Poetry
And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Related quotes
18 Definitions Of Poetry
1) Poetry is what is Beautiful in words –
2) Poetry is the deepest feeling words can tell
3) Poetry is the soul of each one of us
4) Poetry is the morning light after the longest night
5) Poetry is a dream of dreams in a world that needs dreams to be
beautiful
6) Poetry is the Search for God and the Love of God in all holy writing
7) Poetry is Reality itself when it is doing what it should
8) Poetry is you and me and all of us when we are kind to each other
9) Poetry is more than we can say or know- deeper than the deepest
silence and quieter also
10) Poetry is the place we go to in ourselves when we need to cry out loud
11) Poetry is Love words of love and the first spring of the young lovers first
song
12) Poetry is all we are when our minds are right and strong
13) Poetry is what saves us from all the other words
14) Poetry is what ceases to exist when Cruelty comes
15) Poetry is Love and Blessing and Kindness again
16) Poetry cuts through the icy sea within and sends chills down the spine
17) Poetry is what is recollected in tranquility but also tried and tossed in
tempest on the most difficult seas
18) Poetry is open to more than what it has been It is what others have not yet created and will so long as we are human and in search of the Sublime
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My Poetry
It began from a simple word,
Of what the moon had seemingly spoken,
Or a bird’s song I once heard,
Or whispers of the wind of same token;
Then there were colors of the rainbow,
Sketched briefly below the sky blue,
And the clouds’ reflection to the sea,
Spread all their words in my poetry;
The sound of the roaring river,
The melting snow after winter,
The wind breeze in summer,
You hear them in my poetry,
But without the presence of spring,
Flowers blooming every morning,
If no trees, no mountains seen,
In my poetry, you’ll read nothing.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Poetry Is All In One!
Passion for poetry is insatiable!
Poetry gives pleasure nothing can!
Poetry is many subjects under one roof!
Poetry never bores to write and read ever!
Poetry is a compression of many ideas in a nut shell!
Poetry displays power of pen to capture men ever!
Poetry captures as photo castles built in air!
Poetry is spontaneous over flow of ides!
Poetry flows free if extemporary!
Poetry is prolific words sure!
Poetry is a thing of joy!
Poetry is beauty!
Poetry is witty!
Poetry cheers!
poem by Ramesh T A
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An act of poetry
Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry
A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art
Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation
Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:
The pen be our salvation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Soul So Alone (2011)
Oh well...
The day I was unearthed for poetry;
my unfamiliar heart rate had rang,
and was swept away by innocence...
The day that I advertised my poetry;
my unfamiliar heart rate harangued,
and was eager for love's suspense...
The day that 'we shared' our poetry;
my unfamiliar heart rate had sang,
and commenced gentle lovingness...
So then...
That night we celebrated our poetry;
my soul illuminated, as to enchant,
and ignited passion; drawing heads...
That night we had tested our poetry;
my soul composed love to interact,
and once more removal of threads...
That night 'the love' recited poetry;
my soul untangled as you cracked,
and unraveled the scaled insolence...
It happened...
The morn arrived to breathe poetry;
my spirit grasped the earth to relax,
and feel alive, yet stagnant...lifeless...
The morn arrived trialing for poetry;
my spirit recants a differed contact,
and perils of love and measurement...
The morn arrived addled by poetry;
my spirit's dignity flowed in content,
and yet whisper deaths next attempt...
poem by David Joel Rodriguez
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The Young Poet
Poetry was something else
written by others
somewhere else
and came from
somewhere else
but the poetry
which he did not know
called one day
in a language he did not know
so he put down words on paper
and threw the paper away
but the words did not go away
and he did not know what poetry should do
until he wrote the words
which told him
what poetry could do
for only poetry can teach you poetry
*
Gertrude Stein stood behind me while I wrote this.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Words of liberation for my nation
Chains of slavery are still over my people.
Notorious minds still over power innocent minds.
What can free the black child, what can free my nation?
I ask in pain and suffering in the dark jail cells,
What can free me from mental slavery?
How to know right from wrong?
How to think free and build a free society?
The solution is in the words of liberation, the words of wisdom.
I write and recite a revolution, my revolution my poetry.
I do n’t need praises or worship but only recognition and understanding of the people to words of liberation, understanding of poetry.
I stand before you to present poetry,
I stand before you to present the words of liberation to my nation.
Poetry that builds, poetry that destroys.
Poetry that destroyed the impious minds of colonists in Rhodesia.
I speak of poetry that built freedom in South Africa.
When I speak of poetry I mean the true meaning of words.
Words of wisdom,
Words of freedom,
Words of liberation,
Words to free my nation.
The words of liberation to my nation
Words of liberation to free my generation
Poetry-poetry-poetry-poetry-poetry.
poem by zimi Nakeni
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Poetry
Poetry....
.... are words that create beauty
Poetry....
.... are words that are that are illusions of
the Imagination
Poetry....
.... is the art of saying nothing to saying everything Poetry....
.... is like a marriage that are bonded together
to produce bonded together hatred or love Poetry....
.....is a way of how a poet views the world
poem by Frank Pulver
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Poetry To Me
What is poetry to me- it is words of beauty-words of life
Words of love, pain and sacrifice.
Words of showing and growing and needing and feeding
Words of hope and despairs, wanting and cares.
Poetry takes you into the minds of mankind
From days of old to the present time.
Poetry takes you on trips that you've never been before
And opens up every door.
Poetry becomes a longing, a want, a desire, a need
On which your mind must feed.
It becomes a life within itself
And takes you to the heavens and down to hell.
Poetry becomes a flaming desire
And only writing can put out this fire.
I call it my passion while others say it's my obsession
Yet! No matter what they may think or say
Poetry is here to stay.
So many different types of poetry
For the different minds 'you see'.
You will always find one that will give you meaning
From a loving heart to one that's bleeding.
Jump on the bandwagon and take a hold
For with poetry ' life unfolds'.
poem by Louis Rams
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I Dont Write Poetry!
i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...
no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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It Is All Too Much
IT IS ALL TOO MUCH
It is all too much -
Too many words-
Too many poems-
Too much written about poetry-
It is all too much-
And yet what do I have in this,
But myself alone in a room with these words?
The endless ongoing in the search for meaning-
The endless hope for beauty in the making of these sounds
It is not words alone-
It is the heart and soul of what I am-
And perhaps that is too much-
Even for myself.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Three Hits
Three hits to the heart son
And its poetry in motion
One could send you down the river
Threes a strange way to be delivered
Would you trade your words for freedom
Thats a barter for a blind man
Three hits to the heart son
And its poetry in motion
Are you leveed like a treasure
Only words can help me find you
And this worlds a fickle measure
I would painfully remind you
From a wise man to your red hand
You lay covered ion our best sins
Three hits to the heart son
And its poetry in motion
Well I dream you constant stranger
With your best bloods and your anger
You say mother do you claim me
My beloved do you blame me
Well the first two might release you
But the last one sings in me son
Three hits to the heart son
And its poetry in motion
Three hits to the heart son
And the last one sings in me
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry (Poesia) by Pablo Neruda (Translated by Edwin Tanguma)
And it was at that age…Poetry arrived
Looking for me. I don’t know, I don’t know from where
It came, from the river or summer
I don’t know how nor when,
No, it wasn’t voices, it wasn’t
Words, nor silence
But from a street it called to me,
From the branches of the night,
Rapidly between the others,
Between violent bouts
Or returning alone,
It was there without countenance
And it touched me.
I didn’t know what to say, my mouth
Didn’t know
How to name,
My eyes were blind,
And something was pounding at my soul,
Lost wings or fever,
And I went on alone doing,
Trying to make sense
Of that burning feeling,
And I wrote my first vague line,
Vague, without body, pure
Foolishness,
Pure knowledge
From the one who knew nothing,
And I saw quickly
The sky
Disintegrated
And open,
Planets,
Pulsars,
The perforated shade,
Tormented
By arrows, fire and flowers,
The overwhelming night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal,
Intoxicated by the vastness
Starry eyed,
Similarly, the image
Of the mystery
I felt I was a pure part
Of the abyss
I rode the stars
My heart unraveled in the breeze
poem by Edwin Tanguma
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The Hidden Poem With In Us
Poetry hinds behind the very tears we shed
It hides in the very pain we feel
It hides deep inside our locked emotions
When you feel confused there a poem hiding with all the answers
Poetry hides in the shadows that follow you around
It hides in the mumbling sound of our depressed voices
it hides in the locked up anger we all have
Poetry hides in the voices in our mind that is put on mute
Poetry hides behind the secrete window in our minds we painted black
But the thing about poetry is that it seems to be playing a game of hide-and-seek
But in reality it just waiting to be unleashed and told
It lies dormant locked up in chains we created our selves
We just got to let it free and let it tell its story
poem by Stephen Merced
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Poetry has done this to me
And I love the slavery of poetry
For reasons like your better
versification
Or for reasons you shall not
live to see
To me poetry is this huge magnificent
instrument
And poetry has kept me indoors all
day I missed you
And poetry has kept me in front of
this machine
And saved me maybe from the bullet
or the knife
And poetry has taken me to explore
the deepest
Unknown regions of my mind
Never was the search
Of the word so desperate and
pleasurable and so
Hurtful and so exciting and so painful
And poetry has alarmed me to how
cruel my mind is
And poetry has journeyed into my
inner self too to cleanse my soul
And poetry has gone out of her way
to show me
How kind and filled with honey my mind is
I have journeyed to far flung places
guided by
The love of poetry I know myself better now
poem by Ngaka Motaung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
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Poetry Unlimited
Poetry is looking,
at a flower and,
seeing the beauty
hidden within.
Poetry is bringing
out love, deep in
your heart, telling
your love one how you feel.
Poetry is feeling
a cool breeze
as you lie in an open
field, so deep in thought.
Poetry is seeing
the beauty of soft
fluffy white clouds
as no one else does.
Poetry is hearing
sounds of nature
soaking it all in
to mind and soul.
Poetry is watching and
standing by river's edge
seeing rippling water
flowing to places unknown.
Poetry is gazing at
rolling hills stretching
as far, as the eye
can see.
Poetry is digging
deep into inter feelings
bringing it out
and exposing it.
Poetry is love
Poetry is feelings
Poetry is seeing
Poetry is what you are.
With Poetry
With poetry
I have found a purpose
With poetry
things just seem easier
With poetry
words will dance the tango
With poetry
I can put meaning to my thoughts
With poetry
I can ramble on and on
With poetry
everything is easier
poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
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There Is A Time For Poetry
THERE IS A TIME FOR POETRY
There is a time for Poetry
When Life cries out desperately for Help-
Or when Love overwhelms
Or Fear comes.
Spring is a time for Poetry
And Autumn also
Winter has its Poetry
And Summer too.
There is a time for Poetry
Which is any time the human heart needs
A deep time
A sad time
A Lonely time.
Any time-
A time for Poetry- Now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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