46
she, too, dislikes it, because it gives her the feeling as though
her head is taken off, makes her body cold so no fire can ever
warm her again. One does not look on poetry as a closed work, the poems go on and on
at all times on one’s head, and snip off a length.
You mush remember the homely definition,
Poetry is the best words in their best order, words in their nth power.
Bony ideas, bloody nerves, held together by the delicate
Tough skin of words…
Words…words...
I agree, I have never started a poem where I know the ending
Always the ending is unpredictable.
Poetry is your personal
Expression making it public, a revelation, a revolution of sort, you throw a pebble to the world.
In essence, poetry is an emotion, said, written in measured motion,
And that motion is an art.
Drip pity, drip pity, drip drip drip drip
Like a dripping rain, from a leaking roof, while one sleeps
To its rhythm.
A wording of highest thoughts, appearing as a
Remembrance, it does not really mean anything, it is simply magical…
But be.
You make a poem, but the reader recognizes it as his own,
But there is no accusation of thievery or plagiarism
A sea animal, evacuating to land, and now wanting to fly in the sky, that is poetry.
Making familiar things rare, as though they are
Not familiar anymore.
Giving habitation to airy nothing.
Giving nothing to everything.
Giving a nobody a nice home like he is now a somebody.
The invisible, made visible, and the visible made invisible.
A quarrel within himself.
In his tranquility, he recollects powerful feelings, and give in
To an spontaneous flow of giving.
That is poetry. Giving, and always giving, no taking, nothing taken.
I, too, dislike it at first.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Poets on Poetry: a collage
she, too, dislikes it, because it gives her the feeling as though
her head is taken off, makes her body cold so no fire can ever
warm her again. One does not look on poetry as a closed work, the poems go on and on
at all times on one’s head, and snip off a length.
You mush remember the homely definition,
Poetry is the best words in their best order, words in their nth power.
Bony ideas, bloody nerves, held together by the delicate
Tough skin of words…
Words…words...
I agree, I have never started a poem where I know the ending
Always the ending is unpredictable.
Poetry is your personal
Expression making it public, a revelation, a revolution of sort, you throw a pebble to the world.
In essence, poetry is an emotion, said, written in measured motion,
And that motion is an art.
Drip pity, drip pity, drip drip drip drip
Like a dripping rain, from a leaking roof, while one sleeps
To its rhythm.
A wording of highest thoughts, appearing as a
Remembrance, it does not really mean anything, it is simply magical…
But be.
You make a poem, but the reader recognizes it as his own,
But there is no accusation of thievery or plagiarism
A sea animal, evacuating to land, and now wanting to fly in the sky, that is poetry.
Making familiar things rare, as though they are
Not familiar anymore.
Giving habitation to airy nothing.
Giving nothing to everything.
Giving a nobody a nice home like he is now a somebody.
The invisible, made visible, and the visible made invisible.
A quarrel within himself.
In his tranquility, he recollects powerful feelings, and give in
To an spontaneous flow of giving.
That is poetry. Giving, and always giving, no taking, nothing taken.
I, too, dislike it at first.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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quotes From Poets On Poetry
** QUOTES FROM POETS ON
POETRY
The great Shakespeare in his ‘A Midsummer
Night’s Dream’,
Speaks of poetry as ‘forms of things unknown,
The poet’s pen turns them to shape,
And gives to airy nothing a local habitation
and a name’!
John Ashbery had always felt, that ‘poetry
all the time goes on in his head’, -
And ‘occasionally he snips off a length’!
For Coleridge, ‘prose is arrangement of words
in their best order’,
But ‘poetry is the best words in their best order’!
For Paul Engle, poetry is ‘ordinary language
raised to the N-th power’,
While for William Wordsworth it is a continuous
shower, -
And ‘a spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings,
Of emotions recollected in tranquility’, - is fairly
healing!
Shelley in his ‘Defense of Poetry’ sincerely felt,
That ‘poetry lifts the veil, from the hidden beauty
of the world’,
Making ‘the familiar objects be as if they were
not familiar’!
While Carl Sandburg speaks of poetry as, -
‘The journal of a sea animal living on land,
Wanting to fly in the air’, - as high as it possibly
can!
Robert Graves declared rather candidly, -
That ‘if there’s no money in poetry’, one need
not feel sorry,
Since there is ‘neither any poetry in money’!
I conclude with Robert Frost, who always felt,
That writing a ‘poem is discovering as he
progressed’,
Since for him, ‘poetry never had a pre-meditated
end’!
-Raj Nandy
New Delhi
26 Feb 09
(** The words of our famous poets/authors, have
been placed in ‘inverted commas’.)
10.15 Saturday Night
10.15
Saturday night
And the tap drips
Under the strip light
And i'm sitting
In the kitchen sink
And the tap drips
Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip
Waiting
For the telephone to ring
And i'm wondering
Where she's been
And i'm crying
For yesterday
And the tap drips
Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip
It's always the same
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Drip, drip, drip
tears roll down my face
drip, drip, drip
that's all I hear as the tears fall
in the dark
I sit alone as blood runs down my arm
and mixes with my tears
drip, drip, drip
my door is locked
my knife is a deadly scarlet
getting closer every time
to the veins I desirer
drip, drip, drip
I push the blade deeper into my arm
it hurts but it's a good pain
a knock at the door
I grab my friend and scream
as I find the veins I want
drip, drip, drip
my mom walks in as I fall to the floor
my dying words to my mom
'I live no more'
she rushed to my body and calls for my dad
I smile as they see my pain
drip, drip, drip
as my blood hits the floor
my mom screams my name
I smile once more
and say good bye
my mom screams ' why god why? '
the last words I heard were a plea for help
until the final
drip, drip, drip
poem by No Reason To Care
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Water On The Brain
(hicks / clarke / nash)
Ive just come in from out of the rain
Its wet outside the water runs down a drain
I go to bed cause my heads full of pain
And drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Outside the window theres a pipe wearing thin
It lets the water do a dance on a tin
I try to sleep but its making a din
And drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Water on the brain water on the brain
Water on the brain water on the brain
Drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
I toss and turn and my patience is weak
Go to the bathroom door and I take a peak yeah
The bath tap has started a leak
And drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Revolution Poetry Is....!
Are you writing words of rhythm according to thoughts?
Or are you coining words of thoughts according to rhythm?
Or are you writing poetry both working at the same time?
Asking so, if they ask me how to write poetry, what shall I say?
Poetry writing is natural, spontaneous expression from heart!
How can this be taught to anyone to write poetry ever at all?
Poetry is a spontaneous flow of words direct from heart ever!
I wonder many a time how am I writing poetry at all ever!
But this is happening to my great surprise since longtime!
Due to engagements ever poetry only I am able to write
Though my aim in the beginning was writing stories.....,
Novels, short stories and nonfiction articles of criticism!
Poetry books too I have completed writing so since long
But what a pity there is no reception for poetry books...!
poem by Ramesh T A
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A Song From A Sandhill
Drip, drip, drip! It tinkles on the fly—
The pitiless outpouring of an overburdened sky:
Each drooping frond of pine has got a jewel at its tip—
First a twinkle, then a sprinkle, and a drip, drip, drip.
Drip, drip, drip! They must be shearing up on high.
Can't you see the snowy fleeces that are rolling, rolling by?
How many bales, I wonder, are they branding to the clip?
P'r'aps the Boss is keeping tally with this drip, drip, drip.
Drip, drip, drip! while the sodden branches sigh:
The jovial jackass dare not laugh for fear that he should cry:
The merry magpie's melody is frozen on his lip;
He glowers at the showers, with their drip, drip, drip.
Drip, drip, drip! and one's ‘nap' is far from dry:
'Tis hard to keep the water out, however one may try:
I'd sell myself to Satan for three fingers of a nip:
There's cramps and vile rheumatics in that drip, drip, drip.
Pat, pat, pat! how it patters on the land!
'Tis certainly consoling to be camped upon the sand:
There's naught but mud and water over yonder on the flat,
Where the spots of rain are splashing with their pat, pat, pat.
Rain, rain, rain! and the day is nearly done:
I wonder shall we see another rising of the sun?
Has the sky shut down and stifled him; or will he come again
And stop the cursed clatter of this rain, rain, rain?
Drop, drop, drop! monotonous as Life,
With now and then a western breeze that cuts one like a knife:
Sputter on the fire: is it never going to stop?
Has the weather-clerk gone crazy, with his drop, drop, drop?
Drip, drip, drip! the squatter wouldn't say
‘Thank God!' so earnestly if he were camped in it to-day.
'Tis in at last: I knew it! there's a pool about my hip:
Oh, 'tis maddening and sadd'ning, with its drip, drip, drip!
poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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Inkwell Spills
Inkwell
spills
on
the frills
of my frock
drip
drip
drip
blackened sock.
Inkwell
spills
over
the lines
of my sonnet
drip
drip
drip
blackened bonnet.
Out into the rain
breathe in the air.
Ocean spray on my face
Wild wind in my hair.
I climb
I canter
over mountains
and hills
while
drip
drip
drip
the Inkwell spills
poem by Frances May
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Poetry in Motion
Poetry is like the ocean
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is like a potion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is like an explosion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is like some soothing lotion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry is a form of devotion
Poetry in Motion
Poetry represents emotion
Poetry in Motion
poem by Yeremiah Hardt
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Cool, Cool Water
Coolin so coolin coolin me
Coolin so coolin coolin me
Have some cool clear water
(drink a little drip drip drip drip drink a little)
(water coolin me)
Have some cool clear water
(drink a little drip drip drip drip drink a little)
(water coolin me)
Have some cool clear water
Have some cool clear water
Have some cool clear water
(drink a little drip drip drip drip drink a little)
Have some water
Coolin so coolin coolin me
Coolin so coolin coolin me
Have some cool clear water
(drink a little drip drip drip drip drink a little)
(water coolin me)
Have some cool clear water
Have some cool clear water
(drink a little drip drip drip drip drink a little)
Have some cool clear water
Have some cool clear water
(drink a little drip drip drip drip drink a little)
Have some water
Water water water water water water
Now now-now-now-now
Now now-now-now-now
Now now-now-now-now
Now now-now-now-now
Now now-now-now-now
Now now-now-now-now
Now now-now-now-now
Ah ah ah ah
Wa ah ah wa ah oo oo oo oo ah ah
Coolin so cool coolin me
Coolin so cool coolin me
(drip drip drip drip drink a little drip drip drip drip)
Coolin so cool coolin me
(drip drip drip drip drink a little drip drip drip drip)
Coolin so cool coolin me
(drip drip drip drip drink a little drip drip drip drip)
Coolin so cool coolin me
(drip drip drip drip drink a little drip drip drip drip)
When the heats got you down
Heres what you oughta
Get yourself in that cool cool water
(coolin so cool coolin me)
Cool cool water
Get yourself in that cool cool water
(coolin so cool coolin me)
Cool cool water
When the heats got you down
Heres what you oughta
Get yourself in that cool cool water
(coolin so cool coolin me)
Cool cool water
Get yourself in that cool cool water
(coolin so cool coolin me)
Cool cool water
Ooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaooooooaaaaaaa
Cool cool cool cool water water
In an ocean or in a glass
Cool water is such a gas
Coolin so coolin coolin me
Ooooooooooooaaaaaaaaooooaaaaaaa
From the mountains on down to the sea
Cool water keeps on coolin me
When the nights are too hot to keep cool
I keep on dreamin bout a swimmin pool
When Im just too hot to move
Cool cool water is such a groove
In a shady spot when Im layin down
Only thing movin are the ants on the ground
When Im thirsty and I reach for a glass
Cool water tastes like such a gas
From the mountains on down to the sea
Cool cool water keeps on coolin me
Cool cool water keeps on coolin me
Get yourself in that cool cool water now
Cool cool water keeps on coolin me
Cool cool water keeps on coolin me
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Poetry by Meena Mustafa
My brain is a recorder
It stores all black and white
Each time I write a poem
It throws a different light
It makes the reader happy
At times it makes him sad
The love of poetry
And the poems that I have
Words pour like fountain
Imagination takes its place
On a journey to knowledge
Poetry we must embrace
Poetry is my refuge
And keeps me on the path
Expressions take new meaning
And words pour out at last.
Poetry is a song that sings to the soul
The rhythm of the words that a pen can hold.
poem by Meena Mustafa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Raindrops
The drip, drip, drip of the rain
against my window pane
quiets the stormy rages
that invade my brain.
The methodical tapping of wetness
slowly flushes away
all accumulated sadness
on a dark and dreary day.
Welcomed by creatures of the outside world
unaware of the constant drip,
they find the watery pools that collect
and drink or take a dip.
The clouds have opened. They're not aware
of the rain's effect on me.
'Tis not important to them at all.
That's something that I see.
But I, seeing the dripping rain
against my window pane
must give up sadness while it falls,
for it will not remain.
The sun will burst forth once again
and lighten the sky and my heart.
And the drip, drip, drip of the rain
will be a memory that will depart.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Sunshine On A Rainy Day
I see you in the darkness
I see you in the light
I see your eyes shining
In through the night
Make me feel, make me feel
Like I belong
Don't leave me, you won't leave me here
All Alone
Cast your eyes
Like summer skies
Blue earth and the ocean
Clearer than the skies, yeah!
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
You touch me with your spirit
You touch me with your heart
You touch me in the darkness
I feel it start
Make it feel, make it feel
So Unreal (so unreal)
Like a wind in the desert
Like a moon on the sea
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
Make it feel, make it feel
So Unreal (so unreal)
Like a wind in the desert
Like a moon on the sea, yeah!
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
Sunshine on a rainy day (sunshine)
Makes my soul, makes my soul drip, drip, drip away
song performed by by Zoe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Introduction To A Poetry Book
Poetry Is More Than Mere Words,
i agree
mere words do not make poetry
it is the mixture
of night
and day
and day
and night
when
you think of yourself
and the other
when the night
dragged
so slowly
and you forget
that
morning has arrived
like
an unwanted visitor
of you party
it's a profound expression of what's inside oneself.
oh yes, it is always the inside
that matters
myself wanting to get out
from the cave
of innocence
and assume
the form
of a bird
wanting to fly away and never come back
since
there is no home
anymore to
speak of
It's an impressive play of words with meaning and
depth through which the author shares his feelings,
thoughts,
and
ideas.
i agree, it is sharing
above all, reaching to others who take the same
walk with you
angst
depression
joys
bliss
nu mbness
and feelings
of guilt
a confession
Through poetry, he conveys his innermost self -
putting them into vivid
and vibrant verses
that tell stories,
express sentiments,
and speak of lives.
In this kaleidoscope of poems,
he gives focus on everything
and anything there is,
making this poetry
as diverse as life itself.
Enjoy
these poems, and
you'll find yourself inspired
to write your own.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Old Autumn Rain
Old Autumn Rain
it is raining
heaven is urinating
drizzle
prostate heavenly enlarged
drip drip drip
drizzle drip
it is raining
leisurely
patiently
prostate cancer?
not at all
nothing malignant
nothing special
nothing unusual
nothing critical
nothing clinical
drip drip drip
drizzle drip
just autumn rain
just old autumn rain
just old man's rain
just old god's rain
just benign rain
it is halloween
it is raining
- Battered Suitcase, vol 1, issue 3, October 2008 -
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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A Lyric From The Heart! ! !
a lad in the falling rain
with his mighty umbrella
moves through the flooded road
he feels the water cold
through the way,
in the rain,
by blowing wind
a 'DUPATTA' touched his face
with the wet touch the cloth
she moves with the drip-drip music of the rain
she turns to him,
her smile touches his heart
soon the wind blowed the rain
even in that wet look
she is just like an angel
an angel from heaven in the rain
like the wind moved the rain
she moved him
her eyes carried him
through the unknown way
something he had to say
he dont know, how to say
some words raised in his mind
he singed the unknown words
in the drip-drip music of rain
she heard his
she looked him with a smile
the rain went off
calm & cold wind blowed
Ecstasy of the evening
with a rejuvenated feel
he walked back
with the drip-drip music of rain
and with the lyrics from his heart! !