Excellent Path
A path of excellence flows through the life,
An infant asks what we learn for the path;
One man is better at the task than another
For all have tasks that are arduous, that back break.
Infancy is a prize and we carefully count
Their years for all to hear; the hearing is complete.
Excel for them, each will gain their respite,
One man is better at the task than another.
May we fluently speak for our throats,
The throat enables our deliberate thoughts of precision.
The real sages recite the verses of poetry
And write their own prose for all infants to read.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Ingredients For Success
Each one of us in this world,
Strives hard for success,
But if we fail, we are left,
Wondering what we did less.
There are some ingredients needed,
Upon which, I would like to stress
Which, if included in our life style,
Can guarantee success.
We first need to learn,
Not to get oppressed.
To avoid those who discourage,
To follow the path of progress.
We have to learn to work hard,
Because this, if we possess,
Will act like a bridge,
And connect us to success.
We must be dedicated to our work,
And do whatever possible to fulfill our dream,
Gradually, in this journey,
We will gain self- esteem.
Another important ingredient-
Never wear a mask,
We should be ourself, build our own path,
Which will satisfactorily complete our task.
Last but never the least,
Try hard to achieve excellence,
For it is excellence which will,
In the end, lead us to success.
Go get these ingredients, my friend,
Only then will you be called,
A successful person in the end.
-Mugdha Khedkar
poem by Mugdha Khedkar
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Learning language
Hear and hear to learn hearing.
Speak and speak to learn speaking.
Read and read to learn reading.
Write and write to learn writing.
They are four ways traffic.
04.02.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There is poetry even in prose, in all the great prose which is not merely utilitarian or didactic: there exist poets who write in prose or at least in more or less apparent prose; millions of poets write verses which have no connection with poetry.
quote by Eugenio Montale
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sometimes I Read Or Hear A Poem
SOMETIMES I READ OR HEAR A POEM
Sometimes I read or hear a poem
And know there is real Poetry in the world-
Poetry that takes me beyond anything I myself could know or write-
Poetry of a different kind of Beauty -
A language I never thought to hear
But once heard charms and delights me
As never before.
There is Poetry-
And there are real Poets-
And there are yet Dreams to be written-
So write on Stranger
Maybe you are the next one
A real poet
A voice the world truly needs and wants and loves to hear
Beyond any ever heard before.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Another Task At Hand
One more task finished my friend, for what God starts He will end.
He will finish so that you will know, God will help you as you grow.
For God is with you in all you do, God is there to see you through.
God will help you through every task, and all you have to do is ask.
Christ has work prepared for you, in the simple daily tasks you do.
Friend, daily as you do your job, you perform your work as for God.
Just do each task to please The Lord, and your effort is not ignored.
And as you work to serve The Lord, you will reap an eternal reward.
My friend, with The Lord any task, can have fruit that will surely last.
As you do the mundane things, God gives your heart songs to sing.
Friend, even when the day is bleak, simply let The Good Lord speak.
God speaks to you in The Word, in Godly wisdom that you've heard.
God’s Spirit creates in you and me, a witness that all others can see,
That in your job throughout the day, Jesus is with you along the way.
When you work at any place, you can point to His Awesome Grace.
A Grace that sustains me and you, throughout every task that we do.
As you grow you become assured, your daily strength is in The Lord.
For The Lord knows what is best, and in every task you are blessed.
With this task now said and done, you can point to God’s Only Son,
Christ, who is with you every day, through every task along the way.
The Task Of Gardening
A task awaits us in the morning,
Pulling my leg and arm for five years.
The days and nights pass for the same task,
Yet these years, we experience a more important ghost.
The tasks are gained by the brain,
And to this are exhortations.
We have goals to achieve, fright to decline,
But when do the flowers of the garden grow
With brains of humans?
The morning needed us when it expressed itself
And made appearances.
The task of the garden is unique.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Safe Haven
Where speaks thought?
The inner soliloquy.
That which builds mountains
Creates entire worlds
That float with no substance.
A deep inner life non dare see.
The fevered overflow that sustains,
Gives life the earthly desert
To endure the everyday.
Enables a life rich and fertile
Whilst mundane tasks performed.
Yet all around madness flows,
The insanities of greed and lust
Where beauty's lost and love despised.
These inner thoughts do give me strength,
Help to ride the tortuous path,
And bring me home to you.
poem by Paul Brookes
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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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I have a dream
I want to write real poetry
But I’m not sure how I should start
I need someone who can teach me
the basics of poetic art.
I do not know if it should rhyme
and meter is a mystery.
I have the will I have the time.
I somebody will please help me.
I have the urge I have to write
I really want to get it right
What makes it poetry or prose?
there is a difference I suppose.
I know there’s different schools of thought
an ongoing controversy.
I’m simply looking for support
to help me with my poetry.
I have the basic writing tools
a pad a pencil and P.C.
I need to learn the basic rules
which turn prose into poetry.
I am willing to study hard
and heed advice that’s offered me.
By any older wiser bard
who’s skilled at writing poetry.
26-Apr-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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)
A Peculiar Kind
Some say he’s a genius
Others that he’s strange
Me I find him an inspiration
The way he spews out words
Playing with images and feeling
Like a child’s toy
I could read his diary
Just to hear his thoughts
Try piecing together
The ideas he built into poetry
So I may write like him
Learn to be crafty
Twist verses into lines
That lead you away
And catch you off guard
Many fail to understand
Or don’t wish to learn
They say he is strange
But when it comes to people
I like his kind
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Observe It and Believe
Release the tension in that grasp you have.
Let go and let God complete the task.
Just ask your spiritual guides to clear your path.
Material things you have wont last!
Don't be afraid,
If the importance of your past...
Seems to be fading fast.
A new day is dawning...
To remove all masks.
And reveal the light you hold within!
A fresh awareness upon us all begins.
Observe it and believe.
With faith you will witness your happiness increase.
Observe it and believe.
A higher conciousness comes for you to receive.
Observe it and believe.
All conflicts seen from you will leave.
Observe it and believe.
The energy within you,
Has given you breath to breathe.
Inhale and exhale.
Do this quietly.
Observe it and believe...
God wants to free you from all lies and deceit!
Observe it and believe,
He has come to comfort!
He has.
Let go and let God complete the task.
Don't be afraid,
If the importance of your past...
Seems to be fading fast.
Let go and let God complete the task,
To bring upon you everlasting happiness.
Observe it and believe.
Expect this and receive!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Let's Keep Moving On
It’s often hard for us
To let go of our old ways
Of who we really are
Of what brings you pleasures
Or in dealing hardships in life
No matter how much we struggle
We keep on coming back
Our feelings of fear for our inadequacies
Keeps us from blocking the right path
Our feelings of unworthiness
Our fears of failures
Seems like a ghost
That keeps on haunting us
In times like this
I thank our Almighty God
For giving me Someone
To lean on and be my guide
At this point in life
We must pray and ask for His light
Learn to accept and forgive ourselves
For our limitations in doing hard tasks
Time will come
And we could gain the prize
Live by the principle
God is doing for us
What we could not do for ourselves
Time takes time
We will suceed if we try
poem by Rose de Ramar
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A Song Of Comfort
"Sleep, weary ones, while ye may --
Sleep, oh, sleep!"
Eugene Field.
Thro' May time blossoms, with whisper low,
The soft wind sang to the dead below:
"Think not with regret on the Springtime's song
And the task ye left while your hands were strong.
The song would have ceased when the Spring was past,
And the task that was joyous be weary at last."
To the winter sky when the nights were long
The tree-tops tossed with a ceaseless song:
"Do ye think with regret on the sunny days
And the path ye left, with its untrod ways?
The sun might sink in a storm cloud's frown
And the path grow rough when the night came down."
In the grey twilight of the autumn eves,
It sighed as it sang through the dying leaves:
"Ye think with regret that the world was bright,
That your path was short and your task was light;
The path, though short, was perhaps the best
And the toil was sweet, that it led to rest."
poem by John McCrae
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Incomudro - Hymn To The Atman
Run a silent path to nowhere, everything is all
You could have a pleasant life if Summer had no Fall
Treat yourself so gently though the task is often hard
Man is not a God it seems, who holds the final card
Close your eyes and feel the darkness, speak and hear the sound,
We only catch a glimpse of all the life that is around,
The man is not alive who knows the value of his soul,
And when our lives are pulled away, there's more to fill the hole
I wonder what you'd think if all the changes didn't come,
For growing old is only going back to where you're from
Far beyond our senseless thoughts there lies a core of gold
Where essence of the newborn child is waiting in the old,
The Master Plan is well conceived, it's there for all to see
And each day that is spent in thought is living harmony
Reach into the depths of being, pass beyond the years,
Time is lost in stillness, where there are no hopes and fears,
Linger in the void, and like a beacon in the night
Purity will fill your soul with ever-present light
Everything you've seen is waiting patiently within
For growing old is only going back to where you've been
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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My Preference
Modern proponents of free form.
Do not accept that poetry
has certain rules and must conform.
Or it becomes mere anarchy.
Anything goes just will not do.
It’s either poetry or prose.
One must give credit where it’s due
They both have merit I suppose.
Prose poetry cannot exist.
An oxymoron obviously
but modern writers will insist
that what they write is poetry.
They aren’t content to call it prose
well written and quite beautiful.
Care taken with the words they chose
describing something wonderful.
Although so many writers try.
There’s very few achieve their aim.
They do not stop to wonder why
But simply write more of the same.
Make no attempt to learn the rules
Meter and rhyme a mystery
they lack the simple basic tools
You need for writing poetry.
A poem is a message to
transmit your ideas and your thoughts.
So other folks can share them too.
If you can write them as you ought.
Simplicity and clarity
are prerequisites for our art.
The finest kinds of poetry
are written from the poets heart.
Mere strings of words in random lines
are neither prose nor poetry.
Each of us knows what he defines
as being his idea of poesy.
I rest my case I make no plea
I merely state my preference.
Applicable only to me
I do not wish to cause offence.
6-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dearly Beloved (write To Me)
Write me a poem, dearly beloved,
Write of your love, your fidelity, your proclivity
For doing what is right for me, not what is right;
Speak to me of what you feel
Not sugared words served on pity tarts
Write me a poem, dearly beloved,
If you cannot, then contend to break my heart.
Write me a prose, dearly beloved,
Then narrate it on an elevated stand
To the heavens and the sea and whatever lies betwixt
The shadows of both so that all can hear;
Speak only truth for I cannot stomach lies of such art
Write me a prose, dearly beloved,
If you cannot, then contend to break my heart.
Write me a sonnet, dearly beloved
And sing it by the edge of the fast flowing stream
Sing to me as if you sang to all the forest
And called forth its life from the concealing leaves of jade
And of this assembly of the innocent, I shall be an active part
So write me a sonnet, dearly beloved,
If you cannot, then contend to break my heart.
poem by Samah Khan
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Totally Biased
I do not often write free form
to me it is not poetry.
Freely admit my prejudice
I think it’s just a passing phase
Although I can appreciate
poetic and well written prose
This does not make it poetry
When I consult my dictionary
it makes it very clear to me.
All writing must be one of those
It can’t be both at he same time.
Prose poetry cannot exist
an obvious oxymoron
Though modern writer still insist
that what they write is poetry
.It may be really beautiful
and well presented on the page
but definitely not poetry.
Why can they not be satisfied
with their well written thoughts in prose.
Why do they call it poetry
a dandelions not a rose.
Its meter defines poetry
it doesn’t even need to rhyme.
Even free verse had its rules
but writers seem to think today
There are no rules anything goes.
I nail my colours to the mast
Not afraid to let my bias show.
31-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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