Ramdas choi chang poem 00
strange are chinese poems,
They take a bag,
Open that,
Fill some thing
and stitch it!
poem 1.
I was good,
I had a good friend,
Beautiful girl sailed like titanic,
Our friendship was like iceberg,
she hit and sank!
Poem2.
I had head ache
She too had head ache!
we went to doctor, Doctor was
late,
She was cured, but not I, as she became my permanent
headache!
Poem3.
I was handsome thought I
was clever,
She was clever and thought she
was a beauty,
That is a best and wonderful
school, Now our children study there!
Poem 4.
He was begger on street
He saw a street dog,
There were some good biscuits,
He give them to the dog, it
kissed his feet, even if he was wicked and kicked it!
Poem 5.
Someone was in park,
A begger was also in that park,
Sparkling beauty entered the
park,
And man gave five dollar to
begger, when that beauty sparkled and blinded his eyes!
Poem 6.
He saw her, then smiled and
scratched his head,
She saw him, smiled and
scratched ground with toes,
Marriages are arranged in heaven,
But both never found that
heaven!
Poem 7
. One lost a purse full with cash,
Another found it and brought
gift for his girl friend!
God is great!
person lost the purse was girl's
own father!
Poem 8.
A person was in Too hurry
He asked people to cancel plane
ticket and give their seat to him,
Fate waits for chance,
One gave his ticket, The plane crashed, hurriedly all
went to heaven!
Poem 9.
He saw her, then smiled and
scratched his head,
She saw him, smiled and
scratched ground with toes,
Some love is monumental,
and when his head became bald, too many scratch marks were
there!
These are
Ram choi Chang poems by me!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Related quotes
A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Of All The Places I Have Never Been
THE POEM OF ALL THE PLACES I HAVE NEVER BEEN
The poem of all the places I have never been
The poem of all the dreams I have not seen
The poem of others poems written in lines I have never imagined
The poem of the infinite – what-is- not and ‘what- will- never- be
The poem of seas and suns and sounds and Shakespeare’s sonnets,
The poem of words and only words whose sounds do not mean what we feel
The poem of all I would not and cannot write
The poem that is not and never will be in me
The poem I do not write
The poem I am not
The poem lost
The poem which itself is not a poem
The poem of the last contradiction and the first
The poem beyond the poem hidden within the poem
The poem which will never be a poem
The poem which is not
The poem I cannot dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This is a poem....
This isn't a poem of one direction,
This is a poem about perfection.
This isn't a poem about who won the election,
This is a poem about correction.
This isn't a poem of getting it right,
This is a poem of standing up to fight.
This isn't a poem of being lost like a kite,
This is a poem about trying to find the light.
This isn't a poem of running tears,
This is a poem about chasing your fears.
This isn't a poem of love and hate,
This is a poem of destiny and fate.
This isn't a poem of the end,
This is a poem of a heart unable to mend.
This isn't a poem of cruilty and pain,
This is a poem of a thng i need to gain.
This isn't a poem of shame,
This is a poem of fame.
Thsi isn't a poem of the life i let loose,
THIS IS A POEM OF THE TRUTH.
poem by Tammie LilAimo
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by Aisha Patterson
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by David Carter
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My Next Poem
My day began, so up I got, with no plans what to do.
All tidied up, a brewed a pot, with cereal to chew...
I walked to the conservatory, sat down with pen in hand,
With paper for new poetry, some basic and some grand...
The afternoon was going well, ten poems almost done,
Yes, everything was going swell, warmed by the Summer sun...
And then he came to interrupt, my poem from its flow...
My word, that guy was quite abrupt, I thought, he'll have to go...
He was another poem, friends, they visit me that way...
And their impatience never ends, until they're done O.K.
I told him straight, to get in line! He scratched his head at this.
I told him that I must decline, as writing's hit-and-miss...
'I've got five others there outside and each must wait his turn! '
That's when the poem cried and cried, as if respect to earn...
I told him straight, 'It won't work, mate, I've seen it all before! '
He joined the queue and waited late and thought it such a bore!
But when he'd read my poem through, he wept with tears of joy!
He told me straight, 'May God bless you! It helps each girl and boy!
It teaches young and old alike! It's wonderful, my friend...'
I said, 'Goodnight, now take a hike...' Then went to bed...
THE END...
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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There Was A Poem Long Ago
THERE WAS A POEM LONG AGO
There was a poem long ago
A poem of youth and hope
Now there are other poems
Poems of age and sorrow.
There was a poem once
Of love – and happiness in love
Now there is a poem of lovelessness
And sadness.
There was a poem once
Of the long and distant open road
Now there is a poem of the dead end.
There was a poem once
That believed in Poetry
Now there is a poem that knows
Even the most beautiful worlds of words
End in dust
There was a poem once – long ago.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem That Is Not Good Enough
THE POEM THAT IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH
The poem that is not good enough
Awkwardly fumbles from line to line
Does not hear its own music
Has none.
Its words are larger than its feelings
Its Ideas overwhelm its words
It proclaims a Beauty it cannot reveal.
The poem that is not good enough
Pretends to be a poem
It has birds and flowers and trees and winds
which are names alone.
The Poem which is not good enough
does not touch the Heart
has little Soul
puts everyone to sleep before they finish
beginning it.
A Poem that is not good enough
Just does not Live
And who am I?
And what are you?
And why are we?
Writers and readers of Poems
Looking for our own lost Eternity.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem The Poem And The Poem Again
THE POEM‘ THE POEM AND THE POEM AGAIN’
‘The poem the poem and the poem again’
Isn’t there any life without poetry?
Why is it always ‘The poem the poem the poem’?
Let it be some other dream
Or some other small facet of our endless realities
Why always ‘The poem the poem the poem? ’
The poet who lives and dies for the poem
Is only one kind of poet
And perhaps not even a good one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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 Story Of A Search For A Poem
A man went in search of a Poem
He searched everywhere he walked
He searched inside himself
He searched inside the poems of others
He searched and searched -
And what came to him were fragments of many poems
And he thought perhaps that they themselves were the poem
But they refused to be satisfied with themselves-
So he searched for a way to put them together-
But in searching came upon more fragments
With each new fragment totally re-ordering those that had gone before-
So he thought ‘I went looking for one poem but found many
Perhaps there are only many poems’
And he began to write them down
And felt at times that he had found many poems
But always too he knew he had not found the one-
So he searched and searched again
And could not find the Poem-
He is still searching
And does not know where the poem is
Sometimes he thinks it is hidden in the many already written
But he does not have the eye to discern it the heart to feel it-
He now is surrounded by poems-
They are everywhere-
But he still cannot find the One Poem which is the Poem for him
The Poem which is his Poem and his Poem alone-
He says he is still searching and will search to the end of his days
But he is old now and soon may be too weak to search
And so the Poem he seeks the one he has longed for all his life
May never be found
Though he goes on searching still.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Ode Poem To You
My mother gave me an ode poem, oh how I love that poem
The scene of her perfume on it, the picture of me in her arms
This letter I keep with me all the time, I love it so much I sleep with it under my pillow
To her nice hand writing, to the black ink she wrote in, she wrote until her ink went low
My poem is great, my poem is wonderful, to the white paper she wrote on it’s beautiful
To the green words of the title, my poem she gave me is the best
I love how she gave the lip stick print on the top of my poem, sad to say she's at rest
I will always love the poem she gave to me before she passed
To the words in the poem she gave me will always endure
Word by word my lovely poem is speaking to me gratefully
This ode poem was from my mom and for only me sincerely
I love my poem, oh how wonderful it can be
Its so wonderful do you want to read,
Take a look, take a look and you will see
poem by Twilight Simmons
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I Lost The Poem I Wrote In My Mind
I LOST THE POEM I WROTE IN MIND
I lost the poem I wrote in my mind
When walking to Shul this morning-
I can only try to recall its thoughts;
‘Walk too fast and the mind cannot hear itself
Walk slowly and listen to the poem inside yourself.
The road ahead the trees the sky
Has a beauty too great for you to write
Thank God for your sight.”
The best lines are forever gone-
A poem to replace a poem
Is not as good as the original-
I wish I had the words for all the beauty God gives me in my life
How wonderful it is to be alive- sometimes
And to be able to write poems – even if somewhat poorly.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poet's Journey
The first poem was a wonder
The second was a surprise.
The third poem made me a poet,
The fourth gave me a name and fame.
The fifth poem fetched me a fantabulous fantasy
The sixth one was a striving struggle for perfect beauty.
The seventh poem conceived the heaven's serenity,
The eighth one gave me a fly,
The ninth poem lifted me in the sky.
The tenth poem turned a touchstone for me,
This made my dream a delicate delight
Throughout the day and throughout the night.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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My Head
My head is 'whirring',
A poem is 'stirring',
Inside my mind
Which is resigned
To producing nothing
Except some 'cussing'.
My head is 'clanging',
A poem is 'hanging',
In mid-air somewhere,
And Oh, I do care
To get it out.
Without a doubt!
My head is 'lifting',
A poem is 'shifting'
About, and ready
To come out steady,
And with some luck,
Will not get 'stuck'!
My head is 'clearing',
A poem is 'nearing'
Completion now,
And now somehow,
I feel a conclusion
Is no longer an 'illusion'.
My head is 'delighting'
A poem is in 'writing',
Clearly written,
And now I am 'smitten'
With composing again.
Can I be 'SANE'! .
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Do Not Read! ! !
Don't read this poem!
Turn back while you have the chance
Or you will regret it
This poem is a poem of darkness
This poem is a devourer of souls
It will destroy you
Consume you
Absorb you into its black depths
I tried to warn you
I told you not to read it
Why are you still reading?
If I had named it 'READ THIS POEM! ! ! '
Would you have even bothered?
This poem is pulling you in
It has your feet
It's eating you
It's shattering your soul
It's never going to let you go
It's murdering you
This poem is a murderer
It is a criminal, it is evil
It is unnameable, unbreakable, imperfect
This poem has you
It's too late for you now
There's no escape for you now
Too bad
This poem has you
This poem's devoured you
Yummm, good
This poem is satisfied now
You should have listened to me
But you didn't
And now the poem's taken you
You're dead.
Let This One Poem Be About Me
Let this one poem be just about me
Let this one poem engulf all my beauty
Let this one poem define my soul
Let this one poem consume me whole
My soul was earth bound
And my heart lay in a place that it would never be found
Let this poem be what entangles my mind
Let this poem be where people will find
They will find that missing link
And this poem it will make them think
They will wonder how this girl came
They will wonder how I avoided fame
I didn’t write these words to please
I wrote these words to tease
My heart it’s the type that beckons for ease
And my taste will not accept the flavor of peas
Let this poem describe me in most simplest of ways
Let this poem show how I get through these days
And I know people will read this and say…
This girl she knew where heart lay…
Let this poem eat me whole
Let me entire heart bleed its luscious love into a broken bowl
My soul wanted only to be free
And this poem only pushed it back into me
I never will lose any part of my soul
Because then this world will swallow my inner being whole
Let this poem be what I hate
Let this poem describe with who I would mate
Let this thoughts become my ways
Let this poem be where I stray
Let this poem show how I lie
Let this poem describe how I will die
Yes I am human I cannot avoid death
Yes I am human I chose not to use meth
These words they dance upon this page
These words they have no age
These verses have lost all meaning
Because I revealed my demeaning
Let this poem describe what I deem right
Let this poem that I will always fight
My age floats through these words
And people will never understand why I want to be heard
Let this poem be only about me
Let this poem be what sets me free
And I know some day people will look at this and say…
This girl, this girl she knew exactly where her heart lay…
poem by Victoria Martinez
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Dunderhead
you upset my equilibrium
i said, i had a poem running
through my head
a poem of such sublime beauty
it was full of promises yet to
come
now it, s gone you dunderhead
you walking sack of broken tracks
derailing me like this
when a poem runs in my head
writing it, s self
with in my mind
mercily i have aked you time
after time speak not one word
untill ive sat
for a poem is flying in my
mind ready to be thought
now its gone gone
you you dunderhead.
poem by Graham Russell
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I Lost A Poem Tonight
I LOST A POEM TONIGHT
I lost a poem tonight-
I do not know how-
I wrote it down somewhere,
But now it is lost-
There are of course much greater losses-
I believe it was a good poem
But poems are only words-
Words are not people-
A person can lose a poem
Without grieving too much-
To lose a person, God forbid,
Is another thing.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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