To My Wife
With a Copy of My Poems
I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.
For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.
And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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To My Wife - With a Copy of My Poems
I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.
For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.
And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.
poem by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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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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I'm Goona Copy
I’m surely gonna copy,
Be it poem, DVD or floppy,
And win Nobel Prize and trophy.
I will copy poets all
Whether they are big or small
Ya! No one can make me stop
Till I scale a fame’s highest top.
At the beginning of age
When God made men in his own image
He started this “Plagiarist” trend
Which I am not gonna end.
And what is creativity?
If not an ability to hide
a source of theft
with impunity.
When there is nothing
original under the sun,
Why should I copy not
and deprive myself of fun.
So I’ll copy them word by word
be they Pablo, Shakespeare or Wordsworth.
I’ll copy them from morn to evening
And would excel HITESH and Kipling.
Can you prove, they were not plagiarist,
And had not copy from some poet’s list.
You can inform FBI, KGB or CIA,
But I won’t stop my wanton ways.
And I will copy without shame,
Till I earn big name and fame.
I will copy till people start copying me,
And then and then only I will
give up this vice with glee.: -)
(This poem is a sequel to poem, “hay all you people that like to copy” written by Melissa Schreuder)
Dr Hitesh C Sheth
19/05/2009
poem by Hitesh Sheth
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You Do Not Have...
you do not have to
read me
for me to become
another poet
i am
and i can be
and i will be
even without you
and you are
and you can be
and you shall be
even without me
i am a poet
because i have decided to write the poems
and the poem shall be there forever
until the right reader comes along
the one who loves
a poem even without me
even without you
even without the world
this poem and that poem shall be
even without us
for these are words
and words shall be words even without the world
for it was the word which came first
and shall remain
till eternity.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sometimes You Wish Someone Will Know The Greatness Of A Poem
sometimes as you write a hundred or more poems
you wish someone with taste
the one without which nothing will be called 'poetic'
shall read you and understand the greatness of your
words and style,
someone with a long black hair
smooth skin and possessing that intellectual flare
reads one of your poems and says
' i like this and i shall keep this
did you really write this? '
and you are so flattered that you forget that all the while
on the 5,000th poem
you have been writing all about yourself
on some pain of rejection
that love interest that never responded
that one so beautiful and yet had never laid her eyes on you.
and then, you smile, after all on that poem
inside those images, you appear to be lovable
and she, is never one ordinary fan.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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God is the creator
God is the creator
poem is a creation
Poet is not God.
I am a lover of poem
Poet is my hero
God is hero's hero.
I just read poem
I just enjoy reading poem
I shall continue to read poem
As long as I enjoy poem.
At times
Poems are being written by me.
The credit goes to God
God direct me to write poem
And I write.
God only can explain the meaning
I am just an instrument
And nothing.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Proclamation
How many poems
must one write to be a poet?
None. An entire lifetime...
may be but a prostrate patterned poem.
How many poems must be
written to realize a great poet?
Only one. A single great
poem proclaims great poet.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Winter Poem Is A Cold Poem
THE WINTER POEM IS A COLD POEM
The winter poem is a cold poem
It is a poem seeking warmth
It wants to feel a comfort
In being at home
But the cold is deep
And so dark
And the pain so rigid in its breaking
That no light can heat it
And no sun can thaw it
And nothing not even the bright blue skies of another time
Can make one forget it.
The winter poem is a hard poem and a cold poem
And the soul of that poem is as loveless as death.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This Is Just An Exercise
this poem
is a morning poem
i write it when
the sun begins to peep
between the two hills
where my house
stands
i write it when the dews
are still alive
glistening with life
on the green leaves
on the white petals
of the flowers
i write it when the birds
start to chirp
and in flocks start
to leave the trees
where they
sleep for the
whole dark night
oh, this poem is nothing
it is just an idea
just an exercise of the mind
this morning
just to assure myself
that i am still a rational being
in touch with art
honed to the skills
of humanity
oh, this is just nothing
but a prelude
to my day
a day
when we wish
we are not thinking at all
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poet’s Prayer
Lord forgive me
That I have chosen to become a poet
Forgive me for what I write
The poems of my life
Grant me such devotion
To write the poems that I love
Grant me the love of poetry
That must not distract me
From tenderness
Make my desire last long
Make my disillusion short
Uproot from me these impure desires
From those poems that trouble me
Let not some images confuse me
Let not some metaphors numb me
Let not my dullness sadden me
Let your radiance descend upon
The modesty of my poems
As you once gave radiance
To the prophets who cannot speak
For themselves
Let me be a strong poet
Able to love and defend
the poems for the
women and children and land
Grant me the talent to make
The poems that they may still
Recite and remember
Even when I am gone
In my weakness as a poet
Make me strong
To scorn the poems that are not pure
To shy away from the fires
And flames that do not light
The lives of other men
And women too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Why Should I Have A Poem?
WHY SHOULD I HAVE A POEM?
Why should I have a poem?
Who am I to have a poem?
Who is anyone to have a poem?
But then again
Aren’t we all poems?
Many poems
And each one of us many voices
And who knows how deep feelings
We ourselves cannot understand
And lingerings of beauty
We can ourselves barely decipher?
Who knows what a poem is
And what life means
And why we write and read
And what words move us
In the middle of the night
Or at the end of the day
When even our dreams are asleep?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
Clever All Pleasing Poems
who writes clever all pleasing poems...
such a poet must surely steer safe passage clear
of floating minefield topics politics religion
to please all with any poem
is rather a mission impossible
there are those who love rhyme
there are those who hate rhyme
love or hate nature love poems
love hate every other topic possible
we seem to live in an age where
the personal 'I am offended by that'
is a trivial attention seeking sport
which belittles writ serious issues
thus our Poem Impossible Team
seeking to write all pleasing poems
must also entertain
in an attempt to crack
serious hard cases
from mask too serious
a judgemental frown
quick write poet clown...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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To the one who stole my poem
I had this poem
it was a particular poem
made many cry
told my story
to the person who is using my account
which i used to post my poem
which had been deleted from my computer
and only existed here in cyberspace
to this person
who added his/her poems to my name
i hope you, as a fellow poet
understand how a poem nursed
is not dissimilar to a child
i lost my child,
my poem.
if you have it please put it back
the name was 'father'
if you deleted it please write a poem
in this poem tell me that you have
i just need to know if my baby Poem is dead forever
or if it lives on your hard drive
poem by Anonymous Anonymous
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
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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So Many People Have No Poem
SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE NO POEM
So many people have no poem.
No one writes of them and for them,
And perhaps it is not important to most of them.
But for the few who need and want a poem
And cannot write a poem of their own
Shouldn’t there be someone to write for them?
I have tried to write for a few
But not that well either.
Who will write for them?
Who will listen for them?
God Maker of all Poems and Silences,
You Alone can save us,
The makers of poems
And those who are only listeners.
God You Alone-Write their names for them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Few Poems Are Remembered
FEW POEMS ARE REMEMBERED
Few poems are remembered -
Few poems are ever really known-
Few poems are chosen -
Few poems make us want to return to them again and again-
Out of thousands written every day
Perhaps one poem in a decade
Perhaps less.
This is not the poem.
One can write a lifetime
Without ever writing one such poem.
Most of us never write the poem
And most of us are not remembered either.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Other
I cannot write.
The star is dead.
The poet in me returns to slumber.
So fleeting the instant, so silent the time,
Already Fall slips into December.
The twilight has come.
The end is near.
The final sigh of Winter.
Nature heaves, my heart dies.
Life poised on a balanced whisper.
That cannot fly, is already gone,
Far away, twisted by a convulsive mutter.
I am lost, I am dread,
The illusion so faint, so sweet.
It was said, I once said.
You are mine, I am yours,
In you fulfilled, I drink and meet.
Lost, oh lost, hopelessly lost forever.
Escape, escape, I fly, I run, I go.
On the precipice of dreams, I roam.
Roam in search of another.
But I am, no more, I know,
No more will Beauty shine.
For what is right, what was mine
Has left, has left me for no other.
I cannot write.
The star is dead.
The poet in me has fallen.
Fallen asleep, away from me,
Fallen in the hands of another.
It was said, I once said.
That love lasted forever.
The brilliant bushel of light
I surmise
Has fallen to the shadows of Winter.
So have you betrayed me,
With lies,
In lies, you lied with another.
So fall I have, in Fall I shook,
In Fall I met with a stranger.
Not of peace, not of hope.
The sightless eyes of restless demise,
These eyes of sorrow did whisper.
Of the deed you did, of the cries of joy,
The cries you never would utter.
For me, for me, for me,
For me you ever did slumber.
But for him, this man,
The alien, the fool,
You did turn yourself traitor,
You gave yourself, so entirely,
So entirely to another.
I cannot write.
The poet is dead.
I finally put an end to the torture.
It was a beautiful night,
Not a breeze crossed my sight,
On this longest twilight of December.
I slew the poet,
I slaughtered the stranger,
I murdered the man, this Other.
But in shame, in shame,
In misery, I did exclaim,
In shock I beheld another.
Not a stranger, no other man,
Truly
None other, none other was the stranger.
One and the same,
Yes, one and the same,
I had been deceived forever.
This curse, this doom,
This misery, this gloom,
Must look no further for its maker.
The artist of design,
The creator of the Line,
The one and only Stranger.
I cannot write,
This poem is dead.
I am now trapped in eternal slumber.
The poet was right.
It was said, I once said.
Beware the longest night of Winter.
The Beautiful night, the absence of light,
Will bring you, truly,
Will bring you naught but dread.
And so it was, the poet was dead.
The deed was done,
I ended the stranger, the impostor,
The traitor.
But in death, in death,
Even with his final words he said:
My brother, my brother,
What have you done my brother.
There is no Other.
Rest peacefully brother.
For together, in each Other.
I am dead.
poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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