Philanderin' and phillarkin': How to be a Modern Poet We All Love
Just two things. Write so that we can
understand you while lurching in public transport
book in hand and understand you because
you’re like us but imaginative and funny with it
and make us think; but no fancy stuff:
we want to be sure you’ve been there,
done it, got it down on paper
and that it’s the same there as we’ve been;
and the other thing but it’s not essential:
the better you write, the more we are reassured
by a colourful life well OK scandalous:
a rich and very varied sex life would be good:
a day with Paris, a week with Princess X
then three weeks with some anonymous scrubber
(no gender discrimination here by the way)
would play well. And if 50% of your liaisons
refused to talk (e.g. it was brief but profound)
we could read avidly and then hate the other 50% who told all..
but that doesn’t mean that a vigorous sex life
permits you to say all women are hoes or
call your very private wife ma bitch..
and drink to excess of course, mixing your drinks and company:
though remember, dying young is no longer
a career move in these times
of trivial pursuits and careless raptures;
as for drugs, OK if you must
in which case a ho-hum public attitude from you
indicating you don’t either approve or disapprove
(suggesting that the relationship between chemicals
and creativity is too subtle for the tabloid headlines)
would be better than some extreme stance.
So, Ruth, Derek, and that abstemious Hindu guy –
tell your idiot supporters that more scandal, not less
would well befit a poet who’s to stand for all of us
as Poet Laureate, Prof of Po, Director o fArts Council Poetry;
to assure us that Dionysius is still alive and well and living
somewhere beyond sin and writing great poetry.
*Come to think of it, a rumour that Ruth and Derek
once had a stormy relationship with mutual recriminations
could make this one run and run.
Now that’s what we expect of poets – a bit of phillarkin’ on the side..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Private Poetry
Every poem, Every poetry,
Where are all the poets?
Hiding out, Hiding away.
In the beaches, forests,
In the caves and rooms,
In the islands and temples.
Make their private poetry,
Every now and then,
Here and there,
Over here, Over there.
Somewhere, somewhen,
Someone, somebody,
No one, No body,
Some here, some there.
Somehow, not matter how,
Everywhere, every when,
Every turn, every look,
Every search, every research,
There is a private poet.
Making a private poetry,
Writing private poems,
Writing lovely poems,
Writing profound poetries.
For the world and all
To ponder,
To reflect,
To open our heart,
To hear and listen;
What poets have
To say and write,
In a private poetry,
For the world to read
And treasure.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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New Poetess Laureate for UK
This is a formal announcement today:
we have a new Poet Laureate.. hip hip hooray..
‘But who is he? Oh.. it’s a she-poet Laureate…?
so (because I don’t read poetry, of course..)
is that something I should shout hooray at?
or have committees once again, backed the wrong horse? ’
Well, she says she’s not ‘going to write
for Edward and Sophie’…
she’s Sapphic and butch, and called
Carol Ann Duffy
and you can guess, from what she says
that there’ll be no Royal seal in wax
on her democratic classless ways…
(Right now, Supplement sub-editors are trawling her stuff
to find something printable
that’s ‘poetic’ enough…)
The story is, ‘she’d have got it on the last occasion’
except for the aforementioned Sapphic persuasion…
But aren’t poets supposed to be beyond such trivial pursuits? …
and just write poetry and truth; in high heels or in boots?
(And there’s always the hope, with or without Royal permission,
she might say something new about the female condition…)
so, Edward and Sophie with your middle-class morals –
watch out! We could be in for some hard-hitting quarrels
re ‘The Nature of Poetry’ … and about time too:
since poetry’s subject is the deepest me and you…
so the Forum poets here (in this empty music-hall)
hope you stir us up, and have a prancing, dancing Artists’ Ball;
as with controversial old Ted Crow, Poet Laureate and toughie,
we shan’t expect respect – coz you ain’t no fluffy Duffy…
Now chaps - gold watch and thanks to Andrew’s poetic potion:
you could call it - for what words are worth - as
‘tranquillity, recollected in emotion’…
…But sadly, already, in these economic downturn times –
Blackwells offer ‘3 for 2’ on CarolAnn Duffy’s rhymes…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Am I a Poet?
Dunno about you (that’s why
I’m writing this poem) but
it’s the noun thing, ‘poet’: as if
you’re simultaneously committing yourself
for life to something – although
you would love to do it for life,
it’s somehow got
public connotations.
A good place to test the word
is a party – if you make some pleasantry
and the lady’s eyes brighten and she says
‘That’s very poetic..’ you’d be mad
not to continue the conversation…
So ‘poetic’ is OK, . It’s
non-theatening,
environmentally friendly,
warm-hearted;
however ‘I write poetry’ –
is risky. Men feel challenged;
they know they wouldn’t read your book
even if you gave it to them, signed; so
they respond in career-advice mode
with ‘and do you make any money
by it? ’ or even a straight
‘are you any good? ’ or
simply assume you’re out of work
and unemployable; whatever,
they’ll do that English thing
of looking carefully at your clothes..
and go into their practiced
about-to-move-away mode
Women however are different: especially
if you risk the full-on ‘I’m a poet…’
they’ll do an instant calculation –
he’s discreetly promiscuous, that means
safe, so do I fancy him? Probably out of work, but hey
that’s always useful in an afternoon lover…
However for them, at a party
it promises a more interesting conversation
than ‘I’m a merchant banker, not
very interesting I’m afraid ha ha’
so at least they ask questions
and you may well bring them around
though ladies in rather look-at-me attire
who instantly respond ‘Yes,
so am I! ! ’ with enthusiasm are to be very carefully
summed up before you risk this claim
of poet; it can be like
being smothered by
an emotional jellyfish;
better just say ‘I write poetry’,
it’s less committing; you can always
retreat from the claim as if
it was a passing phase when younger
but if the lady, or the gentleman,
replies with a twinkle in their eye,
Yes, so do I, but
I don’t tell anyone …! ’ a merry
conversation should ensue…
I’m currently using ‘I write poetry
on the internet…’ which is
non-threatening, almost interesting,
and doesn’t involve
any commitment on their part
to buy your book or anything
My recommendation is,
try these phrases out at home,
with a mirror, preferably full-length
(body-language can be so revealing)
and see which makes you cringe
or even fills you with inspiring confident pride
However all this may be
a generation thing; ‘lyric-writers’ for popnrock
must have all this sussed,
beating off the offers
of one sort or another.
He said.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Poet in His Own Time
Who am I to criticize others,
I'm a poet in my own time,
my own place and my own world.
I just write what I see feel,
and hear.
My poetry may be different,
I don't follow the path
of other poets, but that's
ok, let them write what
they must write in their
own way.
All poetry is beautiful,
some takes longer to
understand.
We're all in this together
we write the poetry that
fulfills our needs.
(4-11-07)
The aged poet. For Kealan if
When he was young
and life was poetry
and poetry was life
and girls made poetry
in his heart
he’d showed his poems to
an aged poet who
was quiet a while then
nodded his head and
smiled and
said ‘keep writing’
and he swore that day
as long as he could hold a pen
he’d write some sort of poetry
and so he did and so he did
and when he was
too old to hold a pen
he spoke his poetry
some say in an Irish pub
and people came from miles around
and said sure it was a t’ousand times
better than to read his poems on the page
which was itself worth –
and that last phrase was poetry
for who is not Irish and a poet
and when he was too old
to walk down to the pub
they came and listened
at his door and at his window
and when he was too old to speak
they came to see his silence
and left as poets
for their head
had joined their heart
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Touchdowns and Fumbles
My poetry teacher tells me he isn’t a poet
He just writes poetry
I tell him I want to transfer out immediately
He shouldn’t be teaching
I mean anyone can write poetry
And if you say you write it good but aren’t a poet
Than you’re an arrogant prick
Give me a poet to learn from
Good or not, they still stand by their writing
While people who write poetry are weak.
Standing behind what people believe is good
And tossing away what people don’t like
A football player takes it all with him.
Touchdowns and fumbles, passes and interceptions
While couches talk about years when they
Were the best, but forget about all the others.
I can’t learn from a poetry writer
I need to know the mistakes and shortcomings
Or else history is damned to repeat itself in me
Give me a poet any day.
poem by Reyes Suarez
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A Part Of My Life
People write poetry for diverse reasons,
as in poems that describe the yearly seasons.
Poem's can show the love for our mother and father
and you can vent against the boyfriend of your daughter.
You can express your feelings about a day at the beach,
nothing is out of poetry's reach.
Beautiful poetry can make your heart soar
and bring alive days of yore.
It can make king's of old come alive
or make you sad enough to cry.
Poetry can describe angel's performing a celestial dance
or some other circumstance.
Poetry can help a relationship to mend
and it can also help it to end.
I have used poetry to describe a summer day's ice-cream cone
and to express feeling's of being alone.
Poetry will always be a part of my life,
to write of the good and write of the strife.
06/01/07
poem by Barbara Haskell
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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
A Poet’s Life (Fun Poem 13)
A poet’s life is an awkward one,
he sits with pen and paper in hand,
writes down what comes into his head,
prints it up, reads it through,
only to find that someone
can’t understand
a blinkin’ word he’s written.
The most frustrating part
is that he understands it perfectly well,
so now he has to explain and tell
what the whole thing is about.
At times, a poet’s life
just wants to make you scream and shout.
So you take pen in hand again,
hoping what you write this time
they will understand.
(7 May 2007)
poem by David Harris
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On The Goddess Of Poesy
The Goddess of Poesy the Goddess of Song
To the Universal immortals she surely belong
The poets of the World her praises do sing
The gift of poetry to their souls she does bring.
The poets to write poems Goddess Poesy inspire
And of singing her praises they don't seem to tire
The poetry of sorrow the poetry of joy
The poetry of youth of the young girl and boy.
The poetry of youthfulness and of growing old
Of young women in their prime lovely to behold
The beauty of Nature the birds and the bees
The mammals and fishes of land and of seas.
The Goddess of poets of every gender race and creed
For their inspiration to write in her lives her they need
Of love, life and Nature she inspires poets to write
For the lovers of poetry to read and recite.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Don't
Don't fall in love with a poet
for they will melt your heart
and there is no escape, you see
for romance is their art.
Don't try to vie with a poet
for words trip from their mouths
as easily as quick silver
that lines the darkest clouds.
Don't tell a poet your secrets
for very soon you'll see,
they'll write them as a metaphor
upon a paper sea.
Don't make a stance with a poet
for you don't stand a chance
they'll sway you with emotions
and words that sweetly dance.
Don't fall in love with a poet,
however they endear,
for strong romantic gestures
will conjure flowing tears.
Don't fall in love with a poet
for life will surely change
but oh how happy you will be
to have it rearranged.
poem by Ruth Walters
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I Write In Lead Part 2
You see I write in lead
cause having poetry impact my life
Everyday is empowering
Can't complete a thought 'cause
Before I can access feelings stored inside
My mind is weaving another strand of meaning and context
'Cause Poetry's deciphered my semantic properties
Unraveling down to the morphological units
Unlacing more of me
And that I don't need a pen
To bleed thoughts of truth
Let me know cause I don't understand
Can't put into concrete thoughts
My grasp of linguistics no longer suffice
To decode the relationship between
Mind and hand
pen and poet
Carefully marking down gibberish
Only understood by the two
I guess that's how it works
Some things have no outside reason to stand
But the only one that comes from within
An I write in lead cause
I can't get out the right pattern of words
I keep erasing
Always in search of a better way
To state how it is that I
am processing poetry
I don't want to use pen
cause fact of the matter is poetry
Shakes the profound core
My factory of thoughts
Engraved permanently in paper
Leaves no space to illustrate
How poetry pushes me to the edge of language
And then I realize
The edge is more like an extending bridge of vocabulary
I can continue building letters
Making meaning
There's no saying
Where interpretation will stop
That is what
poetry is
Making my hand ache
but the thought of not scribing
Leaves less space
For our bridge to extend
Connect To find a better way
to spill my insides out
Poetry's my speech therapy
Cause the more I interpret poetry's word
the more I record how its being comes forth
tough and registers in a soft key
Through syllables
The more clearly I see
through the lens I read
The world and my synthesis
is me
I want to take all of poetry in
So it lives endlessly in meaning
If the path of our voices crosses only momentarily
I'd like for poetry to still live through my expression
Aiding the love affair of
Mind hand and heart
poem by Samantha Campbell
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A Dying Race
My friend Kessa’ and I
Always loved writing
Poetry was our favorite
Everyday on the old yellow school bus
Number 6 or 149
She and I would read to each other
What we had come up with
The night before
I was always a little
Green with envy
Because her writing seemed much
More mature than mine
But one day we realized
That poetry was dying
Even though so many people
Write it all over the world
Poetry has lost it’s fame
Kessa had started a poetry club
But no one showed except me
We wondered why that was
For poetry was a wonderful
Thing
A great outlet
When things went wrong
Which they always did
To me it has become the dying race
Hanging on a thin thread
Of life
What miracle will happen to keep it float
Who will make difference
To relight poetry
In everyone’s mind?
poem by Sydne Morris
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A Poet Of Our Time
He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Poet Of Our
He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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
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It Is A Habit
writing poems
when you really write poems
everyday and every moment of your life
even when you're in the middle of your
bread and butter eating thing
or even when you are defecating
writing poems becomes a habit
even when you sleep even when you dream
writing poems becomes a part of your system
you eat poetry you vomit poetry
you digest poetry you poo poetry
you breathe poetry you sweat poetry
you love poetry and you live with your poetry
and at the end you die with poetry
and your epitaph says: here lies the poet,
choked with poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry Dream.
I drift Yeah ~ ~ ~ ~ drift,
Network at home and abroad to find changed,
Finally came to this piece of land,
This is the poetry of the static earth?
Hoped to write a good poem,
To allow them across the oceans.
They become afraid of heavy stones,
Not sensual in the sink into the sea!
How many years after writing poetry?
This life caught in the areas of poetry,
Poets seem to lose direction.
Not to warble his life sentence,
Poetry is difficult as the expense of my new hand,
He voted Shigao nowhere Monet,
Sometimes, as the water is no longer up,
Poet dead bodies over the sea.
Poems written to a basis
Vernacular into a good poem, rare words,
But thousands of miles seeking Hello,
Poetry does not seek out the words parallelism.
Present the most chaotic poetry,
Have you written in classical Chinese poetry Link old-fashioned,
Vernacular writing to another, then no taste,
But to one day rushed into cloud,
To break the shackles of poetry,
Create a new charm,
Freedom to write my hope,
Unrestricted write a new realm.
poem by Albert Wong
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On A Famed Poet
Forgive me if his greatness I cannot seem to note
His poems never rhyme but he is a famed poet
By literary experts considered to be knowledgeable and wise
And for his poems he has won many a prize.
Though poetry is not very popular today
The poet of the poetry lovers the experts do say
In University literary magazines students his verses read
And they all agree he's a fine poet indeed.
Of poets and poetry I must confess so little I know
My favourites old rhymers from ages ago
On the poetry I do not like most experts agree
That it is well written and quite good poetry.
Forgive me if the worth in his verse I can't see
His non rhyming poetry does nothing for me
Of reading blank verse I do quickly grow tired
My truth is by such stuff I do not feel inspired.
The experts on his poetry great interest show
And his stature as a poet only seems to grow
Of him great things are written and great things we hear
And good luck to him on his literary career.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Absolute Necessity
Absolute necessity
Is poetry a luxury or one of life’s necessities?
I have to read, I have to write poetry a pure delight.
Other poets inspire me.Exploring the variety
of forms and styles that I can find, serves to stimulate my mind.
I do not claim to be the best I am just one amongst the rest
of poets posting on the net. Who you remember or forget.
Is poetry a luxury the answer must be NO from me.
To some it seems a waste of time to other folks it is sublime.
You are quite free to make your choice. But I will always raise my voice.
Applauding poets who can write fine poetry that brings delight,
Uplift the hearts of other men, more power to the poet’s pen.
27/07/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com.poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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