A New Scroll
It displayed one man residing in the head,
Magic has compartments to be lead.
A scripture shall complain if rewards appear
To the dishonest, to the people who do not adhere
To their faith, the knowledge of God,
A straightforward voluminous writer to applaud.
I see sheep when there are lambs of beauty,
Youth heals the sick by avoiding ultimately.
The new scroll suggests fierce winds
Of writing, of poetry and of whirlwinds.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Scroll With No Words
I saw the brown dusty scroll,
Took it with eager to have knowledge,
Might it be a lexicon i pondered?
Or rather a verbatim of illusions?
Or maybe a book of inspiration?
Reaching out to remove the dust,
The scroll automatically opened,
To the amusement of an eager man,
It was a Scripture, with no words in it
I realised the mandate, i should write it
In my scroll shall be the thoughts of you,
Writing them in consistence of love,
My thoughts i shall daily dedicate,
Writing the unexplained feelings,
So shall be my scriptures filled with you,
The poems i shall write,
The stories i shall narrate,
The myths i shall explain,
My love i shall describe,
And my scroll i shall surely write.
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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My reason's why poetry is never devilish,
My reasons why poetry is never devilish,
My reason is that poetry made me realise knowledge of Imagination,
It is from the pleasure that express Human emotions,
If Man is from God then poetry is from man,
A man is a Spiritual being,
Existing with Infinite Knowledge,
Poetry is not supporting felonies,
Either way the great Prophet's recognised poetry,
Poetry can take away Indifference,
Create a spiritual man into Beauty of the soul,
My reason is that felonies is worser than writing a poem,
Fornication and gossip is much distinguished from Angelic Realm,
I think that Poetry hast better explanation,
In a World that is very Shallow in Spiritual Knowledge.
poem by Abdul Karim
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No Money in Poetry
Oh he wants me to stop
Writing poetry for nothing
He'd love to see me drop
This pen for other things.
It will not make me rich
That's what he always says
Late nights of writing which
Wastes my time and does not pay.
In poetry there is no money
But I need to be a writer
For I can say this truthfully
There's no poetry in money either.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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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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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 View To Complete And Realize
Following those paths,
That ultimately lead to oblivion...
Is something done some people do,
As if this was their custom...
With a doing of it.
To prove they exist to initiate chaos,
And confusion.
Those not learning,
From their own repeated experiences...
Should not be admonished for expressing ignorance.
There are those with fatalistic ambitions,
Who are rarely found sitting in seats of leadership...
That seek,
At the expense of others...
A view to complete and realize their sick sadistic wishes.
And like sheep,
The people allow these people with charisma...
To follow.
Believing them to represent their interests the best.
And they 'do' represent...
Their overwhelming lack of concern,
As best as they possibly can present it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Beauty and the beast
In face and feature, line and grace,
a beauty like few others.
The first blush of her youth now past
Found her a wife and mother.
Her husband was a brutish man
Of gentleness devoid
His psychiatrist’s opinion read:
“Schizophrenic- paranoid”
Beauty’s son was with some friends.
Her bag was packed and ready.
She’d make a clean break with her man-
She’d found a job already.
He’d just been RIF’d that fateful day.
And spent it in a bar
The drink but fueled his darkening rage.
He could barely drive his car.
No witness saw what happened next.-
None lived to testify
But the evidence of her wounds suggests
That Beauty begged to die.
Her picture on the Post’s front page
Displayed a classic beauty.
-The bleeding corpse the coroner saw:
The horror and the pity.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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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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Magic writer
Am the writer who going to write about the truth
Am the writer who going to write about the things you went throw
Am going to take all the pain out of you
And make magic to it and make it go away
Am the magic writer
I was born in the magic city
Where every one was smiling and happy
Where every kid had their own magical talent
I had the talent to write about people’s pain
And I could take it away
Because am the magic writer
poem by Aliyah Aliyah
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Paperback Writer
(LennonMcCartney)
Paperback writer
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It's based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn't understand
His son is working for the Daily Mail
It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's a thousand pages, give or take a few
I'll be writing more in a week or two
I can make it longer if you like the style
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
If you really like it you can have the rights
It could make a million for you overnight
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer (fade out)
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Scripture suggests that the elements in space were created for the benefit of earth, while evolution suggests that earth is an insignificant speck in vast space.
quote by Walter Lang
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Another One Of Those Poem Thingies...
Well as you can tell,
This is just another one of those poem thingies.
But I ask you,
'What is poetry? I mean,
Do people just write words in wierd orders.'
Well, poetry is an expression,
An opinion, well I guess it could be,
Anything,
From a very 'sensitive' piece of writing
To an essay that you wrote three years ago.
The definition that you find in a dictionary
Has nothing to do with poetry.
It is just a summary,
No an assumsion of what those fools writing the dictionaries
Think it is.
Poetry is whatever you want it to be.
So next time some person who thinks that they're too cool,
And that your so stupid because you like poetry,
Weather it's writing it or just reading it,
Tell them that they write it too,
Weather or not they consider it to be poetry,
It's their opinion and anything,
Can be poetry.
I have a love for poetry,
That can not be described.
I know,
That sounds obsesive.
But I really do love poetry.
I feel like I can say anything and,
It doesn't have to be serious,
I mean it can,
But it is not required.
Nothing is required of you when you write poetry.
It is relaxing,
A chance to step aside from life,
Even if it's just for a few minutes.
I do it for my own enjoyment an relaxation.
Why do you?
poem by Maddy Macleod
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Is Not!
Round is not round
Square is not square
Paradoxical it may sound
Ultimately so it transpires!
Round of talks is not really round
Back to square is not really square!
Physical beauty is a part of beauty
Ethical beauty is real beauty
Intellectual beauty is immortal beauty
Individual's beauty, beauty of the society!
Beauty of the mind
Beauty of the soul
Need of the mankind
Ugly mind takes its toll!
Honesty is not honesty
Unless shown in trinity
Thoughts, words and deeds
Lest it leads to dishonest deeds!
Logic is not logic
Unless true to the basic
poem by Subbaraman N V
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Faith and its role
There are two kinds of faith people live with:
Faith in lordship and faith in fellowship;
The first is that someone will do for you
And the second is others won't fail you.
With faith in the shepherd, the sheep follow.
With faith in the fellow sheep, the sheep feed.
Without faith in system, you can't follow.
Without faith in others, you can't transact.
Faith in God, faith in fate and faith in luck
Would weaken the faith you have in yourself.
Faith in love, faith in trade and faith in helps
Would slacken the cognizance you possess.
Faith can't be dispensed with altogether.
Faith in the unknown has no guarantee.
Faith in the known has no certainty
But can strengthen their faithfulness to you.
Faith in parents and faith in teachers,
Faith in doctors and faith in medicine
And faith in judges and in justice
Denounced altogether, one cannot exist.
Faith in spouses and faith in children,
Faith in siblings and faith in servants
And faith in professional ethics
Abandoned altogether, one cannot thrive.
Without faith, promises bear no meanings.
Without faith, guarantees have no bearings.
Without faith, investments will have no life.
Only with faith could life be felt secure.
Faith might crack when it is misplaced.
Faith might break when it's sabotaged.
Faith might crash when it's blindfolded.
Yet, one has to vouch for faith in life.
Faith comes from ignorance of things.
Faith comes from lack of influence.
Faith comes in helpless conditions.
Faith exercises no control yet.
Have faith in you and accept the outcome.
Have faith in others and give allowance.
Have faith in future and shelve the distress.
Faith vacated, worries will occupy.
19.02.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Revolution Poetry Is....!
Are you writing words of rhythm according to thoughts?
Or are you coining words of thoughts according to rhythm?
Or are you writing poetry both working at the same time?
Asking so, if they ask me how to write poetry, what shall I say?
Poetry writing is natural, spontaneous expression from heart!
How can this be taught to anyone to write poetry ever at all?
Poetry is a spontaneous flow of words direct from heart ever!
I wonder many a time how am I writing poetry at all ever!
But this is happening to my great surprise since longtime!
Due to engagements ever poetry only I am able to write
Though my aim in the beginning was writing stories.....,
Novels, short stories and nonfiction articles of criticism!
Poetry books too I have completed writing so since long
But what a pity there is no reception for poetry books...!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Pope John Paul II (A Biography Poem Sequence-3)
Faith of the Millennial Pope: contd
No papal word touches man’s heart,
Howev’r appealing, full of art,
Unless refined by grace of God,
And blessed by Christ himself, the Lord.
The pope did therefore meet his sheep,
To pray for them and even weep,
Converting souls through God’s own grace,
And throwing queries on their face!
To him, man’s faith was number one;
All things were next under the sun;
His moments with the people meant,
Reconciling with transcendent!
His motorcade was majestic –
The moments inspiring, magic;
His rendezvous with God’s creatures
Gave occasion for great lectures!
Each moment was a bolt from blue;
Lost sheep to God, the pope would woo;
The moment was mystical too;
To souls, much goodness, it would do.
The pope shared his testimony;
That didn’t stem from greed of money;
The pope bore witness to his faith;
‘God only changes sinner’s fate’.
His heart was Catholic, fierce and true;
By quest for truth, he would move, do;
Miracles did happen in life;
Both faith and tongue worked like a knife!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-01-2009
poem by John Celes
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0283 A Poet Condescends
It has been brought to my notice
that a review by you of
my latest book of writings
(the term ‘poem’ suggests
false expectations and is not therefore
used by me) claims that, I quote,
‘this poetry is so obscure that
I reckon it’s a hoax’…
Your comment is truer than
you yourself would appreciate.
My writing is indeed a hoax
in terms of your level of
understanding. I do not seek
easy paths to meaning, nor
the standard readymade language of the
avant-garde. So what I have
worked though, you have not,
and therefore, your understanding
however partial would be, in your
terms, a hoax.
Indeed, were you to write
an identical ‘poem’ to my writing,
it would indeed be a hoax –
it would not be the revisioning
of the cosmos, the semantic discourse
with language and communication itself,
the thoughtful and reasoned displacement
of prepositions and their too-long
accepted usage, the deep rejection of
all parameters of lazy thinking about
the imagined ‘purpose’ of poetry,
the study of Chinese orthography as preferred signifier,
in short, the ‘depth’ and ‘breadth’ –
although I of course reject the
accepted implications of those
out-dated metaphors for the
neurological Cartesian – which, in short,
‘I’ as presented in my writing
have voyaged.
However, in
the spirit of charity, I wish you well
in the deeper study of my writings,
and your ‘poetry’ magazine
should it continue its somewhat
faltering publication.
Besides, I’m a widely published
writer so yah boo sucks.
(Palinode to the above: everyone has the right to write obscure poetry...I'm unfairly attributing to the poet the attitude of those who put themselves on a pedestal and 'explain' why they're a genius...) (Though of course...)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Sheep and Lambs
All in the April evening,
April airs were abroad;
The sheep with their little lambs
Passed me by on the road.
The sheep with their little lambs
Passed me by on the road;
All in the April evening
I thought on the Lamb of God.
The lambs were weary and crying
With a weak, human cry.
I thought on the Lamb of God
Going meekly to die.
Up in the blue, blue mountains
Dewy pastures are sweet;
Rest for the little bodies,
Rest for the little feet.
But for the Lamb of God,
Up on the hill-top green,
Only a Cross of shame
Two stark crosses between.
All in the April evening,
April airs were abroad;
I saw the sheep with their lambs,
And thought on the Lamb of God.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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OH! I can't SAY that....(a revision)
I'm sick of f\%king Facebook,
sick of emails,
sick of people talking,
sick of my work radio beeping,
I'm sick of words.
I am being cluttered to death by words....
I am sick of listening to crazies on the bus,
sick of television spewing out banality.
Sick of voices, sick of billboards, sick of typing.
I am word sick.
I am sick of people
The more they let me know them the less I care.
I don't care what your baby did.
don't give a f$ck about what you ate for dinner.
I don't even f*ckin care if your grandpa died.
Sick, sick, sick, I am making myself sick
just writing this sh#t down.
Nothing anyone has to say is of any importance at all
that includes me.
I am drowning in words, and voices, and mundane ideas.
I am sick of people trying to 'set the world on fire'
But I do wish them luck....
because some men just want to see the world burn.
I'm sick of f&cking texts and even more sick of phone calls.
I am sick of adverts on the telly.
I am fed up with peoples life stories.
I don't care what you have been through,
as long as you will let me sleep with you.
And I will only sleep with you
if you promise to wear a ball gag.
poem by Brevet Wilson
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