En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Reaching for the dictionary

That efficient movement of the arm –
let it be without impatience,
watched, aware, even graceful –

does not feature in a ballet,
or a film; although it could;
unlikely to be described in a novel;

and as for poetry… no poem yet,
no ode yet owed, to that word-hoard
with which, indirectly, poets live and breathe
and share their being…

but when the moment comes, is seen to come –
how beautiful that movement, full
of assurance, of anticipation
of what this may yield…

for lovely though the world
of that poetic imprecision
which teases the reading, writing mind,
plays with the emotions,
releases the imagination like a glorious balloon…

it’s now the moment to look down
from the basket of the balloon
soaring so gently over green fields and earth,
and look for landmarks for a clear descent..

sometimes, it’s those geeky, Greeky words
like metempsychosis or synecdoche,
ontological, epistemological…

sometimes, those simple words
like soul, or self…

the pages thumbed over – the choice of paper,
so thin, so strong, just right, itself
brings an intelligent respect –

aah, that’s what it really means…
a moment of treasured satisfaction;
the mind a little clearer now;
the heart perhaps, may know its warmth
in later, wiser ways; actions, too,
may (if we ever notice) be subtly altered,

as the flutter of the butterfly’s frail, strong wings
in some Amazonian rain-forest,
is sometimes said to be felt
throughout the world…

universal mind may breathe a gentle sigh;
language itself, allow a passing smile;

there’s order in the world; harmony
is heard in music beyond words;

the arm and hand, now so graceful,
reassured; the beauty of the mind
so quickly registered that it may
escape; a gratitude perhaps
as quick as eye-blink, and as unobserved -

the arm and hand replace
the dictionary there upon the shelf.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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
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Something

I'm writing in hope for something with sweet melody,
A rhythm that can be felt,
A beauty that can be read.
With words flowing like water over rocks,
Steadily without fault or obstruction.
A liquid in its purest state.

I'm writing in hope for something with sweet remembrance,
Like the scent of falling rain,
Or the memorable sound of a mothers cooing voice.
Something so memorable,
The slightest reminder sends you back to the exact moment,
Replaying in unbroken pattern of mind.

I'm writing in hope for something spectacular to happen,
For my words to form a feeling so deep they hurt,
For each image to be as clear as these words on this paper.
I want you to feel what I feel,
A feeling of lonely discontent,
Sitting alone in my own my own world, writing away.

I am writing this in hope for something to stick with you,
A message or a meaning that I've hidden inside a syllable,
A voice of reason that you have kept from yourself,
Silenced with the voice of your shallow desires.
A dream that you once had forgotten,
Lost in the darkness of the night.

I am writing this in hope for something to be brought to light.
Maybe a buried thought that you wish you never had,
Or an inner conflict that you hadn't noticed but feel tearing apart your skin,
Even an aspiration you promised to live up to but left to die.
Something so lost in the world of your mind,
Swallowed by deep chasms of thought and memory.

I am writing this in hope of telling a story.
The story of a world that can only be imagined in a dark room,
Hidden from the world and apart from anything else.
The story of a broken heart of a shortened life,
The story of the silent cries of a lost soul reaching for sanity.
My own story, perhaps, or even yours, is this your story?

I am writing in hope of making your thoughts and feelings dance,
A slow and steady music in the background,
Propelling your eyes left to right and back again.
Following the steps of each word,
The flow off each line and stanza.
An endless waltz with the reader and the writer, will you dance with me?

I am writing in hope of making an impression on your mind,
Maybe not an everlasting one, but even just a brief moment,
A moment of realization that you are now reading what I have written,
That for one moment in time our minds share the same space and thought,
Each word playing in our head the same as the other's.
Can you hear my voice, can you feel my thoughts?

I don't know why I am writing, or why I am writing what I am writing,
But I know that it has accomplished one thing,
It has given a purpose to something, if even just a piece of paper,
It has given worth to something that at one point was just a blank sheet,
Waiting for something to be etched into its surface, making it something.
I guess that's why I'm writing, I'm just writing; something.

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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I wish

the real gifted
poet thrives
in this world
with words
that have taken up
meaning in the nether world
the realms
heavenly
and the non heavenly
the energised words
run through him
to other hearts
to light up the candles there
brighten up their world
help them
enjoy the
mysterious
elements
of the other worlds, realms
throwing the sparks
into their mind
so that for a moment
they too would feel
they are poets
share some of their thoughts
as the words wind
through their heart, soul
the whole system
to rattle the world
in various ways
the written poem
evolves into
something more intense
the colours the artist
pads onto his canvas
each stroke
a new painting born

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Situationer...

when he begins to write
the words
of course, he has in mind someone in particular
for it makes him
more particular too in the choice of
images, like

something so fragile like the last egg
in your hand

or something so beautiful like what you
are not

somethings need not be mentioned
and it will be
peaceful

the moment you say what you have in mind
three dragon heads spring from your neck

so it is better to be cautious
like saying something that we do not like to say really

something like
how i wish to be like you

and you who hears it knows what is true
and you make a rebounding

yes, i like you too and then after the brief moment
sipping coffee and reading the news and looking at on striking passerby

you then part ways
clinching hug, cold kiss.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode on a Wedgwood Urn

It’s a gentle green in colour,
sits on the shelf, still, contained,
containing, and content;
around it, another world
is playing out its immortal role,
in constant movement which
somehow conveys to us, stillness,
peace; there’s order in that world;

and yes, John, you could well call it,
unravish’d quietness: (you said, once,
in your romantic way, that
you were certain of nothing
but the holiness of the heart's affections,
and the truth of imagination;
here's the urn to prove it..)

erect yet relaxed in pose,
hair in a chignon, one hand
touching her neck, the other
holding a rolled scroll, resting
on what could be a reading desk;
she’s elegant, attentive, sensing, observant,
yet full of sweetest silent thought;
she’s said to be Euterpe,
goddess of lyric poetry;
I should respect her, even beg.

Another graceful figure, also
lightly draped, so that her body
is an open yet modest secret,
plays the lyre to some timeless tune of truth;
another leans upon a rough stone column,
absorbed in what another with up-pointing hand
is telling of what reigns above;
beautiful truth; truthful beauty..

a second lyre rests, unattended yet significant,
upon the ground; as if music’s secret musing
remains always there, even when unplayed;
sweeter when heard to be unheard..

three dance together; their lightness,
grace, and ease are simultaneously
celebration and surrender; their breeze-played draperies
tell us how ethereal our holy bodies are,
caught in the breeze of time;
there’s more to them than meets the eye;
but that’s what eyes are for,
they say to us: to see, to know, they’re there..

trees throw out leaves, as if
they hear the music, dance the dance,
know that upwards is what they grow towards..

there’s an elegant brazier burning there; the scene
is evidently not complete without
the significance of the sacrificial fire;

gentle green upon the shelf,
contained, containing, and content,
it plays out its destiny of gods and goddesses,
muses, graces; unconcerned
whether I should wish to look at it,
admire it, perhaps ask questions of it;
even, live a little of its life…

poem by Michael Shepherd
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0244 Trying to write a sonnet

It's a bit like a trip in a hot air balloon -
the hot air of thousands of years of
poets poetizing; all trying to float a little higher than the everyday,
just a little lower than the angels -
whoops, there's four lines gone already...

so, the first four lines or so say
where you're taking this trip from, hoping
to arrive somewhere quite new and unexpected
after fourteen lines, otherwise
why take the trip at all?

so, fire up the burner of ambition, whatever,
and we're into the second four lines now;
floating in an easy, silent, gently breeze-blown world,
a poet's paradise,
where the mind is stilled, the beauty of the landscape
almost beyond words (ha!) : all perspectives on the world
altered; but do we know now where we're heading?
It's a cool way of experiencing altered state
without illegal substances. Take out the notebook,
try to describe it, just in case
someone reads it; at least it might
encourage them to take the trip themself.

And now we're into the last six lines
which, the pundits say, should introduce
some new insight, some viewpoint on the world;
you've had your chance; has the trip been worthwhile?
the balloon's gone higher, the landscape stretches out,
greener than a politician's promise...
Floating above the green fields, the concrete and the smog,
the unexpected words from the ground heard crystal clear -
have new thoughts, new visions, come, in this poet's paradise?

And now so soon, the final couplet - which the pundits of today
condemn as the valueless whistling in the dark,
the false claim to cultural certainties -
so beware: take all your humility in hand like
a doffed Elizabethan cap: will that final couplet be
the clunk-click of the safety belt's banality? The
front-door clack of Alexander Pope's front door,
before the scrape of sharpened pen, the mellow smell
of candlelight on paper that will ring the world
like thought-fired, savage Georgian hot-air balloon?
Or the clang of oven door in Belsen, Dachau, Buchenwald?

For the poet, just fourteen lines: heaven and earth,
truth and lies, life and death, Icarus 's fate,
all these, for his few hours, depend upon it;
but I digress; I should have writ a sonnet..

poem by Michael Shepherd
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After All Hymn

After all I am human
And I get mad sometimes
Sometimes it is hard for me to think of something else in
Order to get rid of my anger
But I think I have to replace it with poetry
Poetry is my life
And I live writing poetry
Is poetry just a scribbling that doesn't make sense?
No
Poetry are feelings that are wrtten on a piece of paper or in the computer Scream
Poetry makes sense because every word I carefully select
And there are other words that might pop out of my mind
That I connect with the words in my heart
Do I use strong words in my poetry?
Yes I use strong words
Do I offend my readers with the words I pick?
That Is something that I try not to do
AAafter all
I am human and I do make mistakes
But after I make mistakes I try to move to the next step so I never get Stuck with my mistake
Yes poetry is my voice that is a message that I am trying hard to give to My readers
There are so many different styles of poetry
Haiku, rhiming, and free style
But I always stick with the free style of poetry
I find that it is the style that sooths me just fine
After all
I try very hard to live a modest life that is very plain and simple
From the one I lived 16 years ago
What is wrong to live a life of luxury to me?
First I need to have the money to live a luxurious life
The second part is that I don't want anything to do with a luxurious life
Because I am happy living my simple life
And I hope to live that simple life forever
I want to have dreams only and I don't wish them to turn into reality in My Life
Because I know that my dreams will be dreams
No I can't sell my dreams
Because my dreams are only fantasies that I face every night when I sleep In my bed
And after all I will always be human

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Ramdas, Start Talking With New Language!

Ramdas, start Talking with New Language,
Talk with people and every life,
That language which can take world to new dimension,
Or world shine with beauty and freshness,
Be the one among builders of new world!

Language of love and acceptance,
language that comes from the
depth of the heart,
affectionate and humble,
language that is full of gratitude,
Free of doubts and fear, Language of smile and presence
of mind,
Mindfulness which uses silence
and words well balanced,
the world to new dimensions,
Make world Look like a new world in the light of wisdom!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Poem Without A First Line

for no real poem has a first line
any more than a real book
has a first page

it comes out of a dark lost forest
or a bright unknowing cloud

or an unbearable pain
so unbearable that even
if you wrote the poem on a piece of paper
and threw the paper away
it would ease the pain

or a childhood so miserable
that only a complete change of life
could recognise one single beautiful thought

or an astonishing moment
when you knelt and prayed
for the first time in your life
to a god you did not know
with words you did not understand
for they were not even words

or the moment when all the horror of the world
faced all the love and beauty in the world
and both were so taken aback
that they could only embrace
and later, speak

or a nowhere and a nothing
so stark that only poetry

without a first line

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Love Will Come And Go

Love Will Come And Go
written by Vonda Shepard and David James with additional lyrics by Paul Gordon
Do you want me to read your mind?
Oh if I only could
I wonder if I'd find the same
Hopes I've been having
'Cause baby I came alive
When you caught my eye
I'm falling in love you see
And it's the kind of love
That makes me breathe
I would share all my secrets
I would tell you anything
You know I'd let you in darling
We could be so good together
I would give you the world
If only you would take it from me
Sometimes love comes quickly
Sometimes love comes slow
Let's not miss this moment...'cause
Love will come and go
I never thought I could feel
Such emotion in me
I'm not the kinda girl who falls in love so easily
It's all so clear to me now
Ain't no shadow of a doubt
Now I understand what this mystery is all about
I would be there for you baby
In a special kind of way
If I only had the say darling
We could be so good together
I would give you the world
Baby will you take it from me
Sometimes love comes quickly
Sometimes love comes slow
Let's not miss this moment...'cause
Love will come and go
Let's not miss this moment
Let's not take too long
I think we both know it
Our love would be that strong, be that strong, be that strong
I would be there for you baby
In a special kind of way
'Cause I love you darlin'
We could be so good together
I would give you the world
Baby will you take it from me
(Repeat Chorus)

song performed by by Vonda Shepard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart And Minf Fight

My mind says,
Stay in the room
My heart says,
See the universe

My mind says,
She has only a body
My heart says,
She has a beautiful soul

My mind says,
Get the degree
My heart says,
Get the knowledge

My mind says,
Kill the neighbor
My heart says,
Love the neighbor

My mind says,
Plunder the entire world
My heart says,
Give to the world

My mind says,
God is not here
My heart says,
God is here

My mind says,
Rule on the earth
My heart says,
Live equal on the earth

My mind says,
Invent new weapons
My heart says,
Keep the peace

My mind says,
He is a small man
My heart says,
He is a big man

My mind says
He is ignorant
My heart says,
He is wise

My mind says,
Live for money
My heart says,
Live in love

My mind says,
He heart you
My heart says,
Forget his mistake

My mind says,
Don’t agree with his opinion
My heart says,
I respect his opinion

My mind says,
You are great poet
My heart says,
You are nothing

poem by Aroon George
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Love Will Come & Go

Do you want me to read your mind
Oh if I only could
I wonder if Id find the same
Hopes Ive been having
cause baby I came alive
When you caught my eye
Im falling in love you see
And its the kind of love
That makes me breathe
I would share all my secrets
I would tell you anything
You know Id let you in darling
We could be so good together
I would give you the world
If only you would take it from me
Sometimes love comes quickly
Sometimes love comes slow
Lets not miss this moment cause
Love will come and go
I never thought I could feel
Such emotion in me
Im not the kinda girl who falls in love so easily
Its all so clear to me now
Aint no shadow of a doubt
Now I understand what this mystery is all about
I would be there for you baby
In a special kind of way
If I only had the say darling
We could be so good together
I would give you the world
Baby will you take it from me
Sometimes love comes quickly
Sometimes love comes slow
Lets not miss this moment cause
Love will come and go
Lets not miss this moment
Lets not take too long
I think we both know it
Our love would be that strong be that strong be that strong
I would be there for you baby
In a special kind of way
cause I love you darlin
We could be so good together
I would give you the world
Baby will you take it from me
Repeat chorus

song performed by by Vonda Shepard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Girl Who Tamed A Poets Heart

Those words which screamed out
From a heart into a silent world
Those passionate dreams once known
Of a love which seem to be a stranger
The lyrics and the verse which sang
To love, to a love they longed to find
All fell silent, all slept sound

She came from such silence
Full beauty body, heart and mind
Her words touched and soothed
The mind of a poet like never before
The wild tempest which once reigned
The heart and the imagination
Each word which built their world
Now spoke softly to a love they knew
Now whispered gently her name

She came as though called
To answer each prayer and wish
She took the heart in her hands
And cradled it in a kiss
She tamed its wild passion
And heard it sing anew
To the girl who tamed a poets heart
I shall forever love you

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Seeking Metaphor

Metaphor’s the soul of poetry:
this incongruous instrument of speech
with which we say one thing,
when we mean quite another:

I wish that Shakespeare, its greatest English user,
had coined a truly English word for it –
or perhaps, those blunt and foursquare Anglo-Saxons
who came before; their words as hand-hewn as are spades –

the word comes from the Greek, and means a transference;
‘My lord, your transference is apt and shrewd…’
no, even that’s but transferred to a Latin stem,
‘carrying across’. Too late to seek some native word –
a ‘thoughtshift’ or a ‘mindmatch’ then?

We wear it down, and make it less
by thoughtless grabbing at the candy-jars
upon the shelves of sweetshops of our speech,
as if to mimic poetry that we haven't earned..

but at its height, a metaphor shines like new light;
bringing together, two images so disparate
and making of their neighbouring, a moment magical in memory
as if we’d never seen the world so brilliant
or so revealing; moments when the mind’s a god,
and life itself a metaphor; a glimpse
that somewhere, two things mentioned meet
under the astonished, single gaze of eternity itself..

Metaphor’s a holy sacrament: one should never dare
to use it without some faint echo, of a moment clear recalled
when that which one refers to, came dazzling bright into the mind
as life transfigured to another world,
time lifted to the timeless;
the radiance of the world’s first day,
Creation, in itself, one glorious godly metaphor..
and nothing ever less than one.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Magic Of Words

I admit to never having read much poetry before,
But now that I’ve started, I’m eager to read more.
I’ve discovered many poems, ones old and new;
There are all sorts: happy ones and sad ones to.

Some poems paint a picture, and are descriptive in their style.
While some are humorous, and are designed to make you smile.
There are also narrative style poems, such as the ‘Goblin Market’ story,
By Christina Rossetti, there are close to five hundred lines, in all their glory.

Alliteration always sounds extremely catchy and really rather nice –
When an initial consonant is sounded, in quick succession, at least twice.
Assonance also often comes in quite handy too,
Especially when the rhyme isn’t quite exactly true.

The addition of onomatopoeia can be a real whiz,
Adding sounds like Crash! Bang! Pop! And Fizz!
I love poems which have a regular rhythm, and which rhyme,
And I try my best to incorporate these factors into poems of mine.

In rhythm and rhyme, myself, I like to try and immerse,
As I have to admit that I’m not a particular fan of free verse.
With poetry, I’m really beginning to get a little bit obsessed.
I change words around, trying to see how they sound the best.

I like to keep my writing quite simple, not complex;
I hate it when words and ideas complicate the text.
I love it when words paint a picture in my inner mind;
When a masterpiece is created, as snapshots are combined.

My mind finds it difficult to process ideas which are too abstract;
I just like simple descriptions and a smattering of interesting facts.
Unless I understand the first few lines, I can get very easily bored,
And from then on, reading the rest of it can become quite a chore.

I’m not keen on poems which, I consider, are way too short,
As they probably haven’t really required that much thought,
And, likewise, I’m not keen on poems which, for me, are too long,
As reading them, can feel like running a twenty six mile marathon.

If I see a word in a poem which I have not previously seen,
I will look it up in a dictionary, to see exactly what it means.
I always enjoy learning the meaning of the odd new word,
But I hate it when there are many, of which, I’ve never heard.

I also like to look words up in a thesaurus to learn,
If I can swap them for an alternative word or term.
Reading and writing poetry can be a real education in themselves.
You pick up books which may have previously been left on the shelf.

If you’re sat concentrating on reading or writing,
Temporary release from problems, is quite inviting.
It can have a very calming affect upon your soul,
When life’s worries and woes have taken their toll.

I don’t know if I’m just going through a phase, or if my obsession will last;
Over the last few months or so, I really have been having an absolute blast!
I’ve felt proud of some of my works - I didn’t think I could do such things,
And I’ve really revelled in the happiness, into my life, which poetry brings.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Secret Look......... Adult Nature

Your eyes they soften
When desiring me
And i see your secret look
And i know things
Are how they should be
As im reeling on your hook

Then gently we dissolve
Into each others souls
Rejecting the outer world
Both unaware of all but us
With heightened senses unfurled

And i do relish
Breathe and sigh
As you release your mind
Then you do warm
Sweat and writhe
This is our moment blind

No consciousness embarrassment
Nor wonder if we're in vain
Just total peace of mind and soul
As we reach our highest plane

And we do move
And breathe and sigh
Synchronised beyond belief
Then our eyes do melt at a joyous place
exhilaration surpasses relief
So i can sigh
Then
smile at you
And you are knightly sure
As we lay in a silent air
Retracing a night thats pure

Thank you

poem by Karen Sinclair
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1. One

I am trying to find my poetic rhythm.
Pen my flow of thoughts.
Words running through my mind,
Ideas running through my mind.
Incoherent, Scattered and disjointed

I am trying to make words and ideas one
Create a world of words, in this world of chaos
Words running from one end
Ideas running from one end
On a path of collision

Ideas and words unite, one
One, the beginning
One, the universal beginning
One, the number of the gods
One, my first poem

poem by Anand Dixit
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Living in the Heart's Memory

A gentle touch upon the forearm
with a hand, gloved or warm with life,

outside the church door;
turning away from the open grave;
by that concrete place
where they lay the floral tributes
by the cemetery chapel;
or later, as you hand the food around;

a gentle touch upon the forearm
or a hand sought for to squeeze and hold; or
man to man, they favour a shoulder briefly gripped,
as if that’s the pressure point
where empathetic camaraderie should be applied;

the single sentence of consolation,
sometimes so well rehearsed, it comes out awkwardly –
‘she’ll be much missed…’
‘you have so many memories…’
‘he’ll always be there in our hearts…’
‘if there’s anything…’

they’ve been through this, themselves,
or fear the time they shall –

…‘words must be said,
but yet there are no words for this;
accept then, these few words
in lieu of that deep silence
which is itself in lieu of words…’

* * *

measured, immutable, as precise
as any equation of the calculated world,
the heart’s memories:
every moment that our heart in many years
opened to them, the heart has stored.

We know the mind can span the imagined world –
from travel brochures to the thought of heaven;
yet we forget that greater still, the heart is vast –
there’s all the room for them to live on there,
sustained by every moment of love freely given; for
the whole creation is one single act of love.

[written for a bereavement website]

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Selling a Poets Mind

Devoted to writing the words of poetic inspiration
I offer my mind as soul payment
Some say it’s a madness of strange conception
I claim a quiet misunderstanding
To follow each emotion with such intent
Expressing and expanding beyond reason
That I may flower in bloom a thought
Far beyond its own conception
I whore out my heart to illustrations
To better depict that which I seek to serve
A flow of endless poetic verse
Seemingly I have become detached
From a world I may never have knew
And so in my indifference
Some say I carry a strange madness
Perhaps I do, perhaps I do
For I am devoted to writing the words
Of poetic and beautiful inspiration
If my mind is the fee of creation
Then to poetry I shall cash in

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Your Song

(bernie taupin & elton john, 1969)
It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside
I'm not one of those, who can easily hide,
I don't have much money, but boy if i did
I'd buy a big house where we could both live.
If i were a sculptor, but then again no,
Or a man who sells potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much, but it's the best i can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you.
And you can tell everybody, this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done,
I hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind
That i put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world.
I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of those verses, you know what, make me cross
But the sun's been quite kind while i wrote down this song,
It's for people like you that keep it turned on.
So excuse me forgetting, but these things that i do
You see i've forgotten, if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is, what i, what i really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes i've ever seen.
And you can tell everybody, this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done,
I hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind
What i put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world.
I hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind
What i put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world.
While you're in the world
While you're in the world

song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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