En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Poet Not

Hello Stranger,
Have you read my endeavors?
Have you dissected the tassels
of my ornate tapestry
of grief, of shabby bliss?
Because underneath
the obsidian armour of
these eloquent words
is a door left ajar
for someone to penetrate
my shy impenetrable curtains

Dear Stranger,
I am no one and
I have never been important;
I am nobody's son,
no proud homeland,
not a good comrade,
not an idyllic beau,
not a simple soul,
my esoteric penchant
for a profound quintessence
is a casualty
glaring with a neon sign

But would you be generous
to let me covet the banner
of a poet - manqué or laureate?

Would you not take
a poet for granted and peer
behind the eloquently tossed
epistles and paroxysmal rhymes?

Would you be parsimonious
of the serrated veracity
that my arcane tirade
is defunct of grandiosity?

Would you cure
me egoistic affliction
slowly and quickly abating
to the void of everything?

Because if am no one,
not even a poet in your
simple and delicate tableau
then I have always been
futilely no one
then please neglect
the spurious laments
of this poet.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not

The poet I am, and the poet I am not

‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Before a Poetry Reading

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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This Poet Is Always Beside You

You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Poet is free

Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Poet Is....

the poet is a vase,
collecting tears like rainwater,
with a tiny hole in the bottom,
connecting to the ground.
the poet is a prism,
seperating colors from black and white,
then drawing black and white from colors,
dissolving and evolving.
the poet is an illusion,
that looks and smells like home,
redefining distance by closeness,
finding the familiar in a stranger.
the poet is an orphan,
a messenger, and a thief.
bringing you a lit candle,
and stealing your heart for a stand.
the poet is a carpenter,
building from scraps of wood.
using time rusted nails,
and an eye for dreams.
the poet is a healer,
and the moment you forgot,
on the way to remembering,
who you really are.
the poet is a bridge,
borrowed wings, and a cross.
a simple fire tended by no one,
and ears left behind by god.
the poet is a body,
grown tired in it's dying.
and the small winged creature without name,
waiting to follow the wind!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Poet's Song

~♥ ♥ ♥ ~

I have read
Works of great men and women
Simple poems and stories
I also have written
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I love poetries
So too are stories
They are simple daisies
Filling my fantasies
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

It is my refuge
When in sorrow
My hopes and dreams
In my unknown tomorrow
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I am a poetess
With the dream of sharing
And with my knowledge and skills
Tomorrow, my dreams I will be fulfilling
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I and my works
May never be great
But I will never lose hope
In God, I place my faith
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I will never surrender to failure
I shall never retire until I reach my goal
I will read and write literature
I will hear the cry of my hoping soul
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

~♥ ♥ ♥ ~

poem by Belleza Edella Marian SwanCullen
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I Am A Poet

Iam a poet
ı was born a poet
ı feel that frommy childhood
why the storks
chatter on the chimneys
and nest there
their young beak black
their eggs catch cold in winter
ı am a poet
but sometimes ı am misunderstood
that upsets me
very
sometimes people scold me
why the hell you look at me
strangely
they say
do ı resemble someone
do you recognise me
ı am just a poet
ı cannot say
ı s ı t my fault
to be born poet
ı wanna write a poem about you
so ı look and try to understand
your attitude
why does this bother you
ı was born so
ı watch a little child
leaving her mother
throwing herself to the water shower
in the pool in spring
then ı ask the child to return to mother
cause she is looking eagerly looking AFTER
does not like a stranger
she does not know what a poet is too
and lives plain and direct
ı am a poet
ı wish
ı were not born so
ı long for a humble and simple life
living may be in poverty
cause understands me nobody
even the closest around me

poem by Metin Sahin
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One Unto The Other

What can a poet do for you?
Open up your heart
to let the sunshine through.

What can a poet say to you?
Words so powerful
to put your past in review.

What can a poet give to you?
A moment of prayer
to make you feel brand new.

What can a poet make alive in you?
A picture of your soul
as it comes into view.

What can you give the poet you read?
The chance to reach you
with something you need.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Morning Sunshine

This poet is so seductive
This poet is now strange to me
This poet is so bold
This little girl doesn't want to see

The little girl has known this poet
ever since
But the little girl is already
tired of this poet
She just wants to play.
Not any passing minute
She hasn't have
any word of
allegory
metonymy and
simile
Take me away from this poet yet
the little girl must empty first
the words of this poet
Before she is free to play
in the morning sunshine
and go away from this busy poet

Do you think I'm too young to see?
Do you agree?

This poet won't let me
play out in the middle of the rain
This poet won't let me
see the afternoon sway
This poet won't let me
see the morning gay
Let me see the Morning Sunshine
Let me see!
But this poet
Won't let me

I'll just watch t.v
and sing
her poetry

poem by Mary Jesusa Villegas
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I May Not Have Been A Great Poet

I MAY NOT HAVE BEEN A GREAT POET

I may not have been a great poet
Or even a good poet
Or even the poet I wanted to be.
But I am the poet I could be
The poet I am.
And may God have mercy on my soul,
And on all those I love.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poet

The poet can only utter the word fine
The poet has to bear the sorrow and the sin.

The poet can only say I am happy
The poet can only say I feel no aches no pain
The poet can only say I am not in loss
The poet can only say I am in the side of only gain.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The life of a Poet

The poet listens
the poet hears
he writes down
all his fears.
He observes things
that others don't
going to places
that others won't.
Inspired by simple things
like a sound or smell
the poet has lots
of stories to tell.
Even when asleep
his mind isn't at rest
in fact this is the time
it's at it's creative best.
The poet can be a restless soul
his life reflected on the page
some verse can be sweet and mild
then full of anger and rage.
The poet can be mysterious
and write in a strange way
he will say Black is White
and that night is day.
The poet is an artist
but instead of paint it's the word
painters want their work to be seen
but poets just need to be heard.

poem by Kevin Halls
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Puzzle

Do not bury the poet
The poet bury himself.
The poet is his soul
It is seen ti poet only.

The poet see the time
And time see the poet.
Ask not the poet repeat
Another sun flash light
And you puzzled.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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I Am Not The Poet's Poet But Perhaps The Would- Be- Poet's Would-Be Poet

I AM NOT THE POET’S POET BUT PERHAPS THE WOULD- BE- POETS WOULD – BE –POET

I am not the poet’s poet-
The one poets of name and fame admire-
But perhaps the would- be- poets would be – poet-
Who tries to be a poet
And tries to understand what it means
To love poetry and live by writing it
Even when the world does not recognize me..
.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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I read another poet I could not understand

I READ ANOTHER POET I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND

I read another poet I could not understand
The metaphors racing one after the other
The eternal thoughts taking on a new particular dress
Words and more words
Lines and more lines
Rushing toward meaning and beauty.

And in it all my simple not understanding,
My waiting to hear words that would return to me-
My understanding
That only by my own effort
By my reading again and again
By my willing to believe
Could I make another poet real.

But do I want another poet to be real
When I am a question,
And when there are already others real for me also?

Oh selfish little man oh poor poor reader-

Write your poem alone again
As if no one but you will ever be able to write
The poems which are real.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poet Who No Longer Believes In Himself

THE POET WHO NO LONGER BELIEVES IN HIMSELF

The poet who no longer believes in himself
And writes on anyway-
The poet who is too weak to stop writing-
The poet who has died as a poet,
Before he has as a person-
The poet who may never have lived as a poet-
The old old old schnook,
Still trying to write a poem
And believing he has done it once again.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Just A Poet

I am just a poet
Poems are my life
Words are the soul
The pen is my might.
Versus are the cup
From which that I drink
And knowledge is the bread
From which my mind is fed.
I live if just to write
The words that I cant speak,
For locked away in my mind
Are the versus to be rhymed.
I am but a simple writer
With a pen and pad in hand
Gazing at the sky and trees
To write what man should read.
I have walked many trodden paths
And down many mournful road,
Now I write about their tears and fears
For now they have became my soul.
I cant cure a mans health
Nor can I stop a war
As I am not much as I see myself
A poor man who loves the Lord.
And when I walk my last mile
And then I'll write my last smile
And on my pad it will show it
That I was but, a simple poet.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Poet, O Poet

Let not the dog out
The poet cried.

Poet, poet, O poet
Imagine, imagine and imagine
Your imagination is our wealth
Your imagination is our health
Imagine, imagine and imagine
Create things on your own
In your own world my dear poet
That is not known and that is owned.

Let not the dog out
The poet cried.

Poet, poet, O poet
We have no control over anything
We have no control over the land
That is dreamy.
It is only you O poet
Who can control us from that land
Where nothing to be shame
Where no body is there to blame
Where there is only fame and fame.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Poet as a Feeler of Pain

What makes a poet?

Many have tried to guess.
Is it a voice
like a conduit,
a plainspokenness to grief,
the hairs of the head
dancing on end,
the blood swarming
with the voices
of all those who have died,
will die,
& will also be born?

Is it a catch
in the throat
that awakens the eyes,
is it in the eyes themselves
or is it something
in the heart?

I think it is pain-
an openness to pain,
so that the least leaf
cuts the hand
& the smallest tear
cuts the cheek
like jagged crystal,

so that the world
is a sick infant
& the poet its mother,
praying, crooning, promising
to be good
if only the cure
takes.

There is, of course,
no cure.

Poetry does not cure
the poet
& the poet
does not cure the world.

Usually he catches
the world's diseases
& dies
even before his time.

But against all odds
& all indifference,
another one is born.
The world must have
someone to feel its pain
& speak of it.

The poet is that mouth.

poem by Erica Jong
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I am not a poet

They say I am not a poet,
I, too, think so,
I am not a poet,
For I dare not turn the truth,
Into falsehood,
Or vise-versa,
I refrain myself from decorating
my verses with words and phrases,
To create sensation.
I call spade a spade,
In the simplest term
I may not be a poet,
But am aware of,
The mysteries of love,
I may not be a poet, But know how to detect,
Imitations in emotions.
I am aware of,
The cavity the society bears,
The thriving double standards,
The artificial claims of love,
I know I am not a poet,
I prefer to remain a simple person, Without being obsequious,
I can accomplish my task,
I just say what I feel,
So what if they do not send
Their inspiring comments,
So what if they take my request for flattery,
I would go on expressing my feelings,
Whether they like it or not
For I am not a poet at all.

poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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