Poetry is Too Shrewd
Poetry is too shrewd,
She in guise herself keeps hiding,
From my too watchful eyes;
When I plough the farm of others,
She dives into the ocean of my belly,
And swims like a fishing monster.
When I return home after toilsome labour,
She sits on my hanging loathsome arms,
And when in the sterile fruitless land,
My eyes meet indifference,
And they remain bewilderingly forlorn,
She assumes the soothing form of a damsel,
And strolls into the world of my dreams,
When ferocious enemies search me again,
Allege me of stealing the gold of poetry,
At that moment she resides in my heart,
Wearing the costume of fear.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Poetry in Motion
Poetry is like the ocean
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is like a potion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is like an explosion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is like some soothing lotion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is a form of devotion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry represents emotion
Poetry in Motion
poem by Yeremiah Hardt
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18 Definitions Of Poetry
1) Poetry is what is Beautiful in words –
2) Poetry is the deepest feeling words can tell
3) Poetry is the soul of each one of us
4) Poetry is the morning light after the longest night
5) Poetry is a dream of dreams in a world that needs dreams to be
beautiful
6) Poetry is the Search for God and the Love of God in all holy writing
7) Poetry is Reality itself when it is doing what it should
8) Poetry is you and me and all of us when we are kind to each other
9) Poetry is more than we can say or know- deeper than the deepest
silence and quieter also
10) Poetry is the place we go to in ourselves when we need to cry out loud
11) Poetry is Love words of love and the first spring of the young lovers first
song
12) Poetry is all we are when our minds are right and strong
13) Poetry is what saves us from all the other words
14) Poetry is what ceases to exist when Cruelty comes
15) Poetry is Love and Blessing and Kindness again
16) Poetry cuts through the icy sea within and sends chills down the spine
17) Poetry is what is recollected in tranquility but also tried and tossed in
tempest on the most difficult seas
18) Poetry is open to more than what it has been It is what others have not yet created and will so long as we are human and in search of the Sublime
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
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An act of poetry
Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry
A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art
Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation
Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:
The pen be our salvation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Poetry is immortal
Poetry is immortal
yet so is the oracle
but poetry is no prophecy
it is energy from an inner sanctuary
one filled with creativity and imagery
yes poetry is immortal
it dives through any portal
whether it be mind, heart or soul
it slides through like a pole
poetry is everything and nothing
it is brilliant and disgusting
but it is still poetry
a magic that is everlasting
one that is never passing
it is a miracle
poetry is immortal
poem by Adens Kamwi
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Egoism of Poets
We don’t write poetry,
Poetry writes us.
How can we make poetry,
If we are part of poetry.
The world around us is poetry.
Poetry is already defined.
Calling ourselves poets.
Selfishness in every line.
Egoism in every word.
Stealing poetry from the world.
That already exists in every form.
It’s written in every mist,
Every tree, every bliss.
Who are we to write?
Calling ourselves masterminds.
Trapping ourselves in believe
That we are creating something unique
The world at our feet.
Just too full fill our need.
Even this poem is an act
of a selfish deed.
Every letter in ink.
Created through love and sin.
Writing on a paper
But it’s the world’s skin.
Pressing on the surface.
To see blue blood is our purpose.
Thinking poetry is ours.
Poetry devoured
By poets every hour.
Poems all around us.
Turning grey to dust.
Turning brown to rust.
We have captured the most
But there is still so much.
Bleeding away in disaster, poverty
And war.
Ink to us all.
A poet’s only lord.
His only norm, his only home.
His precious and beloved poem.
We should be ashamed.
poem by Nadim Lost Soul
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An Urge Of A Wave
A perturbed wave of the ocean,
Stroke against rocks smashing herself,
Beat her head ashore erasing the prints,
Of hopes from the sandy beach, and turned
Into rubble the castles of dreams.
Who says restless demolishing wave,
Was a rival to hopes or fleeting dreams;
She surged up only to be incarnated,
Out of the tyrannous confinement,
In the form of compact visible reality.
The same wave once at the moon lit night,
Plunged into my heart: the ocean deeper than
The Pacific, Atlantic or the Arabian Sea.
But often she now breaks confining beach,
And assumes the form of a concrete entity,
Incarnated with the captivating smile,
Wearing the borrowed cloak of poetry,
Enthralling hearts and maddening minds.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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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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I Dont Write Poetry!
i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...
no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Poetry On The Chin
You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.
You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.
You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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There Is Another Poetry
THERE IS ANOTHER POETRY
There is another Poetry-
A poetry of inspiration
A poetry of help
A poetry of encouragement
A poetry of courage and heart
A poetry of love of life
Which teaches greater love of life.
There is another poetry
A poetry I would write
But the poetry I largely live in
Is complaint and question and fear and doubt
And trouble and sadness-
Oh why can’t I give some greater goodness to others
Than I am myself in my soul?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry Is Movement Without Effort
Poetry is movement without effort
Poetry should take you to places far beyond what your eyes can see
Take you to places where you can be free
Poetry is movement without effort
All you have to do is think and feel
and it will move you
and make your experiences real
poetry can cause pictures to form in your mind
speak a thousand verbs, a thousand nouns, or a thousand rhymes
all written for you to experience on a personal level
poetry is a journey
to self discovery
out of a thousand doorways to roads never walked travelled or taken
poetry can cause your eyes and your heart to awaken
remind you of a friend’s love remind you that your never forsaken
because while you live you can experience life to the full
poetry is movement it is a tool
for cataloguing things seen and unseen
for poetry can be the very fabric from which we dream!
poem by Daniel Hooks
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Celebrating Philip Larkin
He looks out at you from the photograph
or rather, doesn’t: eyes wide but blank,
thick lenses would place your image
in a plane you don’t inhabit;
like a fish that in an aquarium
suddenly swims direct toward you
stopping at the glass to stare a moment:
was there a meeting? What
are you to the fish?
So, nothing. Then next day,
he’s propping his bike against the wall,
bending down to take off his cycle clips;
caught so close, you exchange
English noises: the weather,
a joke or was it, delivered deadpan:
but the sound of him stays with you:
melancholy and yet celebrating
the confidence in being ordinary.
Then next day, the poetry:
starts matter-of-fact, regretful,
doesn’t miss a thing around him,
sharp eyes hiding behind pebble lenses: then,
dives with us into the sea of greatness:
calls us, reels us in, enslaves the heart
with voice that speaks beyond all melancholy;
haunted by the completeness of eternity.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Poetry Is
Poetry is when she wakes up with a smile on her angel face and says thank you for watching over my breathe all night, its when I hold her and she says I miss missing you even when I’m right there next to her.
Her EYES are the mother of poetry, one of a kind, her SMILE is the goddess of poetry, rare and beautiful, her VOICE is the heaven of poetry, so sweet and gentle.
When she loves me she does so with all the poetry she has inside her, , , everything about her is poetry, her poetry speaks to me without saying anything, it touches me without holding me, it makes me feel even without her near me
SHE IS POETRY IN MY SOUL, IN MY MIND, IN MY HEART.
poem by Tendai Maturure
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Poetry is the Divine Part of Man
Poetry haters love to make fun of the touchy-feely stuff
as though that defined who or what poetry is.
Poetry is the last time the sun gets reflected
in somebody's eyes, when they're saying goodbye-
maybe for forever.
And it's that first dropp of rain, touches the new brides veil,
blesses her; as she's lifting it off her face
for the first time, after being kissed in the marriage ceremony.
And poetry might be that bubble,
over the sink.. keeps floating away, fully intact;
even though all the laws of physics and gravity may be saying
it ought not be able to go on existing;
And poetry in motion
is a baby, trying to walk and falling down
again and again;
refusing to give up, surrender
less painful though that might be.
And poetry could even be your hand over my mouth,
because you know that I can never really say
what I am trying so hard to say;
as there's another form of secret communication
connects soul directly to soul,
without confusing or complicated words.
And that is some of the invisible poetry,
lives in the eyes, the hands; the heart of the mind;
and all the hidden, inner recesses of a human being; and even though
something may be a form of poetry for one; it may not be for another.
Finally, if you balled up the emotions together, and then just threw them up
into the open air, not knowing where they might come down, or even if;
this too, could be one of the purest forms of poetry.
My words could go on flowing forever, like a stream, and that could be poetry;
or they might stop without warning and
poem by Patti Masterman
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Poetry is Everywhere
To all my friends who say –
Poetry is not my cup of tea,
I’d strongly recommend that
they watch “Dead Poet’s Society”.
Poetry is in your cup of tea,
poetry is in every wave of the sea,
poetry is in the song of a bird
poetry springs forth from each of your word.
Poetry is in the smile of a baby,
poetry is in the redness of a ruby,
poetry is the union of your heart and mind
poetry teaches you to be soft and kind.
Poetry is the song of your soul,
poetry reminds you of your life’s goal,
poetry is in a game of cricket,
poetry is in the sound of a cricket.
Imagine life without poetry -
What an empty life it would be!
Imagine a world without poetry -
What a dull place it would be!
09 June 2010
! 2: 50 pm
poem by Gita Ashok
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I love poetry
What if the world don't recognize poetry?
What if poetry is banned in my country?
What if poetry has no meaning?
What if those who later care can't view my handwriting?
What if my poetry puts me in prison?
For it reveals the truth untold this season!
What if bard's brain is blunt?
And again famished then faint?
For my poetry makes truth to smile
What if in the prison i die?
And maggots dine in my belly
Still i love poetry.
poem by Adesitimi Taiwo
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Poetry In Motion
When my world is dark, I must only think of you
Your poetry in motion, in everything you do
Like the ocean waves caressing the sand
Fluid and sleek from head to toe
Your poetry in motion
Do you know
The way your eyes sparkle
Celestial
Divine
She’s poetry in motion
Angelic kind
The way the Sun shines thru your dress
Voluptuous hips
Full silhouette
Your poetry in motion
Aphrodite in flesh
poem by Joseph Caraveo
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Songs Of Poetry
Poetry is the wave
drenching the sea-shore!
Sea-gull hovering overhead!
Poetry is lilack
Poetry is lily
Poetry is rose
Poetry is cherry!
Poetry tears down the cheek
liquidated in joy!
liquidated in grief!
Poetry consoles the soul!
As glass of sherry!
Poetry draws the out-line
....the cosmos forms!
Poetry paints the blue
....the sky performs!
Poetry waves the desire
...love sings along!
Poetry paves the way
....makes us strong!
Poetry dreams and cry
....erases wrong!
poem by Suvra Bhattacharya
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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