How Poetry May Not Be Taken Seriously
when spontaneously
a poem comes along
you grab it like a chicken
and choke it
with your usual grammatical
errors
and words not so well chosen
like a stream of erroneous
thoughts misspelled
and put out of context
and then you are too busy
to correct it
and post it right away
and then it comes back
to you when you
read it
after a while when you
come back from office
work and you
realize
the horror of
the Dracula that you made
another Frankenstein
all of them bite you
in your neck
and takes your blood
sucking them
like water.
devastating indeed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
The Honest Corrector...
when there is something that is missing
you supply the lapse
and i begin to develop that trust,
words are not the only non-living thing
that are misspelled,
others, who despite, their massive
experience of this
daily world,
do not know how to spell at at times
and we move in places where our heads are
marked for correction
we wear the red of errors
and nobody dares to tell us,
they just don't care at all,
with you i am safe, and no matter how
erroneous my life had been or will be,
i am secure,
you are there to correct this life,
and i go to sleep
soundly
warm inside that blanket
beside you....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Do Not Correct Mistakes … I Play
it so happens that
i post a poem with some errors
not of feeling but of
grammatical lapses and she is afraid
that people may begin to belittle me for such
unforgivable simplicities of
mistakes unaccounted
but i tell her even beforehand that i am
always unapologetic
even unkind
or indifferent
i am a person who does not go back
to review
and correct errors
i laugh at them knowing that they have deceived
me into such a corruption
somehow life is like that
we rush to get out of a door only
to find the wrong key in our hand
and we are having a hard time
opening that
which we closed
and we cannot enter anymore
except when when we break the door &
open it forcefully
with a hammer
the noise is painful
having to break in
your own room with locks forced open
like an invasion of your own
body destroying it
breaking your heart or
bones
tearing your skins apart
or slicing some flesh
because you made a mistake
i like lapses,
errors are not supposed to be
minded at
life is like that
no crying for what is there already
sometimes
i don't even solve puzzles
i let them be their own problems
as i sit on the sands
watching the sun
set
feeling the cool winds when the
world starts to lose
its light
and surrender all its arms
to the power of
darkness
and when it gets too dark
i begin to play again
like a child left by mother
abandoned
by father
under the moon under the rain
and all alone.
i like it when i listen
to the bliss of my own wild
laughter
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Do Not Post Your Poem Here
Do not post your poem here
Unless you've something worth a say!
You must not waste a space like this,
For space can waste away!
Do not post your poem here
With words which make no sense!
Be careful when you post it here
That you use the proper tense!
Do not post your poem here
Just to fill a space with words!
A poem should be well thought out,
Was it meant to be absurd?
Do not post your poem here
If in cliches you would write.
A poem should be fresh, yes sharp -
You'll know when it's just right!
Do not post your poem here
Just to see yourself in print.
You're wasting others time you know
With such, self centred stints!
I wil not post my poem here,
This one does not exist,
But did I tell you at the start
That I'm a nihilist?
poem by Joe Hughes
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Errors
there will be always errors
my errors
not yours, even your errors
shall be mine
for there will always be errors
that is too normal
for our lifetime
too short to be erroneous
but always real
too real to be touched
too exciting
to be always noticed
and too numb to be affected
by their
hypocrisies
you too? oh my, why?
don't you like to be the most normal
bird with only two wings
to fly?
how can you use a third wing?
to see with the third eye
aren't you funny to see
on this third
excess?
come, let us feast on these errors
drink these glasses of errors
be filled and vomit with errors
defecate these errors
and be empty again
after having learned so much
to become the
newest genius in this town
of errors.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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October the Post Office Cat
Some thought she was a stray
That had come for scraps along the way
That might be left from the lunch
Of the post office staff; a kindly bunch.
But others knew her for what she was,
October the Post Office Cat.
She had a duty like any employee
To be on time and serve the public daily
And as any other as all know,
Had an official position just so.
October the Post Office Cat.
As soon as the walks were swept
And the doors were opened for the daily visits,
She found her space upon the walk
A bit removed so that none would balk
As they came to do their task or mail whatever.
October the Post Office Cat.
She often times was given the duty
Of minding some child whose custodian
Had business to attend
In dealing with the letters or packages within,
So she laid there carefully in the sun
Till end of day when her work was done.
October the Post Office Cat.
She was known by all who came along that way
Parking carefully throughout the day
Making sure that she was not disturbed
As she, her duties did perform.
Watching and listening to the sounds of pleasure
That only can be bestowed on one to treasure.
Yet adults knew not how to measure.
October the Post Office Cat.
On the post across the way
A yellow sign was placed on display
By the lady who ran the insurance office
Who wanted to be sure that others notice
That this was the path taken each day
As the cat came to begin her official stay.
October the Post Office Cat.
There came a time when she did not appear
And it was certainly a time to fear
That something had befallen this special one
Who worked so hard to please everyone
And the sign was removed so that all would know
That she wouldn't be there anymore.
October the Post Office Cat.
Then mysteriously the sign reappeared
On the post for all to read
Which proclaimed that this was the crossing
Reserved for the cat that all were missing.
And it's said that she comes each day
Although never seen by adults on their way
But the children know that she is there.
October the Post Office Cat.
poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
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Always Moving On
the past
is just a set of some
grammatical errors
which i do not
wish to correct
because they are understood
to mean
what you think
too is right
but is too tired to
comment
or change
one does not have
the time to go
back and
fret and
edit
because there is so much
to write
to put into the concrete pavements
once again
to choose and
discard
to begin again a new
sentence
putting the first word on
paper
bulbs lighting
a new day
sun rising from the
east
and then suddenly
as you look again
on the screen
and look out to the
window
it is another sunset
and it is
too beautiful to speak
or write
there is no jutting down now
it is just plain
gazing
your hands on the table
all pens up
and you surrender to
such ending
it is too beautiful to behold
and then
at night some other dreams
let the letters then
reorganize themselves
let the errors
reorder what should have been
or
ought to be
now i am moving again
into another depth
another milestone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The First Poem
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Failings
forgive my
eyes
again i have
misspelled
the words,
forgive my
shortcomings,
i have no time
correcting them
no time to go
back and
see how the errors
can be
redeemed,
i am in rush
but i do not actually know
what to do
or where.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Perfect Poem
Fledgling poets often make a wide variety of mistakes,
And it’s nice to have these brought to your attention.
People enjoy writing poetry, as at the end of the day,
They end up, with a product of their own invention.
If you’re writing a poem to enter into a competition,
Don’t be tempted to use coloured ink or fancy fonts;
Along with the use of images, they detract from the poem,
And this is not what any reader, especially a judge, wants.
The title of your masterpiece is very important indeed;
It needs to really grab the reader’s eye and attention.
People don’t always realise how important a catchy title is,
But, it is a valid point which really is worth a mention.
The body of text, needs to be broken into bite size verses,
So as it’s attractive to the reader’s roving and selective eye.
If a poem looks forbidding, and uninviting on the printed page,
Many a reader is likely to just gloss over it, and pass it on by.
The wording of a poem should sound as natural as can be:
Phrases shouldn’t be inverted in order to satisfy a rhyme.
The use of inversion is not considered to be skilful writing,
But, it is used by many writers of poetry, time after time.
The lines of a poem, especially those ones which rhyme,
Give or take a syllable, should be roughly of equal length.
If a poem has a really good strong, rhythmic pulse to it,
It really does give it so much more balance and strength.
Readers are much less likely to choose to read a poem,
If it is really confusing, or if it is just weirdly obscure.
Too many ideas and themes packed into one piece alone,
Is another problem which readers hate to have to endure.
You shouldn’t tell the reader too much or too little –
It needs to be just the right amount of information.
They need the chance to find their own way into a poem,
Leaving room for their own imagination, and interpretation.
Certain subjects are covered time and time again,
And so there’s not really anything very new to say;
If you do choose to write about a popular subject,
You need to present it in a totally fresh and new way.
If you follow the above useful advice and guidelines,
Your chances of winning a competition should increase.
Correct any spelling and grammatical errors you may have,
Then, you should end up with pretty much the perfect piece.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Did You Understand It?
You've written something with several typographical errors.
And I question the correctness of your language usage.
Plus it had been written in mixed tenses.
I read it more than once.
And after the third reading it finally dawned on me,
You may have done this intentionally.
'Did you understand it?
What it was I tried to do? '
I'm not sure.
'How would you critique it? '
I don't know if I can.
'And you read it three times? '
At least.
'Why should I bother to correct it?
If 'you' read something I wrote...
THREE times?
And you have never expressed any interest before?
In anything I've ever done?
Why should I correct it?
This is the first time you and I have communicated,
In years.
Who knew...
All it took was a few errors,
To get you to give me what I have been wanting.
Here...
Read this! '
Your first and third lines rhyme.
But the rest of it...
Well,
I think this is a bunch of garbage.
'Thank you.
And all this time,
You had me believing...
You didn't care.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There are grammatical errors even in his silence.
Stanislaw Jerzy Lec in Unkempt Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Error
this is not an ordinary error that one corrects
like a grammatical mistake
that with a slight stroke of the pen
everything becomes correct
and acceptable
this is repeated error
one knows it is an error but one does not correct it
it plunges and pushes and pulls
back to the same error again
something delicious
so sweet to the tongue
the mouth salivates
and the heart pounces upon
a thousand breathings
this is the error that one always looks forward to see
one evening and another
in a room the two of you sharing it
you kneel and pray and soar to heights
without so many words wasted
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fetching Water
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
Everyone today has forgotten
what it’s like to haul water in a pail.
Every house must have a Jacuzzi,
and a big swimming pool, as well.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
And our homes must have a green lawn
to keep it looking really good!
The water we waste on that green grass
could be used by the farmer to grow food.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
Don’t waste all of that precious water.
We have worked too hard to bring it here.
We can’t live without that precious water
let’s be thankful that it is so near.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
Don’t be taking the water from the farmer
without it his crops will never grow.
All of life depends upon the water
Don’t take it for granted anymore.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
poem by Emma Beverage
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Visit With The Vampire
You mention a vampire
and your thoughts turn to Dracula
that bloodsucking fiend
or a creature like that.
Protruding fangs and bite in the neck,
but they are not the only bloodsuckers around.
You sit there in a line waiting to be called.
The room is sterile and not what you would expect
from the home of a twenty first century vampire.
You feel a bit queasy
and wonder if it will hurt.
You see them go in the door,
but so far, none has come out.
No sounds come from within
and the willing victims beside me
are all filled with smiles and not a care.
Then a number pops up
and the next victim goes in.
The queue is getting shorter
and soon it will be my turn.
Then the one next to me goes in,
but they do not come back.
My face is getting paler
and I can feel my blood rushing to my feet.
I smile a little bit;
at least they will not find it there.
Then my number is called
and I go in without a whimper.
“Take your coat off
and roll up your sleeve Mr Harris.
This won’t hurt a bit.”
I instinctively do as I am told
and then she takes her needle out.
Advancing towards me
my eyes roll in my sockets
and my head goes spinning around.
She shoves the needle in my arm
and withdraws her portion
of my precious blood.
Everything goes white
and I feel myself thump to the ground.
Someone is slapping my face.
“You can wake up now Mr Harris it is all done.
We will see you next week.”
Not likely if I can help it
and then I get the hell out of there
and down to the pub to get a pint
of Guinness to get my circulation going around.
Well, they do say Guinness
is good for you
especially after visit with the Vampire.
Now I am going
just to test their theory.
poem by David Harris
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A Few Things You Should Never Do
Never date the Wolfman
on the night of a full moon.
You could end up
with a very nasty love bite.
Never date Dr Frankenstein
on a stormy night.
You might just end up
with a bolt out of the blue.
Never open Dracula’s coffin
as the sun begins to set.
You might end up
opening a box of your own.
poem by David Harris
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Aspiring to greatness
Some choose to write by candlelight
and some compose straight on the screen.
Whichever way to you seems right,
that is the way it’s always been.
In days of yore you chose your quill,
made sure the ink was close to hand
Before your parchment you could fill,
then sprinkle it with silver sand.
A pencil is my chosen tool
I scribble quickly on my pad
and then transfer it as a rule
to my computer: I am glad
to see it appear on the screen.
Neatly displayed in black and white
the font I use shows crisp and clean
Then I will edit and put right
whatever errors I have made.
Correct the meter and the rhyme.
The final draft is then displayed
. Re editing does not waste time.
It is a task you must not shirk.
Though I’m afraid that many do
and thus do not present their work.
as perfectly as they ought to.
It is entirely up to you
to show that you are willing to
do everything that you can do
to prove you’re fit to join the few.
Whose poetry will still be read.
Like the great poets of the past
In years to come when you are dead.
Whose golden words were meant to last.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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.
The Hook Up
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oooh.......
He was lookin' said he wanna hook up
But she don't wanna hook up
Told him, just go (Go!)
And now she lookin' said she wanna hook up
He really wanna hook up
Told her, let's go (Go!)
Baby, I can't believe everything
Your body make me wanna do,
From the way that you move on the floor,
Now I think I'm in love with you
Grab my waist
Wanna get with the rhythm of the move ya' do, do
Switch my hips on the floor,
do it slow, to keep up with you
Back it up now
Bump your rump now
Grab my waist now
Work it out now
Grab my shoulder
Pick it up now
Take it lower
To the floor now
Watch out, baby
I'm a drop a little somethin'
Ride it, baby
We can do a little somethin'
And check out baby
When I do a little somethin
You know, baby
Let's hook up a little somethin'
Baby, I can't believe everything
That I feel when I dance with you
From the small of my back to the breath on my neck
To the move you do
Put your body
Gotta get my body up right next to you
Move the party
Gotta rock the party until they're over you
Back it up now
Bump your rump now
Grab my waist now
Work up now
Grab my shoulder
Pick it up now
Take it lower
To the floor (x2)
Boy, I can't explain
What you do to me
My whole world has changed
Im living a fantasy
Tonight, I'm in the mood
Please take me by your hand
I wanna get in your groove
oh, baby, take me there
The bodies are shakin
Wanna get my body, keep shakin
Better get your butt out here baby
Cmon lets go...
So do how you do it
Drop it down, bend over, get to it
Make it pop back down to the ground
Pick it up, let's go... (x2)
Don't stop
Just get, get on the floor
Butt drops
Hips pop, poppin' for sure
Who's got, got it
Get it some more
One time, two times, three times we go
Back it up now
Bump your rump now
Grab my waist now
Work it up now
Grab my shoulder
Pick it up now
Take it lower
To the floor
Back it up now
Bump your rump now
Grab my waist now
Work it up now
Grab my shoulder
Pick it up now
Take it lower
To the floor
Watch out, baby
I'm a drop a little somethin'
Ride it, baby
We can do a little somethin'
And check out baby
When I get a little somethin
You know, baby
Let's hook up a little somethin'
Back it up now
bump your rump now
Grab my waist now
Work it up now
Grab my shoulder
Pick it up now
Take it lower
To the floor
song performed by by Britney Spears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Five Quibblings....
i
i have to write this matter in a rush
it is seven twenty two in the morning,
it is a bright day like a
sunny side up fried egg,
and i haven't had breakfast yet
it is not a holiday for me
i don't smile, there is no cheering up
pocketed smile, restrained yet trembling hands,
there is work in the office this whole day
busy, busy, busy,
i am on trial, (what i mean is i conduct trials,
slip of the tongue thing, eh)
and tonight i have to teach criminal law
at the law school
with more gaping mouths to feed
knowledge, skill, the capacity to evade the law
later after mastery,
that is it.
ii
i remember the star apple tree at the center of the school
it is shedding off its leaves and one car got hit
by its rotting falling branch: by mere pull of gravity
it has no life force at all to resist
a fall,
there is no desistance here, everything is accepted,
like this freedom too to destroy oneself
or another
negligent being, creature, thing.
iii
the place is muddy and the waters rise
and there is flood everywhere
and what appears before me is a lake
less the swans,
iv
the grasses here die of so much water and
there is no electricity, it follows, it is logical to expect some
short circuits during floods, and the storms
necessarily, strong winds, destroyed electrical poles,
fire,
the rooms are dark and the students are
leaving
i am as usual left alone with some questions
to be back home or have
a drink somewhere else where there is not
much crowd to know me and my
usual quibbling about
loneliness....i am not joking.
v
meanwhile, time runs that fast, like a bullet train,
i fall short of time, but here i am rushing to the
last word of this
poem.
if you agree.i think, it is none of my business.
i agree.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Typographical Errors
Typographical errors,
I try to avoid.
Some I leave,
To create their own noise.
And something suspected,
To be out of place...
Usually gets more attention,
Than something correct...
One wishes to say.
And there are times it takes me,
All day to imperfect what is correct.
Especially if I want to emphasize,
My own perfection has defects.
I know! I know, that's hard to believe...
That I would take 'all' day to imperfect what is correct.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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