Eating A Tulip
One day writes about
A poem that looks life
A map
For some directions
To a location
Of a hidden rock
Of gold and i
Who dream of
One day getting
Rich read it,
Only to find
This Woman
Smelling my Tulip
Wanting to eat it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Desire To Eat A Tulip
One day
she
writes about
A poem that looks life
A map
For some directions
To a location
Of a hidden rock
Of gold and i
Who dream of
One day getting
Rich read it,
Only to find
This Woman
Smelling my Tulip
Wanting to eat it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Dream Of A Map Of Fortune
One day i write about
A poem that looks like
A map
For some directions
To a location
Of a hidden rock
Of gold and i
Who dream of
One day getting
Rich read it,
Only to find
These little red ants
Inside my pants
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Wanted My Poem To Be A Real Poem
I WANTED MY POEM TO BE A REAL POEM
I wanted my poem to be a real poem-
I have read and studied and memorized
So many real poems-
I wanted my poem to be one of them
Which others would read and feel and memorize
And make their own –
We want and we want and we want
And who are we with all our wanting?
Who am I with all my wanting?
One more dreamer
One more ambitious person
One more lover of poems
One more writer of poems
One more wanter of real poems
Who writes this poem
For others
who dream like me
of writing real poems.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem About The Poem About The Poem
THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written in dream
And forgotten in sleep
Comes back to me slowly now
As if it had been away on a long long journey
And is reluctant to come home-
I write it
But it really writes me
And when I try to make sense of what it means
It tells me its ambiguities
Are more important and interesting
Than my clarity-
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written now
May not be a poem about a poem about a poem at all
But may merely be my own playing with words
Which take the place in my life
Of really living-
A poem about a poem about a poem?
Surely this is a mysterious thing
If it exists at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Crazy Letter
When I back Home
After my long traveling in north
I found two letters in my mailbox
One from bank told me, sorry sir
In your account just have ten Dirhams now
Another one from a crazy woman
She writes me
I am Zineb the beautiful girl sits near you in bus
You remember me sir?
I am sure you still remember me
I am the pretty girl in the bus
I know you like me
I saw that in your eyes
But I don’t like you sir
Because you are not the man I looking for
I am looking for a man
Handsome
Smart
Rich
I know you is not handsome, not rich and not smart
But I am tired looking for the man I want
I can accept you if you want
I am sure you want
You can call me
This is my phone number
I read this letter and smile
Because it is first crazy letter I read in my live
But it is not last crazy letter I read
I still find in my letterbox other crazy letter
Send by crazy woman
poem by Bourjil Yousfi
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He Walks Without A Poem
HE WALKS WITHOUT A POEM
He walks without a poem
There is no poem in his mind
No poem in his heart.
But the idea of a poem
The dream of a poem
The daily task of a poem
The justification given by a poem-
He stops and writes these words down.
All around him
the morning light sings songs
of the things
of this world.
A poem perhaps?
Perhaps not?
I
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Of All The Places I Have Never Been
THE POEM OF ALL THE PLACES I HAVE NEVER BEEN
The poem of all the places I have never been
The poem of all the dreams I have not seen
The poem of others poems written in lines I have never imagined
The poem of the infinite – what-is- not and ‘what- will- never- be
The poem of seas and suns and sounds and Shakespeare’s sonnets,
The poem of words and only words whose sounds do not mean what we feel
The poem of all I would not and cannot write
The poem that is not and never will be in me
The poem I do not write
The poem I am not
The poem lost
The poem which itself is not a poem
The poem of the last contradiction and the first
The poem beyond the poem hidden within the poem
The poem which will never be a poem
The poem which is not
The poem I cannot dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Hidden Talent
Written by gerry beckley, 1998
Found on human nature.
Just like a person from another world
My eyes can see inside you, little girl
I see things that you dont want to see
I see things youre trying to hide from me
Im just trying to make you understand
All the ways you can affect this man
From the moment that you came in touch
With the power there to burn so much
Youve got hidden talent (yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
You know your past is whats been bugging you
If youre ready girl ... do what you gotta do
Look for your life between the lines
Bad directions and poor designs
Youve got hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
Check it out you ... got it, hidden talent, oh
With the advantage of perspective i
See theres more to you than meets the eye
But now the time must come to spread your wings and fly
Yeah (hidden talent) yeah
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
Check it out ... you got it, hidden talent, oh
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
Affair without warning
Hidden talent, mmm (mmm)
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
(fade)
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Valentine's flowers
Written by Tulip
Valentine is too far away for me
For so many flowers just weep
Be merchandised they don't need
And they want nothing but being free
I want to say in my heart I love you
But I can't hurt flowers' soul
So their ever growing rich I hope
Become more beautiful for both
Written by Tulip in Suzhou
on Valentine's Day
14/02/2012
情人节【花语】
原创 Tulip
情人节离我相距遥遥
有多少花儿泪如水漂
世俗化商品她们 不求
只想要还原重现自由
我想说我深深的爱您
但我无意伤 害花之魂
但愿花肥久盛春常艳
为你和我好事促成双
原创 Tulip 写于苏州
2012年2月14日情人节
poem by Julio Tulipan
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Reflections 101
he writes not because
he wants to be read and
be understood
got him wrong really
he writes because he likes
to live
life writes upon himself
and so he writes upon life too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poet's Blues
A poet
Is having a hard time
To day
While he is writing his poem
He writes something
Om his computer
And after he finishes it he reads it
And it doesn't seem good enought for him
So he errases it
And he writes his poem again on his computer
When he is finished with his poem
He reads his poem
And he is not happy with it still
So he errases it again
And then he writes it again on his compute
Now his poem is finally making sense
And all he needs to do is to elaborate his poem
Now it it is getting late for the poet
Ans he needs a break from writing
So he goes to sleep right now
poem by Aldo Kraas
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I Read Today A Hundred Poems
I read today a hundred poems
And cannot find
A single one that moved me -
Perhaps it is not the poems
But my poetic soul
that has no life -
I remember a poem
I read yesterday by Neruda
How beautiful how deep
How filled with passion and longing-
How rich in surprise-
I marvel at the greatness
Of his Poetry of Love-
There is Poetry
One only has to read a true poet
To find it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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One Waits For A Poem One Cannot Write
ONE WAITS FOR A POEM ONE CANNOT WRITE
One waits for a poem one cannot write-
And writes a poem one does not want to-
And dreams them both with longing for something else.
And writes and writes
Poem after poem
Until one does not know
Where the poem is,
And whether one is a poet at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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One Last Dream Of....
one last dream of being on this universe,
one last dream of being under this horrible curse,
one last dream of loosing hope,
one last dream of being under the scope,
one last dream of self harm,
one last dream of hurting her arm,
one last dream of dying inside,
one last dream of wanting to hide,
one last dream of a hospital,
one last dream of a lost soul,
one last dream of thinking knowbody is there,
one last dream of living in fear,
one last dream of wanting to be dead,
one last dream of harmful thoughts in my head,
one last dream of giving up on myself,
one last dream of not wanting help..
poem by Corina Rose Guard
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An Old Man Waits For a Poem To Come
AN OLD MAN WAITS FOR A POEM TO COME
An old man waits for a poem to come
How many poems will come
Before he’s done?
An old man writes and writes and writes
He will write
To the end of his life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem about Poetry - I know how God writes his poem
i know how god writes his poem
it is in the delicate, artistic and
defining lines of every flower
petals, pistil, stamen, pollens,
fragrant and scents that fill the air
i know how god writes his poem
it is in the ray of the sun
that reveals their metaphors
and rhymes in the rain
an arc over the clear blue sky
i know how god writes his poem
it is in your eyes, two lakes of honey
that sail me into your warm saccharine world
dilating and constricting to let them
speak more volume to my my lovelorn heart
i know how god writes his poem
it is in the dazzling lines of the sea
that shows the sky how many ways
it can define and redefine itself
it is in the breeze that pulls off a dancer
twirling towards me in every direction
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Love Poem...
the poet who
writes a love poem
cannot but be filled by
awe
when the woman
whom he does not know
thinks that the poem
is for her
miles apart
the poem is a
universe
in itself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Invitation
You are invited cordially
To read my poem
Read and reread again
And again and again
With undiminish interest.
I invite you to read my poem
And search out yourself
Where you are missing
And find you out in it
You please read my poem
And see in it how you
Manage yourself to stay
And how you are making
Preparation to go finally.
I invite you to read my poem
And I invite you cordially.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Meaningless Noise
the little baby that crawls from the cradle
to the kitchen,
the boy that walks from the village to the
city,
the same man that starts some lines, ponders,
and assembles thoughts and speaks
and
writes this poem,
it is the same man that speaks upon a rooted silence,
at the top soil, there is nothing much to say
perhaps only some leaves with worms
the usual predator-prey relationship, parasite-host thing
it is the same ramble at night
loose, nameless, meaningless noise,
streets without directions,
intemperate, mocking, purposeless,
read it again, find something if there is really something
dichotomy, dialectic, idiosyncrasies,
paradox
thinker, speaker,
speck, stink.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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to connect himself to God
to make this divine connection
from his human
ity
he writes a poem about a kite that a child makes
from sticks and paper
and some paste
to stick them in together
like a symbolism
of body and soul
and the child puts the paper tail
as rudder
of this kite and then he runs to the field
to find the wind to give his kite a lift
to the skies
high spirited like his soul
and his body
wanting to be with
God up there
after this i will ask him,
the child
(or the child in him)
or simply him the man who who writes a poem about a kite
lifting itself up with the wind of his beaufiful words:
do you feel something divine?
was there something divine in this poem about a kite?
did you feel God?
did you see him up in the skies above?
you tell me about angels, now tell me, my friend
about the presence of God
tell me more, about this kite this flight this wind
do not mention anything about power
i am always this suspicious believer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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