David Do Not Say That You Are Not A Poet
in terms of
the word written
telling something
that there is something inside you
that clicks
and beats and screams and calms down
like a slam
of a door from someone who decides
finally to leave
in terms of disbelief
about what happens on the day
when you are struck
with sadness
the poems begin to grow in your mind
and they become trees
and trees
are poems and so
be frank to admit now that
you are a poet
lousy or what.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Gratis Et Amore
for the poems that i have written
and which you read
by heart, i bless you with a prayer for luck
for another year
for the poems which i have not written yet,
i wish you a longer life, so you may read them
when they become finally written
for the poems i have in mind and which i will not write
i wish you patience i wish you some prayers
may these poems realize their worth
may they decide to become truths
with you i pray that God may be also kind
for those still unspoken
and may God bless your mind
may they open up like tight buds to become the flowers
of the world, the sun to warm them, the rain to shower them
may these poems live and linger
may they be like grass always unswerving to grow and cover everything
alive and loving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Soap
you wish i were true
to every word i wrote in my poems
like sadness
that i must be sad when my poems
talk about sadness
like separation and disgust and pain
that i must suffer
with the poems i write that i must have despair
and pain too
and disgust
for every word of disgust written in every word
in every line
how cruel of you
how cruel of truth
how can i justify my death when i speak only of death
and in the very poem
where i write the word
death
there is soap
there is this box of untruths in pandora and when i open it
they must spread and you may refuse to believe
me again
but it would be very cruel of you
to make these poems
all these poems be my life my only life
and lived
and day by day lived in accordance with the
mouths of these poems
empathy
is the word, it is like i am putting my feet in another person's
shoes
then i write, and i could have written about this word: happiness
joy, bliss
ecstasy, light, and amazing glory
i choose not to,
i think, i have too much of it, and i do not share it for now
there is no necessity
and i cannot really help
with so much loneliness and sadness out there
with them i stretch my hands to hold them and feel them
and they all become
myself. it is not soap then, and there are no bubbles in the skies
there is no child playing amazed by the bubbles that burst and by the
bubbles that
are so abundant.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Dogs Of Drangonchester
The dogs of Dragonchester is a condo that sits by the Sea,
surounded by sand, tropical plants and palm trees.
Happy Dogs live at the Dragonchester for I have seen,
these dogs are special to their owners, they make them happy.
Inside this book is a collection of Dragonchester Dog poems,
you can read them at your leisure at night in your home.
Some poems might make you laugh, some poems might make you cry,
that is the observation of me the poet whose words I do scribe.
These poems you can pass along to your dear friends,
you can frame them if you like so you can read their words again.
Many wishes to the dog owners and a cheer to their pets,
many more stories to make into Dragonchester Dog poems still yet.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on December 22,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
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It's Not Easy Being The Love Poet
'The Love Poet' that's what they call me
I admit it's flattering being the one and only
Other poets write love poems I will concede
But none with the emotion of mine, none indeed
But being the love poet has it's price
Everyone expects my work to be happy, be nice
If I ever feel lousy I can't write it down
Because reading it might cause the audience to frown
I'm not always Happy Harry I will admit
Every now and the, I really feel like shit
Depression a remnant of the life I left behind
Has found me again and has it's grip on my mind
But sad or not, I've a reputation to uphold
I write poetry that's warm and not cold
Push depression aside begin a new love poem
2nd draft I write on my way home
Every now and then, I will read a sad one
Which leads to another, what have I begun?
I want to make people smile not cry
And here I am reading qbout how I want to die
Even love poets have their bad days
Finding out today was the end of always
Without her, love poems just don't seem right
Neighbors hear you crying, long into the night
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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I Have Written Too Many Imperfect Poems
I HAVE WRITTEN TOO MANY IMPERFECT POEMS
I have written too many imperfect poems
This is another one.
Years have gone by,
Where are the perfect poems?
A handful of true poems
And the poet does not die.
Where are mine?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Dogs Of Drangonchester
THE DOGS OF DRANGONCHESTER
The dogs of Dragonchester is a condo that sits by the Sea,
surounded by sand, tropical plants and palm trees.
Happy Dogs live at the Dragonchester for I have seen,
these dogs are special to their owners, they make them happy.
Inside this book is a collection of Dragonchester Dog poems,
you can read them at your leisure at night in your home.
Some poems might make you laugh, some poems might make you cry,
that is the observation of me the poet whose words I do scribe.
These poems you can pass along to your dear friends,
you can frame them if you like so you can read their words again.
Many wishes to the dog owners and a cheer to their pets,
many more stories to make into Dragonchester Dog poems still yet.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on December 22,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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I Have Written Too Many Poems Of Despair
I HAVE WRITTEN TOO MANY POEMS OF DESPAIR
I have written too many poems of despair-
Too much complaint-
Too much sorrow grief sadness difficulty pain-
I should have written more of hope of youth of love-
I should have sung of happiness
I should have been been a poet
Who helps others love life more
I can try now-
But can words of ‘will’ really be poetry?
It is when the lines come to the mind and heart
On their own
Naturally
That the poem begins to live.
Does this sound like a ‘happy poem’?
Or yet another lament for what I am
And have not been?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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We Need New Poems
WE NEED NEW POEMS
We need new Poems-
So many great Poems
Have already been written.
Perhaps the Greatest poems
Have already been written.
But we need new poems.
We need our Poems
We need the poems only we can write
We need the poems we must write.
We need new poems
My poems
Your poems
Our poems.
We need new poems.
Let us write them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.
Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Rebecca on another note
why did you slam the door?
now, do you regret
that you have finally died
just because you slam
the door
and then this poet who writes
about you
kills you with a mere slam?
don't you think that he is not just
witty but too
a little bit cruel?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If Poems Had...
if poems had hands,
they'd unload all the guns,
tear down the walls that divide us,
wipe tears from the face of sadness.
if poems had wings,
they'd fly over the barriers
and through the storms,
to nest on the cliffs of freedom.
if poems had hearts,
they'd feel all suffering as their own,
they'd forgive without hesitation,
and love without condition.
if poems had homes,
they'd unlock and open the door,
and let the stranger in,
giving shelter to the lost.
if poems had hope,
they'd believe in spite of,
validating the worth of,
each and every thing that breathes!
if poems had bodies,
hands, wings, hearts, homes, and hope...
turning into you and me,
written by an unseen hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Nothing Extraordinary Nothing Peculiar
i wake up early today
3 a.m.,
not for any call from
God
as though it has something
to do with the divine and
the miraculous,
telling me what to do
or his angels
for some reminders,
to be good, and kind
and compassionate,
there is nothing
extraordinary about
waking up early,
nothing peculiar really,
there is no rhyme
or even prose in this
unholy hour where
the other spirits
still roam claiming
this hour to be
still theirs rightfully,
sometimes i claim
this is pure work,
legal matters to be
finished and done
on time, or some
personal matters
to be written and
clarified, some journal
entries of my life,
for their reference when
i am gone
dead, to say the flat
word for departure,
but i think, to be honest
with you
(dear reader) i wake
up because some words
come inside my mind,
well, i admit, poems,
some more poems,
to my embarrassment
from my undisturbed friends
they ask, what have i to
do with these orphans?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poems Written About Poetry
The poems written about Poetry
Seemed to be self- indulgent and self- serving,
The Poet worshipping what he does
And making himself Holy-
But in some other way
They were simply Explorations
Efforts at understanding the Art
And improving the Music-
They were in their own quiet way small adventures
And gifts to other would- be- poets
And lovers of intense lines-
The poems written about the poetry
Were small additions to a long history
Poems about poems-
One kind of poem
In a world
Where there is no end to more and many.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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On Their Own Terms
On their own terms,
People have a right to do and choose...
As they please.
This should not lead to an argument.
However...
When those terms and choices one chooses,
At the crossing over a threshold into someone's home...
Anyone believing they should be treated,
Based upon their own terms...
Should excuse themselves immediately.
Before they are asked to leave.
Thus making the keeping of their own terms,
An issue not needing to be debated.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If you think in terms of a year, plant a seed; if in terms of ten years, plant trees; if in terms of 100 years, teach the people.
Sonnet: the Master Poet
’Tis God who inspires in me fire!
He is the Master-Sculptor and Poet!
I play a melody with strings well-set;
God-kindled heart of mine becomes a lyre.
Every poet speaks to God in his mind,
In ways so strange that both can understand;
The Poet is a singer in his band;
To God’s tenets, his songs will always bind,
With time, he communicates very fast;
The Poet takes up every word of His;
And so the poems get very well cast;
As if God gave the poet’s mind- bliss.
To thee belongs my poems, O my Lord!
They are made great byThy divine accord.
3-3-2000
poem by John Celes
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I Cannot Leave The Poems
I CANNOT LEAVE THE POEMS
I cannot leave the poems-
There are too many moments of life
When the Beauty of it comes so suddenly and surprisingly-
It should not pass unnoticed.
Poems lived and imperfectly written down.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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For my poems, written so early
For my poems, written so early
That I didn't even know I was a poet,
Hurled like drops from a fountain,
Like sparks from rockets,
That burst like tiny devils,
Into the sanctuary of sleep and incense,
For my poems about youth and death
-- For my unread poems!
Scattered in dusty bookstores,
Where no one ever buys them!
For my poems, like precious wines,
A time will come.
poem by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva
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Always The Poems In Me
Always the poems in me-
Saying themselves over and over
Returning to lines learned long ago
Or lines learned with more difficulty in old age-
Always the poems in me-
While my own poems written
And forgotten
As if only
Poems of a single occasion
The time of their writing-
Always the poems in me-
The poems which others will have in them after me
Poems not my own.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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