Idiosyncrasy and Inferiority Complex
* Vanishing table manners of a deprived loner
I see you have 1212 poems (currently) on PH. I also see you comment regularly on other members' work (though I don't think you have commented on my own) . I wonder why you have sent this to me without any idea of what you want me to do about it. If you could explain what you want (just my thoughts on this piece of writing?) I might be able to help. Most people wanting a comment on a poem post it on the site and invite others to read it.
Paul Hansford
I belong to the small Island Sri Lanka
Once a British colony, I gathered few words from your mother tongue
And my vocabulary is too small, Sorry Sir and I try to improve myself.
A painter either famous or not his brush strikes on the canvas
And the bristles never refuse to absorb the different colors.
He himself has the freedom of choice.
But a poet? Why all these restrictions of adjectives and grammar?
If he tells of his mother tongue very few understand
But his slang English some try to realize?
Let him scribble as the trash bins never refuse him.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Commenting (Please Read)
This poem is dedicated to a very dear friend in Canada.
Melvina Germain.
The first person who left a heart prints on my work almost a year and a half ago. Mel, a million thanks from me.
Love and Hugs.
David xxxx
Some people read your work
and then pass on their way,
never leaving a comment
whether they liked it or not.
For any writer good or bad,
unless someone makes a comment on your work,
you feel left out in the cold.
For those who think that comments do not help,
let me tell you what comments have done for me.
For six or seven years I had given up writing,
I swore I would never lift my pen again.
Then in January 2007,
I posted a few old poems on a poetry site.
I was confused and lost at the time.
Never though for one moment
anyone would want to read my humble work.
I was wrong.
Through the comments I received,
I started writing again.
Since the 19th January 2007 to today the 14th June 2008
I have written 1132 poems, a 80,000 word novel,
collaborated on over 20 poems
with two young ladies half a world away from me
and published my first book of poetry.
For under a year and a half
that is not a bad record
and it happened through the encouragement in comments.
So the next time you read someone work
and there is a space for a comment,
leave one please.
Those little heart prints can change someone’s life
and encourage them on to do better things.
Your comment does not have to be lengthy,
just a word or two will do.
Remember it is good to help someone
and by leaving a comment,
that is just what you will do.
I always leave a comment on everything I read
knowing how others comments have helped me.
14 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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Temporarily Pissed-off Poem
Why the hell should I respond to
'I'm new to this site, please read
all my poems and
comment (you'll enjoy them) '- when
you haven't the courtesy
or even the guile
to read just the odd poem
of mine? Why should you
trust the judgement of a poet
you don't even admire or
despise?
OK I'll have cooled tomorrow but
I'm glad I've let off steam
and
by the way that first bit applies
to older acquaintances too.
'Lousy poet but
good for a comment', huh?
(OK, guys - the moment passed...)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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How To Be A Good Poet
oh dear poet you drive me insane
i know you can write a poem
so you must have a brain
really love your mystique
pretty sure i would love your physique
so could you please
please please please
only send one invite
then you comment on my poem
the one about the princess, fairy, or knight
sure you will find them a delight
then i will comment on your poem
the one about the moon, stars, and tree
it is as simple as one two three
poem by Rachel Nichols
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Problems At PH
At times PH is plagued with problems
and new ones crop up everyday.
However, its appeal is irresistible
no matter what we say.
It gets to you at times when you log in
and it logs you out again.
You make a comment on a poem, post it
and when the page refreshes
the comment isn’t there.
You post it again and again
and the recipient of the comment
wonders why you posted it a half a dozen times.
Then there are the times when it just won’t let you in
and your frustration grows.
Each day is a new adventure
whenever we log in again and again and again.
If you ask the powers to be a question,
it is months before you get a reply.
You say that you are going to leave,
but the draw is irresistible
and therefore instead of saying goodbye
you should be saying is see you later
when I can log in.
We must love the frustration that this site brings
and one day hope the powers to be
might eventually get it right.
poem by David Harris
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Browsing and Commenting on Poems.
It is my habit to read the poems
delivered by the young and old, male and female.
I pick up the poems by title and not by the authors.
Internet helps us to browse and comment on poems,
burst into by the poets from all the continents.
I read, chew and digest the new words, usage,
and the content in the poems. The young guys,
baffle me with colloquial, archaic and email forms
like gonna, wanna, u, and so on.
The youths write poems on love with inspiration
but old people have to perspire or be resilient
going back to school and college days.
If I murmur the tune of some melodious film song,
I find it possible to scribble on love-lorn life.
I am very weak in English manners of saying thanks
and expecting thanks for the comments made on poems.
The voracious readers of poems won't stop criticising
if we contribute touching poems or message giving lines.
The comments at times inspire me with new ideas and subjects.
If our lines comfort some hurt hearts,
guide some to ride the life with peace and hope,
that is enough for the mad people like us.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Soul Speaks Mother Tongue
He read English books and write English poem
Throughout his carrier and yet heart in heart
He enjoys hearing and singing songs in Tamil.
He shouts in Tamil and cries in Tamil.
The inner self speaks only in mother tongue.
One feels at ease only in mother tongue.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Brother's Reply
Sister, fie, for shame, no more,
Give this ignorant babble o'er,
Nor with little female pride
Things above your sense deride.
Why this foolish under-rating
Of my first attempts at Latin?
Know you not each thing we prize
Does from small beginnings rise?
'Twas the same thing with your writing,
Which you now take such delight in.
First you learnt the down-stroke line,
Then the hair-stroke thin and fine,
Then a curve, and then a better,
Till you came to form a letter;
Then a new task was begun,
How to join them two in one;
Till you got (these first steps past)
To your fine text-hand at last.
So though I at first commence
With the humble accidence,
And my study's course affords
Little else as yet but words,
I shall venture in a while
At construction, grammar, style,
Learn my syntax, and proceed
Classic authors next to read,
Such as wiser, better, make us,
Sallust, Phædrus, Ovid, Flaccus:
All the poets (with their wit),
All the grave historians writ,
Who the lives and actions show
Of men famous long ago;
Even their very sayings giving
In the tongue they used when living.
Think not I shall do that wrong
Either to my native tongue,
English authors to despise,
Or those books which you so prize;
Though from them awhile I stray,
By new studies called away,
Them when next I take in hand,
I shall better understand.
For I've heard wise men declare
Many words in English are
From the Latin tongue derived,
Of whose sense girls are deprived
'Cause they do not Latin know.-
But if all this anger grow
From this cause, that you suspect
By proceedings indirect,
I would keep (as misers pelf)
All this learning to myself;
Sister, to remove this doubt,
Rather than we will fall out,
(If our parents will agree)
You shall Latin learn with me.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Nice To Know
When you write a poem,
it is nice to know people enjoy it
enough to leave a comment behind.
The enjoyment grows when they add it
to their list of poems they want to read again.
The thrill is even greater when your words
inspire someone to write,
paint, photograph and more.
Helping them to fulfil a dream,
I know this is true,
as my words have reached out
more than once to people.
It is a satisfying feeling
that is so hard to explain,
but you will know what I mean
when it happens to you
again and again.
15 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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If I Only Had A Little More Time.
Dear sir, will you read and comment on my poem?
I think if I have time to with so many request most of the time I just read poems as a see them on the website.
Can we do that instead.
Or how how I browse all your poems and pick one that catches my eye?
Why can't I choose when I have the time?
Its not that I don't like these authors I really do.
I would read everyone they wrote given a chance.
But my goodness I work 12 hrs out of the day usually.
And if not working I'm either helping friend repair his home from the flood, or building another computer from old junk computers, or I'm writing.
Can you see how I have a hard time fitting that in always on a constant basis?
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Most Famous I Am Poem
The most famous I Am poem was penned by John Clare
When he was in Northampton mental asylum and burdened by care
A poem from all others that set him apart
For life's poor and forsaken a cry from the heart,
A poem by an aged poet lost in the lost years
The most famous I Am poem move many to tears
A poem written by one who knew about despair
That poem his reality such poems are rare
The most famous I Am poem tells of an Earthly Hell
Known by the fringe dwellers the mentally unwell
The song of an old poet forsaken and gray
The truth in his words is still living today
And though the renowned old wordsmith to the reaper long gone
His famous I Am poem it is living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A poem for you...
I write a poem for you today,
to get a place in your heart for ever
A poem that could tell you my love for you
I write my poem with emotion and affection
for you to understand my deep thoughts for you
A poem to love and a poem to understand its soul
A poem to enjoy and a poem to understand its happiness
A poem to think and a poem to understand its way of life
A poem to learn and a poem to understand its content
A poem to sing and a poem to understand its melody
A poem to cry and a poem to understand its sorrow
There are poems I have written but this is specially for you
The poem could tell you how important you are for me
There are words comes out freely from my mind to write poem
but there are no words to find my love for you
Those words can not missed as I miss your love today
Let me have all those words put in to my heart and
say I love to write a love poem for you
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
Copyright ©2004 Ravi Sathasivam
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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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
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Young Reviews
Some young poets may mistake
Reviews as a door for more discussion
A vast arena where one can make
An endless lane for Argumentation.
Reviewing further on a review
The comment box becomes gibe talk
Topic diverted to irrelevant issues
Until its there that Gossip walks
Perhaps a line has to be drawn
Where Poetry as art should have a place
Center the review on what it spawns
The impact, the theme, what the poems says
-------------
This poem was written as a satire for young poets
who have mistaken the comment box as a place for pointless
discussion/arguments and some have gone so far as talk
about an erring mother (the subject of a poem) . Such
practice diverts the purpose for reviews - which is to
comment on the poem - not on the character or subject,
for then it ends up as a 'gossip box'.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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I Wanted My Poem To Be A Real Poem
I WANTED MY POEM TO BE A REAL POEM
I wanted my poem to be a real poem-
I have read and studied and memorized
So many real poems-
I wanted my poem to be one of them
Which others would read and feel and memorize
And make their own –
We want and we want and we want
And who are we with all our wanting?
Who am I with all my wanting?
One more dreamer
One more ambitious person
One more lover of poems
One more writer of poems
One more wanter of real poems
Who writes this poem
For others
who dream like me
of writing real poems.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Reason behind liking
There is reason behind every liking
You catch the idea and it must be striking
Not necessarily a comment or length praise
But a serious thought for poets to chase
Write nicely or face the ire
Applaud and honor when we admire
Your poems may contain pain and satire
Definitely readers are key players
How does an actor know the art?
When there is nothing new to start?
There is lot more to improve
When readers write or disprove
Encourage and put reason with logic
It is good test and real basic
If you write and comment
It will be blessings as if heavenly send
Poet does it with his pure imagination
He may have fir belief and inclination
It is possible he may err in his reading
Make it sure he is not marketing or trading
The literature is meant for human consumption
Certain facts are understood with assumption
You may find heart change with resumption
It is personal choice for rejection or adoption
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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My Different Poem
I have the feeling that I
Want to write some words that gel;
To put a hidden sentence in, to
Write them very well.
A piece of work, a
Poem all my friends can read and say:
'So this is how you make up
Different poems all the day! '
From all of my experience, all
My knowledge of our tongue, the
Other works were written, but my
Efforts are unsung.
And if my different poem is
Challenging for my brain, I know
For sure it's no-one else but
Me I'll have to blame.
poem by John Carter Brown
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One Little Comment
One little comment can really change your life;
It can make you feel good or cut you like a knife.
As a result, you may now want to try something new,
Or with an aspect of life, you may now be through.
You mull the comment over and take it to heart;
The speaker of the comment, unaware they’ve played a part.
The chances are that, of the comment, the speaker has forgotten,
But you are now left feeling really encouraged or really rotten.
Some comments are just throw-a-ways,
But they can easily make or break your day.
Some comments stick forever in your mind,
Whether they’re really hurtful or really kind.
Many years later, a comment you may still be able to quote;
It could be one which made you sink or one which made you float.
You will probably still be able to recall it word for word,
And even imitate the tone in which the comment was first heard.
As the result of a comment, you may feel better or worse,
And the speaker of the comment, you’ll either love or curse.
A comment can make you give up or give you the will to succeed;
Off one little comment, our further thoughts will often feed.
They can change the way that you see yourself,
And even have a good or bad effect on your health.
A bad comment can leave us feeling rather unsure,
Whereas a good comment, can leave us wanting more.
Just one comment, which may last only a few fleeting seconds,
May result in a whole new life, which suddenly now beckons.
You may leave your old life far behind,
Or a whole new life, you may now find.
So just take a moment and think before you speak;
Of the joy you may bring or the havoc you may wreak.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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When I was going home
When I was going home
the darkness was around,
nobody on the street, indeed.
I saw an old woman,
she was a dandelion like, .
she rummaged in the refuse bins
which were all alike.
She was the one who's got her pension
'in the proportion with her job'.
I wouldn't like here to mention
that she was just robbed.
She bought the medicines
had not enough for food,
she bought the food
had not enough for medicines.
...And close to the refuse bins
there was a stall
and boxes with the fruit were near by.
'It looks you're pushed of money'-
she heard the voice.
'take some from here,
it's much better choice.'
She smiled sadly and
I've heard her answer:
'Can't take anothers'.
And with those words
she slowly moved......
to another refuse bin.
I saw that scene.
I began to cry
and I know why.
I was delighted with her greatness,
I was ashamed of my carefree life;
and if I were her I wouldn't decline.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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I Am Not A Random Tongue Lasher
I only know what I know.
And the undoing of my experiences,
To appease another's sensitivities...
Will not with me happen.
My honesty I have earned.
And those self evaluations,
For me did not come easy.
If I have to eliminate,
Something for years I have carried on my back.
The chances of that being taken off...
Will be quicker than ears will hear me apologize,
For a comment I've made...
Someone took as a personal attack.
And 'if' I've said anything offensive to anyone?
Trust me they have done something,
Worse to me than that.
I am not a random tongue lasher!
I deliver back what is given.
If I am given garbage...
One will get from me 'that' and lots of trash!
I've learned not to play,
With 'kids' who refuse to leave...
Their outlived but revisited playgrounds.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Once Upon A Time There Were Long Poems
ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WERE LONG POEMS
Once upon a time there were long poems that told a story-
Now there are only small poems
That tell a feeling.
This is a small poem
And I am a small poet
And we are all small readers
Who are always losing the poem
By rushing on to the next thing.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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