En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Are you like God, breathing life with your words?

welcome ladies and gentlemen
with poems written
in your palms
in our own humble beginnings
we take the mission
of creating and building words
putting up images
of full moons & stars
on dark nights like these,
the images move
like a circle in our lives
glistening
without ends
the words too become
alive
as we breathe them to ordinary
things
insignificantly tasteles
to the tongues of people
with mouths ungaping
that we resuscitate
so they may too live,

there is life in what we breathe
we touch and
motions begin
in a sense,
may God forgive
us
as we imitate Him,
and i know,
God loves poets like us,

we are not just few
we are many
we are holy
and we shall flock like angels
singing by His side

these poems, these songs
of love, of beauty,
of truth in the quest
of holiness.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Deceased Poets Of Nature

Such beautiful poems to Nature they did write
The poetry we love for to read and recite
May they rest in peace now where-ever they lay
The deceased poets of Nature their poems live today

They glorified Nature and her praises they sung
And though they may be long dead their poems remain young
the poets of the land and the poets of the sea
In their beautiful poetry their greatness we do see

Their poems and their songs I loved as a boy
And their poems and their songs I will always enjoy
The beauty of Nature they did celebrate
And beauty in their words they loved to create.

Great insights of Nature from them we did gain
The beauty of their words with us does remain
We loved them for their poems in decades long gone
The deceased poets of Nature their poems living on.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Proggramed poems!

Man for his own
Creates words
To depict image
Of his emotions

Poems are one of the images
Image plays with the words.

Now programme plays with the words
Words are programmed in poems
Images after images without human touch and emotions!

poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Need Poems To Make Us Love Life More

WE NEED POEMS TO MAKE US LOVE LIFE MORE

We need poems to make us love life more
Poems that will make us happier
Poems that will make us kinder, better people.
We need poems that will inspire us
That will add to our sense of the world’s Beauty
We need Poems that will make us love others as we love ourselves as we love God.
We need holy poems
And joyful poems
And blessed poems
And kind poems
We need poems which will make us love life more
Which will help us love others and ourselves more
God more
We need poems.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And What About Us Who Write Poems Every Minute Of The Day?

what words can we take pride in
these poems like our daily breaths
ordinary words we utter in ordinary
conversations we have
come breakfast come snack time
come lunch come dinner

the talks we have on the park
in the marketplaces of our ordinary days
unplanned, unscreened, unedited
ordinary words to ordinary occasions

an embarrassment, can these words be?
unscheming and devoid of meaning
the lines of the common places?
the dialogues of the fool and the unwise?

you do not have to mind
this is my journal, a record of nothing
but ramblings of my mind and there you are
carefully reading putting meaning where there was
really none

this poem of day to day, unwavering
trying to be but nothing, a mode of nothing but just
plain thinking

do you too have this kind of breathing?
tell me why you breathe, then?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Voice of Poet

Poet voice is echo of mankind, speak of angels
Can inspire the soldiers to take on to the battle,
That sprinkle flowers of words, leading to love,
Hearts are bound to melt, even tough enough.

Poets voice can pain and heel wounds of heart,
So create romantic scene causing heart spurt.
Poets read out hearts, can see deep in dark,
Any place in cosmos, are capable to embark.

Their fabulous words can add colours to rainbow
Draw picture of the soul as an amazing shadow,
Voice of poets engender love and compassion
That is mirror of society giving lucid reflection.

Martyrs of war who gone time back to graves,
Poetry has power to keep alive those braves.
Poems expose creatures, portray orb’s images,
Poetry live the human life through out stages.

poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Live Poems We Cannot Write

WE LIVE POEMS WE CANNOT WRITE

We live poems we cannot write-
Words of beauty that sometimes come suddenly
And disappear before we think to transcribe them-
Indescribable perceptions that move rapidly within us
And are gone before we can even be fully conscious of them-

We live poems we cannot write
Worlds of feeling there are no words for-

Our lives are pervaded by unwritten poetry
And our strongest Will and most determined Memory
cannot make pages of it all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Res Ipsa Loquitor (2)

let the poems
without mouths
and teeth
without lips
and tongue

let these poems
speak for themselves
let them be
take them for whatever they are
their appearances
let them smell the way they exude themselves
let them be
let their essence be within themselves

even without our own thoughts impressing
imposing dictating
destroying
annihilating

let the poems be like dew
dissolving to the warm rays of the sun

the poems-in-themselves
even without the necessary
english-ness...

let the poems have no shame
in whatever language
in whatever form

let the lousiness be a poem in itself
let the ugliness make you feel its ugliness
let the beauty be there
side by side with everything: darkness and light
evil and good
order and chaos
stars and explosives
pins and touch
holiness and profaneness

etc and the exclusive
specifics and generalities
you and them

and let your feelings go beyond all these
in that field where anything does not matter
where there is no more bother
but just this companionship
this togetherness this wonder
this bewilderment without end

this forever-ness, this eter
nity.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inside Your Circle I’m Always An Alien

the best way to escape is to use the fingertips.
From it some words are shot like bullets hitting anything
But there is no death here.
No war. There is only the sojourn, some moments
of variations like
gyrations of the human body that looks for
some blankets of affection.
The human body is nil now.
The touch is elusive as an ell.
The river is crowded with moss and mud
and the fishes can hardly breathe.
Life, this is life actually
The one that moves lonely amidst the crowd
in the mall one Sunday evening.
people are families. They are so selfish among
and within their circles.
You have none of it. You are an alien.
A mutant.

You need another mirror to see how beautiful are you.
Without it, there is no more light in the room.
And in the darkness only the palms grapple for touch
like grappling for breathe
In order to live.

We make some trades.
Barters really.

I barter loneliness with the circus of my mind.
Acrobatic thoughts, juggling circumstances
Opting for the magic of transformations.
I can be a rabbit and then a flower
and the children open their mouths for me.

At the end, we take whatever makes us comfortable.
It is not always a chair.
An earphone, sunglasses, Chiclets,
peanuts in my hand, or
lemonade sipping,
summer hats, bathing trunks,
diver's oxygen,
or could simply be a book of poems by whoever,
immersion, diversion,
these are the words. We are not the same.
I have my own point of view. I take my own walk now.
Or i shall dance
and sing.

None of your business
because inside your circle,
i will always be an alien.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So Many Poems/How Can One Possibly Begin To Describe

SO MANY POEMS/ HOW CAN ONE POSSIBLY BEGIN TO DESCRIBE

So many poems.
How can one possibly begin to describe
The many beautiful things
We meet in our lives?

So much is too much for the eyes
Words certainly cannot describe
The Beauty we see
Being alive.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Breathe In Me

Words & music: michael w. smith & wayne kirkpatrick
You breathe in me
And i'm alive
With the power of your holiness
You breathe in me
And you revive
Feelings in my soul
That i have laid to rest
Chorus:
So breathe in me
I need you now
I've never felt so dead within
So breathe in me
Maybe somehow
You can breathe new life
In me again
I used to be
So sensitive
To the light that leads
To where you are
Now i've acquired
These callouses
With the darkness of
A cold and jaded heart
Chorus

song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Asthma

Breathe!
Suffocation within
because of what your sayin'
To understand!
Is to begin again
Yet to Begin!
Is to live again
I tried living my life through your eyes
Smother me with your ways, to death, no breath.
Your choking what little faith I have left.
In time I find the truth lies, Inside the truth lies, Inside
Breathe!
Suffocation within
because of what your sayin'
To understand!
Is to begin again
Yet to Begin!
Is to live again
I would die, to breathe again
I would die, to breathe again
I would die, to breathe again
I would die, to breathe again
Breathe!
Suffocation
I want to Breathe!
Suffocation
I understand
I would die, to breathe again
I would die, to breathe again
Breathe

song performed by by P.O.D.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wrote A Poem I Could Not Write

I wrote a poem I could not write-
And then when I tried to write it again
Could not write it again -

Poems written and not written
Words and more words
What do they mean?

Paradoxes and games with words
What do they mean?

If there is Beauty in the language
It is one thing
But words just to hear themselves think,
Why should they mean ‘Remembrance'?

Oh Words oh Questions oh Darkness oh Life-
Let me write myself to the grave
Believing at least
That poems too even when they can be written
Have their small unhidden meanings.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Loving all those mistakes

all the alls the extra s
mistake in tenses
how i so strangely love them
in all my poems
they make my poems
come alive
alive with a human touch
the missed s,
the extra f
a classic touch they give
to my poems
as if they are work of old
weather beaten
socrates' laws
on stones
the T turing into I
shakespeare's misspelt lady macbetf
dickens' forgotten ghot
wordsworth extra clouds
i love all the mispelt words
in a classic way
the rawness my poem run
over the computer
into a world that has
given up
up pen and ink
for the written words
the human touch
of old time poetry
that runs fluid as
the blood in my veins
i love all the human touch
in my poem
all the mispelt words
i love each missed s,
each extra f
i missed too
the pen and ink

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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There Are Days No Poem Can Be Written

THERE ARE DAYS NO POEM CAN BE WRITTEN

There are days no poem can be written
Grief and worry frighten the poem away
Yet the poem lives hidden
For our darkest moments our loneliest fears
Too need their poetry.

Poetry is a way of saying all we need to say
It is our deepest feeling most deeply expressed
It is all we are
The whole of our being
In words.

When a poet dies
Words die
When I will die
All I am will no longer be able to write
One more poem.

How afraid I am in the night
And how dark in the early morning before I rise
But now that I am here
Writing this
A bit of hope begins in me
And I can dream that
When I walk out the door
a few minutes from now
A new day will begin.

How many days I have left
How many poems to write
I do not know.

It is not light yet
And the darkness is still here
But I will feel the morning again
This morning
Thank G-d
You have given me so many poems.
A few small words
help me believe
I truly am alive.
.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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These Poems These Songs This Beauty This Life

THESE POEMS THESE SONGS THIS BEAUTY THIS LIFE

These poems these songs this beauty this life-
All that I hear inside me
And have heard from others
Through years of listening-
All that I take with me inside
As if it were forever mine
The songs I have learned and love
The poems I recite in my soul
Without even trying to-

All this like the dust
Like the air
Will vanish when I go
And the song of my soul
Will be
As blank as the silence
Of a page never written on.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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0005 Totally Boring Poem

I’m totally bored by:

poems that sound like other poems

poems that try to sound unlike any other poems

poets who never take risks

poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets

poems with 'meaning'

poems with no meaning

poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something

poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time

poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring

poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'

poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'

poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex

poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out

poets that tell you they’ve been dumped

poets who've never known love and being dumped

poets who are ambitious

poets who are unambitious

poets who tell you all about higher things

poets who reject higher things

poets who think life’s just a joke

poets who think life’s no joke

poets who sit on the fence

poets who have no sense of balance

poets who despise 'the middle ground'

poets who talk about technique

poets with no technique

poets who just throw down their thoughts

poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish

poets who list what they like (who cares?)

poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)

poets who write about extreme states

poets who think they’re immune to extreme states

poets who tell you why they’re bored

poets who have opinions

poets who seem to have no opinions at all

poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?

poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word

poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems

poets who don't love poetry passionately

poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'

poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,

how about you?

I suppose you have boring opinions too?

another time perhaps

and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored

well I feel better for that.

how about you?

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All These Poems About Poems

All these poems about poems
Where do they lead?

The world is so rich in so many other things
Write poems about them.

At twilight I look out
At strangers walking
To do their errands of preparation
for Sukkot.

A poem should have some Beauty in it
And not just be an effort at recording observations-

The scarlet bright flowers rage at me from the distance
I cannot translate their Beauty to words -

There is so much I have seen
And so much I will never write –
And so many Poems beyond my Imagination.

All these poems about my failing at poetry
And about translating the Beauty of the world to words-

This is a poem I not know how to properly finish.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poems About Poems About Poems

Poems about poems about poems-
More poems and more poems and more poems-
Poems poems poems poems poems-
How many poems?
How much poetry
Until there is no poetry at all?

But only 'words' and 'words' and 'words'
Until one goes far away
Where there was never a poem before-
And suddenly hears
“Let there be Light”.

And Poetry perhaps
Is born again.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Indications

THE indications, and tally of time;
Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs;
Time, always without flaw, indicates itself in parts;
What always indicates the poet, is the crowd of the pleasant company
of singers, and their words;
The words of the singers are the hours or minutes of the light or
dark--but the words of the maker of poems are the general light
and dark;
The maker of poems settles justice, reality, immortality,
His insight and power encircle things and the human race,
He is the glory and extract thus far, of things, and of the human
race.

The singers do not beget--only the POET begets;
The singers are welcom'd, understood, appear often enough--but rare
has the day been, likewise the spot, of the birth of the maker
of poems, the Answerer, 10
(Not every century, or every five centuries, has contain'd such a
day, for all its names.)

The singers of successive hours of centuries may have ostensible
names, but the name of each of them is one of the singers,
The name of each is, eye-singer, ear-singer, head-singer, sweet-
singer, echo-singer, parlor-singer, love-singer, or something
else.

All this time, and at all times, wait the words of true poems;
The words of true poems do not merely please,
The true poets are not followers of beauty, but the august masters of
beauty;
The greatness of sons is the exuding of the greatness of mothers and
fathers,
The words of poems are the tuft and final applause of science.

Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of reason, health,
rudeness of body, withdrawnness,
Gayety, sun-tan, air-sweetness--such are some of the words of
poems. 20

The sailor and traveler underlie the maker of poems, the answerer;
The builder, geometer, chemist, anatomist, phrenologist, artist--all
these underlie the maker of poems, the answerer.

The words of the true poems give you more than poems,
They give you to form for yourself, poems, religions, politics, war,
peace, behavior, histories, essays, romances, and everything
else,
They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes,
They do not seek beauty--they are sought,
Forever touching them, or close upon them, follows beauty, longing,
fain, love-sick.

They prepare for death--yet are they not the finish, but rather the
outset,
They bring none to his or her terminus, or to be content and full;
Whom they take, they take into space, to behold the birth of stars,
to learn one of the meanings, 30
To launch off with absolute faith--to sweep through the ceaseless
rings, and never be quiet again.

poem by Walt Whitman
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