Ahh An Evening Of Poetry
an evening of poetry
goes beyond words and images
beyond thought
beyond what we care about
darkness fingers itself in the room
when you turn off the light
moans suppressed
like a poem restrained from a loud reading
because
something is so beautiful
and someone
tiptoes
not to destroy
the arrangement of the furniture
too careful
not to break a code
of the white porcelain
one speaks sub rosa
in whispers because love is too private
to savor.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Taking A Glance At You
taking a glance at you
is poetry in itself, by itself and for itself.
there are words in my eyes
they speak in silence. They long to tell you what i feel.
there are hands on my lips. There are fingers there.
They long to go near you and kiss your lips too.
i see you as words too. Your eyes are images of my
own happiness. Your lips are shaping the shapes of ships
and they have sails to take me away to ecstacies.
i feel you as words of love, and lust and desire insatiable.
my fingers want to read every syllable in your face.
you have always been my poem.And there are so many of you
in all of them.
words, and images, and ecstacies. faces and compositions.
i love all of them. And this time i take a glance again.
at you. this poem. this is you. Believe me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poem Of The Evening
THE POEM OF THE EVENING
The poem of the evening
Is a small poem
It waits for its own words
And hears itself come slowly and surely
It knows by the time the darkness is here
It will already be real.
The poem of the evening
Is an easy and small poem
It may not mean much
But it comes so smoothly
It seems to laugh at the heat of the day
And love itself for being here.
The poem of the evening
After the long day
Is a happy poem
And it looks forward to praying the evening prayer forever.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Everything In Poetry Is Allowed
everything in poetry is allowed
so much sweat had been wasted
so many words alienated from their own meanings
on the issue of which is true poetry
enough of that
let me state once more that everything in poetry is allowed
whatever is it that comes from your mouth
that slips from your lips
becomes a poem by the intensity of your intention
today my mouth gives birth to bees
and i am telling you a poem is a swarm of bees
like a set of hands spreading some prayers
tonight i shall dream of words escaping from my mouth
i see them as snakes singing
oh, i see, i am telling you a poem is a choir of snakes hissing a song
(do you really imagine that? am i not a little bit
weird?)
i never tire giving birth to words, and images, and metaphors
and a poem never gets weary like the insomniac still not wanting to sleep
oh, i see, you too must have words like these
those that never sleep, you see? what a poem can be?
a poem is a set of sleepless words, smoking at night, looking over the window,
naked, like a very beautiful woman, looking for love.
you want things to make connections? hmm, don't be silly, some connections
do not seem to be
takes time, sometimes, takes even death upon one's self, to see the light.
but don't you worry, whatever is it, becomes a poem by the intensity of your
affections.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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.
There Was A Poem About Poetry
THERE WAS A POEM ABOUT POETRY
There was a poem about poetry
Written by a poet whose name was hidden within the lines-
The poem about poetry
Became a song in the night
And a distant metaphor
For the incomprehensible journey that is life-
It became anything it could be made to be-
Love,
A world of a kind,
A mystery,
The holy sounds of light far far away -
All the poems we know are like this,
In the darkness they say one thing
But in the light in the light
Oh how dark and deep and far and lonely they are-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Do Not Read To Dissect a Poem
I do not read to dissect a poem
It's not there for analysis
Although with insight, it can become
A good specimen for diagnosis.
I read to enjoy most poetry
To savor the meanings, perhaps some rhyme
It's like drinking a good cup of coffee
The taste lingers on for a time.
A nice poem may bring me somewhere
To the places that I've never been
Vivid words may paint images there
Showing scenes I have never seen.
Poetry, as an art, is a vehicle
That carries our thoughts and emotions
Like a ship on which we can travel
To a land of unlimited horizons.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Not Every Poem Knows Its Own Name
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS ITS OWN NAME
Not every poem knows its own name
Or can have itself be written easily-
Not every poem lives in the light
There are dark poems also.
We, possessed of poetry
Often do not know where we are.
We would like to believe
That the light of our soul
And the light of our words
Are one-
But we know deep down
There is one poem somewhere
And another poem somewhere else
And whoever we truly are
Cannot be wholly found in either.
No poem is us completely
And we are not complete Poetry either.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Private Poetry
Every poem, Every poetry,
Where are all the poets?
Hiding out, Hiding away.
In the beaches, forests,
In the caves and rooms,
In the islands and temples.
Make their private poetry,
Every now and then,
Here and there,
Over here, Over there.
Somewhere, somewhen,
Someone, somebody,
No one, No body,
Some here, some there.
Somehow, not matter how,
Everywhere, every when,
Every turn, every look,
Every search, every research,
There is a private poet.
Making a private poetry,
Writing private poems,
Writing lovely poems,
Writing profound poetries.
For the world and all
To ponder,
To reflect,
To open our heart,
To hear and listen;
What poets have
To say and write,
In a private poetry,
For the world to read
And treasure.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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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’.)
Deserae's Poem
This was the first love poem I ever wrote. I wrote it for my first girlfriend. This was only shortly after I started writing poetry.
Your face is like an angel's grace
Your face is like a dove.
It's beautiful to see it,
And know that I'm your love.
You're beautiful, you're smart,
You're the angel in my life
Our love is growing stronger yet,
So strong it could break a knife.
With these three words you took my heart
You said it and I thought 'Who? '
Then I realized it was me
When you said 'I love you.'
you took my heart and loved it.
You're the full moon during the day.
I fell in love, I loved to hear
That name called 'Deserae.'
More beautiful than nature.
More Gentler than stuffed bears.
More lovely than a ballad sung
When I knew that you care.
I makes me glad you like me
Because love is pure and fine
It makes me glad you love me
And also that you are mine.
poem by Sans Serif
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Poem Versus Prose
You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Enough with your predicates
And your subjects
In this poem you will find
No commas and semicolons
This poem
Is armed with rhythms
Stanzas and shifts
This poem has no end
There are no colons
In this poem
Your prose is replete with nuances
This poem echoes
The plight of the oppressed
And dispossessed
In your prose I find parentheses
This poem speaks of life
Your prose can be edited
Cut this poem and it bleeds
You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Prose has pauses and hyphens
Prose comes to a stop
This poem plugs images
Even in your head
Prose deals with fiction
And nonfiction
This poem can be heard
It can be felt
It speaks of hunger
Of hopelessness
Homelessness
It speaks of a bitter reality
You do not like this poem
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Poetry Is Like A Beautiful Work Of Art
A poem has no write or
wrong,
How to write your poem
is up to you,
Visualize a perfect poem
That readers will love,
Adjust a poem as much as
you want,
Remember a poem is like
art,
You write it with meaning
and passion,
Add as much as your heart
desires,
Short or long it does not
matter,
Add a picture with your
poem,
Add a quote or a verse,
it is a poet's decision,
Always be proud of your poem,
Let the words flow when you
write,
A poem expresses a feeling,
thought and emotion,
Add a frame and hang it up
on a wall,
share your talents with the
world,
Poetry is like a beautiful
work of art.
poem by Derek James
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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
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Her Poetry
Her soft, warm voice soothed me
at 4 years old, as she sat knitting,
reading out loud the poetry
I so loved to hear.
Her agile fingers clicking needles,
her eyes darting from page to pattern,
reading Wordsworth or Keats,
softly with feeling.
At 4 years old she was my world,
my goddess and I was the mischief
who searched for the stitches she ‘dropped'
on our living room floor.
Only in dreams do I hear her voice now,
only in dreams do the words drift over me
and the woollens she'd knit
still sit behind the wardrobe door.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Affection
in an unfriendly snowy city
dear affection is
sorely missed
a room with furniture
varnished
accentuated with fresh
white magnolia on
a vase
apples and peaches
in a basket
on an island of light
in the kitchen
still there is no
affection
a vacant room speaks
and looks
there is something missing still
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Of Your Knowledge On Poetry
Of your knowledge on poetry you wish me to know
Your three favourites poets Eliot, Whitman and Poe
Though great they may be I regret for to say
That on reading them you won't be laughing all day
It is good of you to honour their renown
But this evening I must say I feel a bit down
And though the poetry of Eliot, Whitman and Poe I even read as a boy
Their meaningful words never filled me with joy
If you wish to talk of poetry talk of something that's happy and light
Like the poems of Pam Ayres they are breezy and bright
Though she is one who is not seen as a poetic great
In her poetry the joy of laughter she create
Why talk to me of serious poets and their poetry today
When the tears from my eyes are not that far away
This evening I do need a good laugh or two
Something I cannot have whilst I'm talking to you.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Wanted A Poem To Break The Silence
I WANTED A POEM TO BREAK THE SILENCE
I wanted a poem
To break the silence
Of my own inner emptiness-
No thought no feeling
Blank inside-
These words too flat and emotionless
Strive to move me back to myself-
But there is nothing in me now
But the waiting to be ‘real’ again-
I am alive now
But I am nothing inside-
Blank words trying to be a poem-
And lines written as if I were only
A slave of the idea
of my being somehow
a writer of Poetry.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Beyond
It has three parts:
1) Body poems: hand in the darkness, eye in the darkness, mouth in the darkness, nose in the darkness, teeth in the darkness, legs in the darkness, belly in the darkness, forehead in the darkness, fingers in the darkness.............etc
2) Body machine: I am not a human being, I can fly! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
3) Sky poem: I am writing the alphabet 'KA'(meaning 'dance') in the sky or vacant sky.
I make this poem from performance to performativism poem.
You can perform my poem now! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Have vital life! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !