My Poems
My poems are my part,
They are my throbbing heart.
When I write them, I wish,
an honest poet's eyes
will bless them to be good
and true to life......
If, the holy souls
can't read, what is the
value of blooming emotion?
Rather, I'll sing the lullaby,
To make them sleep, in the
softest corner of my bleeding,
heart! I won't ever let them to be
in touch with the unholy air.
Because, they are my sacred prayer!
poem by Nilakshi Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Do not read my poems…. [for YOU ]
Do not read my poems…
After I am dead
As a lament, a wail
An elegy, a requiem
Do not read my poems…
After I am gone
When no more I can
Hear your velvet voice.
Do not read my poems…
Alone without me
To comment along
And read with you
But, do read my poems
When I beside you lie
With my head resting
On your supporting arm
Listening to you read
In whisper, in kisses
In silence, in love
In sleep, in dream
Watching you feel
Every word I wrote
I’ll close my eyes - Love
Brush aside my hair
With your breathe
Which half veils my face
Sleepless fevered I wrote
Read me my poems
Now sing me a lullaby
Rock me to sleep
On your broad chest
Diving into your eyes
A thousand times
I am refreshed
By your smile
I’ll write on you a poem
Traced by my fingertips
To be etched in your heart
And burnt into your soul!
So, do not read my poems…
poem by Angelina Pandian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Gratis Et Amore
for the poems that i have written
and which you read
by heart, i bless you with a prayer for luck
for another year
for the poems which i have not written yet,
i wish you a longer life, so you may read them
when they become finally written
for the poems i have in mind and which i will not write
i wish you patience i wish you some prayers
may these poems realize their worth
may they decide to become truths
with you i pray that God may be also kind
for those still unspoken
and may God bless your mind
may they open up like tight buds to become the flowers
of the world, the sun to warm them, the rain to shower them
may these poems live and linger
may they be like grass always unswerving to grow and cover everything
alive and loving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poet's Soul
I read the poet's souls in the poems,
I read the poet's inner world.
Pulse beats louder, then duller,
And all my doubts are just hurled.
The sadness sometimes a kiss cover,
Then suddenly curled at my feet,
Giving the whole body a heat,
The warmth of a true lover.
Fever passes through nervous points,
Chill runs through the whole body,
I read the poet's souls in the poems,
And feel that the soul is haughty.
I delve into the words and their nature,
Understanding destroys the walls,
Now I would like to capture
The main idea and the poems calls.
I read and my joy is in full swing,
My own soul gets the wings,
I am ready to fly with the singer,
Like me the poet is a swinger.
I am with that one who dared
To plunge into the holy spring naked,
I am with that one who shared
An inspiration and was not faked.
I read the poet's souls in the poems.
But do I read the souls of reality or dream?
Let's deem that no one here and there lies,
And the law of poetry is always precise.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 4th of April,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Only You (Can Make My Heart Sing)
Only you, only you
Only you, only you can make my heart sing
Wasting ‘way days of the past
Wonderin’ where my life would go
So I worried ‘bout tomorrow
In a world so ready to blow
Only you, only you
Only you, only you can make my heart sing
Only you, only you
Only you, only you can make my heart sing
Use to write songs for the deaf
Songs about my pain and strife
Songs of hate and of confusion
Living death while thinking it life
Only you, only you
Only you, only you can make my heart sing
Then you’re holy spirit within me
Taught me truth of today
And what your lovin’ means and why I am here
I’m to serve you with all of my heart with all of my mind through your spirit dear
Only you, only you
Only you, only you can make my heart sing
Now is the time I contend with
Writing every song for you
Praising you for all you have given
Believing in your word of truth
Only you, only you
Only you, only you can make my heart sing
Only you, only you
Only you, only you can make my heart sing
Only you can make my heart sing
Yes, only you can make my heart sing
poem by Will Fiala
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You are the poet
Poet is a journalist
Watches the feelings
Watches the emotions
Watches the world
Watches the light and
Watches the dark
He thinks everywhere
Others can’t imagine
-o-
Chasing the thoughts
Searching the words
Forming the sentences
To give the expression
To put the life in it
-o-
Poet is like a cook
Collecting good ingredients
Cooking the feelings to
Present in better way
-o-
Poet is like a soldier
Fighting in the war and
Fighting with the self
Feeling the pain and
Bleeding the emotions
Making room for self
To express the story
To save the people
-o-
Poet is like mother
Cooking the soft food
Feeding smoothly
Treating the readers like his own kids
Reader’s happiness is poet’s happiness
If you can’t praise, no problem
But don’t forget to acknowledge
-o-
Poet is the center of universe
Editors, Music directors,
Composers, singers, musicians,
Media everybody is rotating around
-o-
Poet writes to quench intellectuals
Poet writes to entertain good listeners
Poet writes to move hearts
Poet writes for a cause
Poet write for entertainment
Poets write to express themselves
Poets write to share their feelings
-o-
When time is running
Poem is the history
In present it reflects the story
Poem gives the hope in future
-o-
Poet is the planter
Plants seeds into your hearts
Make sure that it sprouts
Brings the thoughts into actions
-o-
Poet is the director behind your actions
Poet is the motivator behind your feelings
Poet is the coach who puts you on track
Poet is person whom your heart likes
-o-
Poet is the soldier when he uses poem as bullet
Poet is the coach when his poem moves your heart
Poet is the love, when he gives poem as flower
Poet is the parent, when he consoles you in your troubles
Poet is the healer who heals souls
Poet enters different roles
To justify the poem and to justify the people
-o-
Poem is the form of literature
We can find in holy books
Poem is the feelings
Poem touches the hearts
-o-
Sun can be seen in day
Moon can be seen in night
But poem is there day and night
Poem is powerful than nature
Poem don’t have life and death
Just it flows from heart to heart
Poet is the instrument
In the hands of the poem
-o-
If you drink a cup of alcohol
It may stay there just for hours
If you read a good poem
Nobody knows how long it gives the kick
-o-
When you have time, read a good poem
When you have time, write some poetry
When you have time, share a poem
-o-
You will be the poet, when you read a poem
You will be the poet, when you put on paper
You can be the poet to change your self
You can be the poet to change the world
You must be a poet, to enjoy this life
Waiting for you, to listen to your poem
-o-
poem by Bhavani Polimetla
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If You Are a Poet
If you are a poet it means so much
as others souls you often touch.
Your own soul you cruelly cut
petting the others with your blood.
To be a poet means to sing of beauty
and it’s the main poet’s duty.
Rhyming the words to tell the truth
and it has to be quite smooth.
To be a poet means to burn with passion,
to treat the others grief with a compassion,
to love the others as yourself,
to hear the voice of kind elf.
To be a poet means to dream,
to tell the world a touching theme,
to speak sincerely and frankly
but not just rhyming poems blankly.
Rhyming words is not the main,
there’s no need to strain your brain.
If your heart has nothing to tell
rhymed words will look like hell.
To be a poet means to write
as if your blood gushes from vein,
to write the rhythm of living breath,
the rhythm of life that seethe.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
30/9 2010
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Suchitra Mitra
Just as a poet doesn’t have to write
Many poems to win your heart.
One good poem is wholesome
Enough to stir your heart’s strings.
Similarly, a singer doesn’t have to
Sing scores of songs to touch you
Deep down.
Just one heart-felt song is good enough
To etch your memories…for a lifetime.
I heard her, when I was barely in my teens,
I remembered her all through these years…
Today, when she died, I felt as if a part of me
Has gone forever, with her.
That one song, she sang, she sang it so beautifully,
None else could have crooned it so gracefully….
The song was Krishnokoli.
The singer is Suchitra Mitra.
Now she’s no more, yet I remember her,
Thank her, feel grateful to her, for that
One song she sang so wonderfully….
It has remained a part of me, and will
Remain with me, like a timeless beauty.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poems About.
There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am My Poem
When you see me,
you see my poems.
For when i breath, i breath out ballads.
But vers libre express my heart.
Should i write in complicated
and rhythmic words to make
my poems deep and beautiful?
My life is complicated already.
Should i write in simple and
enticing words to make
my poems attractive?
My life is not that simple.
Like stream to the river
down to the sea,
so is my poems from my
soul to my spirit down to my body.
You may disapprove me
but come and take a walk
within my soul and see if
you can live there for a moment.
So when i write, must i
invite you to read.
Read if you want to.
I write because the chamber
of soul finds relieve.
poem by Enebeli Ifyprada
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Poems
When I sing poems, I sing for me and for me alone. As I read my poems, I see that I have much to perfect in this art. I force rhyme schemes, my rythm goes into off beat tangents, I have more song than substance, incomplete incongruous thoughts, terrible syntax, obscure, almost too obscure meanings but beauty I have and love, and an honest heart. I realize my poems are me, all my inconsistencies, flaws, beauty and love. That's why I sing poems, sing for me and me alone…
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Dialogue. Lute And Voice
L. Sing, Laura, sing, whilst silent are the sphears,
And all the eyes of Heaven are turn'd to ears.
V. Touch thy dead wood, and make each living tree
Unchain its feet, take arms, and follow thee.
CHORUS.
L. Sing. V. Touch. 0 Touch. L. 0 Sing.
BOTH. It is the souls, souls sole offering.
V. Touch the divinity of thy chords, and make
Each heart string tremble, and each sinew shake.
L. Whilst with your voyce you rarifie the air,
None but an host of angels hover here.
CHORUS. SING, TOUCH, &c.
V. Touch thy soft lute, and in each gentle thread
The lyon and the panther captive lead.
L. Sing, and in heav'n inthrone deposed love,
Whilst angels dance, and fiends in order move.
DOUBLE CHORUS.
What sacred charm may this then be
In harmonie,
That thus can make the angels wild,
The devils mild,
And teach low hell to heav'n to swell,
And the high heav'n to stoop to hell?
poem by Richard Lovelace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Potty Poet
Upon the computer keyboard,
With QWERTY squashed about,
The poet slept and soon he snored,
Four-thirty... tired out...
And there he dreamt he was awake
And typing poems still,
As if he didn't need a break
Or tiny sleeping pill...
But God was keen to calm him down,
Excited as he was
And gently eased away each frown
For he was loved because
The poet had a heart of gold,
Although his eyes were red,
Yet didn't do what he'd been told
And simply go to bed...
God sighed at such a silly man,
His whole life left to live,
As if God didn't have a plan,
More poems still to give...
Impatience is a tragic mask
That blinds the weary soul,
Such that the poet didn't ask
The Lord to take control...
So pace yourselves, don't be like him,
Take one day at a time...
Don't be obsessed, filled to the brim
With poetry and rhyme...
Sleep brings a boost, a needed lift,
As if to grease the wheels,
Sleep is a precious holy gift,
A sacred rest that heals...
Let eyes stay closed, let dreams unfold,
Let lessons still be learned,
Let fantasy at last take hold
Till daylight has returned...
The potty poet gave his all,
He'll sleep ten hours or more...
Regardless, poets, great or small,
That's what our beds are for...
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Upon My Lap My Sovereign Sits
Upon my lap my sovereign sits
And sucks upon my breast;
Meantime his love maintains my life
And gives my sense her rest.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
When thou hast taken thy repast,
Repose, my babe, on me;
So may thy mother and thy nurse
Thy cradle also be.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
I grieve that duty doth not work
All that my wishing would,
Because I would not be to thee
But in the best I should.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
Yet as I am, and as I may,
I must and will be thine,
Though all too little for thyself
Vouchsafing to be mine.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
poem by Martin Peerson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dark writing....
Dark shadows sneak under the door
As I keep writing these dark lyrics more
Of a nature that's not evil or unkind
Rather of disturbing thoughts in my mind.
They say for everything bad it's found
Something good it has to come around
The weather wouldn't be pleasant if wasn't for the rain
These feelings wouldn't exist if it wasn't for the pain.
I'm doing a storm in a cup of water to prepare
Meanwhile around people don't even care
I pray for my life to not end before these stanzas
But mindlessly I write and write looking for the answers.
My cold dark poems are everywhere
Floating around in the midnight air
Listen, closely you have no choice
These dark words, my deep voice.
Where the world is falling apart,
There lies a dark poem of the heart
Dark poems tell the darkest lines
They make you hear their shrieking cries.
Hold dearly onto your ravaged soul;
Don't find you've let life take its toll
Youll find my dark poems are everywhere
Read them, like them, if you dare….
I am the shadow hiding in the dark
The evil sounds that wake you in the night
I'm a shadow lurking in the dark
Because still it always feels so right
So I write my shadowy poems line by line
But I'm constantly over looked
My brain is fried down to the spine
And my broken heart is cooked
I'm left only with part of a heart
That will never again beat
I'm the one person
No one has to meet
I am a shadow lurking in the dark
Writing my poems so deep
Whispering my words so stark
Pray your soul to keep…
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Crooked Sixpence
TAKE then back your foolish token,
Since it cannot change like you;
When I feel my heart is broken,
Shall it still proclaim you true?
When you gave it, you besought me
Never from that pledge to part:
If I am what then you thought me,
You have spurned an honest heart!
When, far hence, the boisterous billows
Rage upon the stormy deep;
And your landsmen press their pillows,
Careless how we sailors sleep:
Think how happy you had made him--
Think how grieved he was to part;--
Who, though harshly you upbraid him,
Loved ye, with an honest heart!
Farewell, Nancy, but if ever
Eyes you love grow gloomy, then,
Oh! remember, though we sever
You have still a friend in Ben.
Yes; dear girl, he'll still defend you;
And some comfort 'twill impart,
Aid of any sort to lend you--
Though you broke an honest heart!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poems are part of me
Poems are part of me, until
I become part of them.
I have to write, what I hear, see and feel.
When poems are written, the world shall stop
and listen to what was said,
as a poet, I hope it's not a flop.
When ever I die, the poem will live on,
always read, always praised,
long after I'm gone.
It's Not Easy Being The Love Poet
'The Love Poet' that's what they call me
I admit it's flattering being the one and only
Other poets write love poems I will concede
But none with the emotion of mine, none indeed
But being the love poet has it's price
Everyone expects my work to be happy, be nice
If I ever feel lousy I can't write it down
Because reading it might cause the audience to frown
I'm not always Happy Harry I will admit
Every now and the, I really feel like shit
Depression a remnant of the life I left behind
Has found me again and has it's grip on my mind
But sad or not, I've a reputation to uphold
I write poetry that's warm and not cold
Push depression aside begin a new love poem
2nd draft I write on my way home
Every now and then, I will read a sad one
Which leads to another, what have I begun?
I want to make people smile not cry
And here I am reading qbout how I want to die
Even love poets have their bad days
Finding out today was the end of always
Without her, love poems just don't seem right
Neighbors hear you crying, long into the night
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
George Crabbe Wrote Of
George Crabbe wrote of hardship and poverty and woe
In the England he lived in a long time ago
But perhaps his poems might be more popular today
Had he looked at life in a less truthful way.
George Crabbe wrote of children in dire poverty
The poor sad victims of Human cruelty
And the poems full of pathos and the poems full of truth
Of a poet who was blessed with the great gift of ruth.
He wrote of human cruelty to their own kind
A God in the soul of such a person you'll find
He did not write of mythological figures or monarch or squire
He wrote for the poor his type I do admire.
Of the poverty around him he was all too aware
But poets like George Crabbe they have always been rare
Though if you feel a bit down and a good laugh you do need
His poems lacking in Humor are not for you to read.
Of the poor souls of England George Crabbe did write
His poems not hard to understand or to read or recite
And though as a person and poet he was great
Such poets the masses never do celebrate.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Climber -MAREA JOHNSON
i ran across a poet who has a style just like me.
her first five poems that you read
will show you what i mean.
she has a talent which will touch everyones
mind and soul.
she is the one, that in my dreams i was told.
she has a unique talent, and a flair all her own
she puts words together that will touch the coldest soul.
she will write stories that will be beyond compare
that is when- her poems she will share.
keep your eyes open and listen to what
she has to say.
for her poetry will definitly blow you away.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!