made to order for me
So lovely, and witty, more yet she was pretty
You don't know until you have tried
She had such a figure, it couldn't be bigger
And there was some more yet beside
[chorus:]
Oh how that German could love
With a feeling that came from the heart
She called me her honey, her angel, her money
She pushed ev'ry word out so smart
She spoke like a speaker, and oh what a speech
Like no other speaker could speak
Ach my what a German when she kissed her Herman
It stayed on my cheek for a week
[2nd verse:]
This girl could squeeze, and it never would hurt
For that lady knew just how to squeeze
Her loving was killing, more yet she was willing
You never would have to say please
I just couldn't stop her, for dinner and supper
Some kisses and hugs was the food
When she wasn't nice it was more better twice
When she's bad she was better than good
[2nd chorus]
Oh how that German could love
With a sweetness that's sweeter than sweet
Just say what you please, you would hug and you'd squeeze
Just the shoes that she wore on her feet
Her smile was like money that somebody owed you
That somebody wanted to give
When you felt like dying and she started sighing
Ach my it was worthwhile to live
[3rd verse:]
Sometimes we'd love for a week at a time
And it only would seem like a day
How well I remember, one night in December
I felt like the middle of May
I'll bet all I'm worth that when she came on earth
All the angels went out on parade
No other one turned up, I think that they burned up
The pattern from which she was made
[3rd chorus:]
Oh how that German could love
With a love like you see in a play
When she said, "My dear," it would ring in my ear
For a year, and a week and a day
Her no was like yes, and her yes was like no
It was something like yes, it was, well
When we got together ach donner und vetter
'Twas love with a capital "L
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Mind Is In a Poetic Meter
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
Until it was produce to seduce,
To make aware.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Who to blame for writers block?
Risen up from his cold dark tomb
the malevolent poet is alive again
his evil master has given him power
to confuse poets and bring them pain.
He's invisible to the poets eye
and he doesn't make a sound
his mission is to bring writers block
to all poets everywhere around.
The unaware poet stares at a blank screen
unable to create one single verse
the satanic force takes over his mind
his thoughts go from bad to worse.
The romantic poet thinks about death
his thoughts no longer on love and light
he wants to write about misery and war
and things that go bump in the night.
So the next time you can't write a poem
and your sitting there full of despair
you now know it's not you who's at fault
but it's the evil poet and he's over there!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Contagious.....
dear friend
i write this with bitterness
this poem,
this un-poem,
this anti-poem which is bitter
i do not know if you are bitter too,
because if you are
perhaps you
can easily understand how is it to be unpoetic
because you are bitter
because i have
the impression that to be poetic
it must be something
that makes us feel beautiful
inside out
and which also
spreads beauty
all around the world,
and people will be happy
and know that something
poetic is always the one
that creates order,
system,
nice feelings,
nothing of that bitter sort,
that depressing effect,
that prompts a suicide
somewhere along the straight line
of life,
i have nothing bad
for all my intentions,
i am a bitter man,
and i am writing about bitterness,
and you surely will
not like it,
because you are
a happy man,
in blissful state,
as you wish to convey it
in your pictures at
facebook,
and the rest of the write-ups
that you have posted
so far.
this poem is
like a volcano
that soon will erupt
i hope there will
be no casualties
it has to.
because it is needed.
because it is.
so,
i think,
it is time for you to
run away and avoid me,
and forget ab
out me,
as of this moment,
you should have already
stopped
reading.
i guess,
you are interested
in bitterness,
it is sweet to know that
...
are you
bitter too?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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