Be Glad That A Poet Isn't Credible, Lost In His Own Words
a poet is never taken
seriously
for he is one who can never
change this world
and you, on a magnanimity of
intentions, and
desirable deeds,
make the sign that you can
remove walls,
destroy barriers, bury the dead
resurrect them
like Christ, you who can stop
this world even
from revolving,
the power that be,
i am glad that i am just a poet
and i can sit in one corner
and sing like
a mocking bird
mimicking all of you in your
greatness
i am glad no one believes me
for if i were believable
so many
should have died in vain
so many should have
found no meaning
so many, so many more important than
what they think themselves to be
should have hated
the dust
their indifference to
mockery
of the truth
their own grief
a mirror
a destruction of all plates of this earth
all fire, tongues
all teeth
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
The Poet Who No Longer Believes In Himself
THE POET WHO NO LONGER BELIEVES IN HIMSELF
The poet who no longer believes in himself
And writes on anyway-
The poet who is too weak to stop writing-
The poet who has died as a poet,
Before he has as a person-
The poet who may never have lived as a poet-
The old old old schnook,
Still trying to write a poem
And believing he has done it once again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Apology
For blows on the fort of evil
That never shows a breach,
For terrible life-long races
To a goal no foot can reach,
For reckless leaps into darkness
With hands outstretched to a star,
There is jubilation in Heaven
Where the great dead poets are.
There is joy over disappointment
And delight in hopes that were vain.
Each poet is glad there was no cure
To stop his lonely pain.
For nothing keeps a poet
In his high singing mood
Like unappeasable hunger
For unattainable food.
So fools are glad of the folly
That made them weep and sing,
And Keats is thankful for Fanny Brawne
And Drummond for his king.
They know that on flinty sorrow
And failure and desire
The steel of their souls was hammered
To bring forth the lyric fire.
Lord Byron and Shelley and Plunkett,
McDonough and Hunt and Pearse
See now why their hatred of tyrants
Was so insistently fierce.
Is Freedom only a Will-o'-the-wisp
To cheat a poet's eye?
Be it phantom or fact, it's a noble cause
In which to sing and to die!
So not for the Rainbow taken
And the magical White Bird snared
The poets sing grateful carols
In the place to which they have fared;
But for their lifetime's passion,
The quest that was fruitless and long,
They chorus their loud thanksgiving
To the thorn-crowned Master of Song.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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The Poet as a Feeler of Pain
What makes a poet?
Many have tried to guess.
Is it a voice
like a conduit,
a plainspokenness to grief,
the hairs of the head
dancing on end,
the blood swarming
with the voices
of all those who have died,
will die,
& will also be born?
Is it a catch
in the throat
that awakens the eyes,
is it in the eyes themselves
or is it something
in the heart?
I think it is pain-
an openness to pain,
so that the least leaf
cuts the hand
& the smallest tear
cuts the cheek
like jagged crystal,
so that the world
is a sick infant
& the poet its mother,
praying, crooning, promising
to be good
if only the cure
takes.
There is, of course,
no cure.
Poetry does not cure
the poet
& the poet
does not cure the world.
Usually he catches
the world's diseases
& dies
even before his time.
But against all odds
& all indifference,
another one is born.
The world must have
someone to feel its pain
& speak of it.
The poet is that mouth.
poem by Erica Jong
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All the Hills and Vales Along
All the hills and vales along
Earth is bursting into song,
And the singers are the chaps
Who are going to die perhaps.
O sing, marching men,
Till the valleys ring again.
Give your gladness to earth's keeping,
So be glad, when you are sleeping.
Cast away regret and rue,
Think what you are marching to.
Little live, great pass.
Jesus Christ and Barabbas
Were found the same day.
This died, that went his way.
So sing with joyful breath,
For why, you are going to death.
Teeming earth will surely store
All the gladness that you pour.
Earth that never doubts nor fears,
Earth that knows of death, not tears,
Earth that bore with joyful ease
Hemlock for Socrates,
Earth that blossomed and was glad
'Neath the cross that Christ had,
Shall rejoice and blossom too
When the bullet reaches you.
Wherefore, men marching
On the road to death, sing!
Pour your gladness on earth's head,
So be merry, so be dead.
From the hills and valleys earth
Shouts back the sound of mirth,
Tramp of feet and lilt of sing
Ringing all the road along.
All the music of their going,
Ringing swinging glad song-throwing,
Earth will echo still, when foot
Lies numb and voice mute.
On, marching men, on
To the gates of death with song.
Sow your gladness for earth's reaping,
So you may be glad, though sleeping.
Strew your gladness on earth's bed,
So be merry, so be dead.
poem by Charles Hamilton Sorley
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Wickedness Is Everywhere
His wicked spirit is everywhere, the prince and power of the air,
Born into a system led by him, Satan fills the world with evil sin.
God of the world, on this earth, inciting all born of natural birth,
On this earth, that God created, is a spirit by which He is hated.
God’s Kingdom is not of this world, is what Christ world herald,
Christ’s comes from God above, one filled with peace and love.
Men join His Kingdom from earth. Through Jesus and New Birth,
When in Christ we’re born again, we become to God, His friend.
That dragon is God’s enemy, who wants to destroy you and me,
Aware that he faces eternal fire, our destruction’s his only desire.
Satan’s power deceives the mind, making many spiritually blind,
This while he deceives the heart, wanting all, to from God depart.
God’s Kingdom soon will come, ruled on earth by Christ His Son,
With Satan cast into the abyss, upon earth will be Heaven’s Bliss.
Until then there’s a battle on, but, not against the weak or strong,
It’s against the evil principalities; the darker powers we can’t see.
Man was expelled from Paradise, into a world of darkened strife,
Where Satan sets out to deceive, men and women, just like Eve.
But accept as Savior Jesus Christ, and you’ll receive Eternal Life,
Delivered from this darkened night, into The Lord’s Eternal Light.
(Copyright ©04/2007)
Route March
All the hills and vales along
Earth is bursting into song,
And the singers are the chaps
Who are going to die perhaps.
O sing, marching men,
Till the valleys ring again.
Give your gladness to earth's keeping,
So be glad, when you are sleeping.
Cast away regret and rue,
Think what you are marching to,
Little live, great pass.
Jesus Christ and Barabbas
Were found the same day.
This died, that, went his way.
So sing with joyful breath.
For why, you are going to death.
Teeming earth will surely store
All the gladness that you pour.
Earth that never doubts nor fears
Earth that knows of death, not tears,
Earth that bore with joyful ease
Hemlock for Socrates,
Earth that blossomed and was glad
'Neath the cross that Christ had,
Shall rejoice and blossom too
When the bullet reaches you.
Wherefore, men marching
On the road to death, sing!
Pour gladness on earth's head,
So be merry, so be dead.
From the hills and valleys earth
Shouts back the sound of mirth,
Tramp of feet and lilt of song
Ringing all the road along.
All the music of their going,
Ringing swinging glad song-throwing,
Earth will echo still, when foot
Lies numb and voice mute.
On marching men, on
To the gates of death with song.
Sow your gladness for earth's reaping,
So you may be glad though sleeping.
Strew your gladness on earth's bed,
So be merry, so be dead.
poem by Charles Hamilton Sorley
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Be Glad God Is
Be glad that God is truth and light
Through Christ we have His strength to fight
Be glad we have His gift to pray
That still He calls to those astray
Be glad, that God is not like me
Before He came to set me free
Before my life had seen the change
Where now to self I’m often strange
Be glad that God is not like us
Such trivial things we make a fuss
The food we eat the clothes we wear
But not of that we have to share
Be glad that God is not like you
Too short of sight to share His view
For Heaven's Lord is pure divine
Pouring out love like common wine
Be glad that God is not like they
Who sit puffed up, who waste the day
Who know it all and then some-more
Be glad it’s God who keeps the score
Be glad, that God is not like she
To shake or stir she can’t agree
Though God sends forth His Dove as guide
Heaven or hell she can’t decide
Be glad that God is not like him
Who’s cup has evil to the brim
The devil thought Christ Jesus less
So don’t give Darkness your address
Be glad that God is God indeed
He meets in life our every need
Perfect in love forever true
My God I’m glad that You are You.
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Retrieved Poetry
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
But the inspiration keeps coming,
But the memory keeps living.
Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
It dies only if it is not poetry
And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
And nothing more, until that day,
Until we start thinking he is inspired,
Until we stop thinking for the poet;
He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument.
Even as we cut from the same tree,
Even as we speak same universal language,
You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
We can never speak from same mouth.
You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument,
If poetry is dead killed by death,
If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
The corpse should be in our front.
We should know how to bury it.
We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
If poetry is really dead,
There is cause to weep bitterly,
There is cause to think deeply
For the world has been stripped naked.
For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
At the burial we must remain emotionless.
poem by Chime Justice Ndubuisi
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Poet child and grammar
No grammar is needed
In a child's world
In a poet's world
In the world of love
The poet the child
Are living always
And no one can put them
In trouble water
Poet is a free bird
With his words his languages
His dreams are with him
He is sharing his dreams
His thoughts that is
His greatness.
Leave the poet alone
Leave the child alone
Leave them to smile to laugh
To love to live
You can apply them as they are
You can put them on your own way
And in regular form and understand
On your own what they expressed
Beyond vocabulary beyond grammar
And see everything is alright.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Puzzle
Do not bury the poet
The poet bury himself.
The poet is his soul
It is seen ti poet only.
The poet see the time
And time see the poet.
Ask not the poet repeat
Another sun flash light
And you puzzled.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Nothin In The World Can Stop Me Worryin bout That Girl
Met a girl, fell in love, glad as I can be
Met a girl, fell in love, glad as I can be
But I think all the time, is she true to me?
cause theres nothing in this world to stop me worryin bout that girl
I found out I was wrong, she was just two timing
I found out I was wrong, she just kept on lying
Now she tries to tell the truth, and I just cant believe
cause theres nothing in this world to stop me worryin bout that girl
Tell me who can I turn to, just who can I believe?
Tried to put her out of my mind, shell only cause me grief
I love that girl, whatever shes done, you know it hurts me deeply
cause theres nothing in this world to stop me worryin bout that girl
I know shes been with other fellas, why does she keep on lying?
It hurts me so when she says nothing, I really feel like dying
I ache inside until I think[? ], I know its just my pride
cause theres nothing in this world to stop me worryin bout that girl
cause theres nothing in this world to stop me worryin bout that girl
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God Is Dead
Once a man claimed God was dead, while he, not God, died instead.
God my friend is alive and well, but the fool is bound for eternal Hell.
Filled with an arrogance and pride, that fool has since, eternally died.
And that is the future for all ahead, who today remain spiritually dead.
But today The God who eternally lives, in His Power, to all men gives,
New Life in God’s Son Jesus Christ, so men can now have eternal life.
At the end of our life we won’t die, but be raised up with God on High,
Bound for Eternity with our Lord, to live with Christ Jesus forevermore.
The idea of God dead was conceived, by one mind that was deceived,
By Satan, our God’s eternal enemy, who’s doomed to the fire eternally.
So he blinds the spiritual eyes of men, so they too will be condemned.
Satan uses any means of seduction, to lead men to eternal destruction.
Satan gets men to deny The Truth, through human reason and reproof,
Insisting that only a fool believes, as these men, he eternally deceives.
The entire time knowing my friend, that he could never change his end.
The change which God makes for us, when in Christ we place our trust.
God, who that fool said was dead, allowed His Son to die in our stead,
So that through His bloody sacrifice, we could then enter into Paradise.
And so Believers don’t need to dread, living today or when we’re dead,
For we’ve been given Eternal Life, in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Poet To Non-believer
A poet can make you believe in love.
A non-believer can't.
A poet can make your spirits soar.
A non-believer can't.
For a poet's power with a word
is like the wings of a bird.
But a non-believer who can't see ahead
is like the wings of a bird that's dead.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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In Remembrance
Sad to see a person known,
Suffer much more than me;
Glad to hear a person good
Reach eternity,
Sad when I can't help the next,
Despite my unique ken;
Mad to watch the world behave
Like a lion's den.
Sad to know how people are
Caught in the midst of strife;
Glad to know God rescues them
From their problems rife.
Sad to see the flight of years,
And joys scarce, woes galore
Glad to pray for many souls,
Who need God's grace more.
Sad to watch a world turn vain
And live so foolishly;
Glad I am bit different,
Live god-willingly!
Sad that devils make us prey,
Undoing grace of God;
Glad that earth is transient,
We will meet our Lord!
Dedicated to all my loving family members,
relatives and friends,
their kith and kin, dead and alive
Copyright by Dr John Celes 8-8-12
poem by John Celes
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I'm A Poet
I'm a Poet
A twister of words
I open a world unseen to others
I bring meaning to the meaningless
I use words as my weapon
It's a double edged sword
I can bring beauty to a slum land
Horror to a smile
I can give life to the dead
Immorality to a flower
Then destroy it in the next line
I'm a poet
A rhymer of words
I see the unseen
And create new worlds
I am an artist of the written
A magician of the pen
I can make words rhyme
Or go free verse
It all depends
On how I feel in that moment
I'm a poet
To the end
poem by Rachel Dowd
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Saved
I was blinded by the devil,
Born already ruined,
Stone-cold dead
As I stepped out of the womb.
By his grace I have been touched,
By his word I have been healed,
By his hand Ive been delivered,
By his spirit Ive been sealed.
Ive been saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved,
Saved,
And Im so glad.
Yes, Im so glad,
Im so glad,
So glad,
I want to thank you, lord,
I just want to thank you, lord,
Thank you, lord.
By his truth I can be upright,
By his strength I do endure,
By his power Ive been lifted,
In his love I am secure.
He bought me with a price,
Freed me from the pit,
Full of emptiness and wrath
And the fire that burns in it.
Ive been saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved,
Saved,
And Im so glad.
Yes, Im so glad,
Im so glad,
So glad,
I want to thank you, lord,
I just want to thank you, lord,
Thank you, lord.
Nobody to rescue me,
Nobody would dare,
I was going down for the last time,
But by his mercy Ive been spared.
Not by works,
But by faith in him who called,
For so long Ive been hindered,
For so long Ive been stalled.
Ive been saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved,
Saved,
And Im so glad.
Yes, Im so glad, Im so glad,
So glad, I want to thank you, lord,
I just want to thank you, lord,
Thank you, lord.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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If Walls Could Talk
(bobby miller)
Well, if things could talk then Im sure youd hear
A lot of things to make you cry my dear
Aint you glad [aint you glad]
Oh, aint you glad [aint you glad]
Aint you glad [glad]
Glad that things dont talk
Now, if shoes could tell where theyve been
When you say youve been visiting a friend
Aint you glad [aint you glad]
He-he-hey, aint you glad [aint you glad]
But aint you glad [glad]
Glad that shoes dont talk
Now, if doors could tell whos turned the knob
When hes away out on his job
If cars could tell whos been inside
And whos been taking you out for a ride
Aint you glad [aint you glad]
Oh, aint you glad [aint you glad]
But aint you glad [glad]
Glad that cars dont talk
In a world of trouble Id be
If things ever told on me
My whole life would be through
cause Im guilty, how about you ?
If things ever talk that way
Aint no telling what they might say
Aint you glad [aint you glad]
Oh, aint you glad [aint you glad]
Aint you glad [glad]
Glad that things dont talk
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To change the world
The poet wish
The world be change.
The poet is here
To inspire
To entertain
To challenge.
The poet is here
To change the world
With his pious word.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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