It’s in Our Poetry
in our poetry
it is silence that speaks to us
most and best
it paints the truth
using the sunset
that we can never
forget
it writes upon our souls
in bold strokes
the most obvious of
what most think as
the impossible
those that only the blind
and mute people
treasure in their
temples of thoughts
forevermore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Paints Life Theme Canvas
research scientist
paints water colours
paints poetry brush strokes
paints poetry beaker pigment
paints life theme canvas
research insistent
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Alias Poem
Many selves with personalities I do have
I have different alias for you to understand.
Christina Sunrise writes about planet Earth
Suzae Chevalier writes about life since birth.
Sue Chevalier writes of characters on Krendoll land
Suzae is the visual artist, performing artist
paints and uses oral presentations to understand.
Now don't forget Puppit Lady for Razel has a voice
Melodie also who speaks with 'Freedom of Choice.'
So visit www.suzae.com right now
where you will see all of them make a home
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 9,2012
www.suzae.com www.suechevalier.com
www.christinasunrise.com www.puppitlady.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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The Loneliness Of The Untiring Writer
with equanimity i write for this audience,
deaf,
blind,
mute,
....imagine some monkeys and rats, and worms and squirrels
mute, blind, deaf,
i have no regret at all,
their hearts are bigger than the islands of paradise,
the mute claps with three hundred hands,
the blind sings with all the angelic voices in tens of hundreds
the deaf dances like some kind of a wiggling worm
vitally replicating its numbers geometrically
there is still this
wanting to be caught by a hungry
black bird
it is the silence of the mute that speaks so loudly
like a speaker of the house,
it is the restlessness of the deaf that shakes me,
and i tremble like a cymbal clanging ceaselessly
the chants of the blind, mystifies me,
scented cinders, lighted candles, fireflies on the trees
conclusion: we have become one happy family
and tonight, i will be writing some more for them
I've got no other valuable audience anyway.
and, let me finally add,
it is only my dead mother who still loves me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Den Of Poetry!
Many poets I see on line today!
For fun many are indulging in poetry;
Not only amusement but also truth
Best ones produce in their poems!
Where can we find quality poetry
In the world poetry website as this one?
All are mixed with each other so much
That it is impossible to separate them!
All funny poems have to be skipped
For reading the really worthy ones!
To do so precious time is wasted
Everyday browsing on this website!
Finding the poetry true is finding treasure
In the depths of this deep poetry den!
poem by Ramesh T A
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I Dont Write Poetry!
i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...
no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Alias Poem
Many selves we all have
I have different alias for you to understand.
Christina Sunrise writes about planet Earth
Suzae Chevalier writes about life since birth.
Sue Chevalier writes of characters on Krendoll land
Suzae is the visual artist, storyteller who
paints and uses oral presentations to understand.
Now don't forget Puppit Lady for Razel has a voice
Melodie also who speaks with "freedom of choice."
So visit www.suzae.com right now
where you will all of them make a home
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 9,2012
for Sue Chevalier, Christina Sunrise, and Puppit Lady
www.suzae.com www.suechevalier.com
www.christinasunrise.com www.puppitlady.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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The silence speaks...
Sometimes, when you are alone,
In the dark cloudy night,
Only the lightening shows you the life,
A numb silence surrounds you.
You may feel the words from the air,
You would never think of the happening,
But you know what, the silence speaks,
The silence tells us our future,
The time we can't imagine, the uncertainty,
The silence knows all of those,
There is no explanation of that,
You may call it a prejudice or blind belief,
However you define it, it is the fact,
Silence speaks us, warns us, shows us.
It is a kind of opaque mirror,
Behind its, all the future are hidden,
But we only can see the light through it,
We just need to belief inside ourselves,
Then only then we can hear, we can feel,
The silence speaks to us...
poem by Kafil Uddin Raihan.
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A Definition of Poetry by a 15 yr old
Poetry does not need a meaning or defintion.
Poetry is how the reader reads it,
Poetry is how the poet writes it.
Poetry is real,
Poetry is fake,
Poetry is everything,
Poetry is fate.
Poetry is rythm.
Poetry can ryme.
Poetry is anything, I make it mine.
poem by Eric Graham
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Dreamer's Paradise
The dark meadows of sin and the hidden treasure
The silver lake only covered by the snow
A writer torn apart by flames of hate, of love and pain
The last performance of an escapist, seeker of beauty
We live like the sun and the moon and the everlasting space
A poet is one who stays under the rain hoping to be struck by lighting
Under the ever washing rain we live and die
Release the tears of heaven may our sins be cleansed
Her poetry had long been without name, without destiny
Now, from the other life she smiles at us, and writes
The verses stopped, and her breath was muffled
Six feet underground she writes not for us, but for the dead
His poetry had long been mislead and misread
The tears dropped onto the ground like rain drops
It is the end of all hope, the end of his life
Yet the poetry still breathes
Poetry is a mirror, a mirror of sin
It makes beautiful that which is distorted
Search for beauty in the gardens
Acquire the knowledge of the wises, find your shoreline
The sunset is here, soon there will be rain
Where will be when it comes?
Breathe my poetry and burn my words
The rain is here, the shoreline is near
Search your shoreline, find beauty.
poem by Amy Stuart
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Never You
Over my decades of sojourn on earth
There is but a lesson I've come to
learn;
Is that you never, never, never quarrel
with a poet
For he takes you up, puts you in a pot
Season you, and finally, he eats you up
with his words.
His tongue is cursed and poisoned
Like a warring deadly disease.
DO YOU.. DO YOU.. DO YOU really think
That poets are as friendly like you think,
Well, listen now friend, let me tell
You a little secret about poetry.
Like philosophy, it could be quite
contradictory.
My mentor Mr. Taban Lo Liyong
Would say: poetry is not a song
That a lover sings to a love of his
He only wishes for a bite or a kiss
But yet, let us sit and ponder on it
Taban was right about poetry;
It is a science, with rules like we
have in mathematics.
Thoughts arranged in lines are
called poetry,
Nobody writes poetry,
You only utter your thoughts
With much love for the world.
So we can now say poetry and
thoughts are one.
Never let a poet eat you up
With his thoughts or his words
For in his heart lies an abyss
And a void, like we have in Tartarus.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Touchdowns and Fumbles
My poetry teacher tells me he isn’t a poet
He just writes poetry
I tell him I want to transfer out immediately
He shouldn’t be teaching
I mean anyone can write poetry
And if you say you write it good but aren’t a poet
Than you’re an arrogant prick
Give me a poet to learn from
Good or not, they still stand by their writing
While people who write poetry are weak.
Standing behind what people believe is good
And tossing away what people don’t like
A football player takes it all with him.
Touchdowns and fumbles, passes and interceptions
While couches talk about years when they
Were the best, but forget about all the others.
I can’t learn from a poetry writer
I need to know the mistakes and shortcomings
Or else history is damned to repeat itself in me
Give me a poet any day.
poem by Reyes Suarez
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Sunset Bold
As bold as the golden sunset
Our feeling and thoughts provoked and met
In and out of covers we did go and went
It felt right yet wrong as playing on the muddy wet
Back and forth wild and calm waves swept
It was more than just pearls and romantic scent
It was high, it was bold as the golden sunset
poem by Wes Mbanje
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A Poet Loses His Power For Poetry
A POET LOSES HIS POWER FOR POETRY
A poet loses his power for poetry
He can put down words
But they no longer have poetry in them
Something of the feeling of what real poetry is
is gone.
He strives
He writes again and again
He puts words down in the forms and in the shapes his poems usually take
But he has no poetry in him
He has lost what he is
And all he can do
is strive again and again
Word after word
Silence after silence
To hear within himself again
A voice he does not have.
The poet is writing poetry
And it is not poetry
The poet is dead
And he is pretending to be alive
Is this a poem?
Is he a poet
Is he dead?
Is he alive?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Why the silence?
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or the eyes may straggle and it's the hour of dreams
Or the mind may have been displaced and it's hour of reflections
Or the heart has been busy and it's hour of the groans
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or the words have got lost in the midst of ideas
Or silence now become the language of the times
Or the tongue tie with a sunset
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or now no need for my presence
Or now I am a hidden friend
Or now I am not who I was
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or... And the story continue silently
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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July Paints of Winter
July paints masterpieces
kissing my canvas with lively breezy strokes
July paints what she sees
adding intrigue to yellow folks
She paints a cold numbing winter
adding icicles on Christchurch trees
She paints a briskly Tasman salty sea
Sitting at a window overlooking her muse
July can't see colour til summer’s shines it's hues
poem by ArmourQuill Hunter
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Poetry's Love
Life of life on display,
Buddha's hands reached me the poetry
Colorful sunset blue birds
Gems parading happy cries
Souls' poetry yielding people's creators
Nourishing heart's people
Yes Happily I cry, lament to tears
Sad lines questioning gears
I am faithfully in loving poetry
To every rise and fall I'm kept
I happy, I love, I laugh, and I scold
I pray, I wish upon a star's hold
I am alive to witness wholly
World's love of poems in poetry's love
poem by Natasa Tocuc
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Songs Of Poetry
Poetry is the wave
drenching the sea-shore!
Sea-gull hovering overhead!
Poetry is lilack
Poetry is lily
Poetry is rose
Poetry is cherry!
Poetry tears down the cheek
liquidated in joy!
liquidated in grief!
Poetry consoles the soul!
As glass of sherry!
Poetry draws the out-line
....the cosmos forms!
Poetry paints the blue
....the sky performs!
Poetry waves the desire
...love sings along!
Poetry paves the way
....makes us strong!
Poetry dreams and cry
....erases wrong!
poem by Suvra Bhattacharya
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Book Of Suleika - The Loving One Again
WRITES he in Neski,
Faithfully speaks he;
Writes he in Tali,
Joy to give, seeks he:
Writes he in either,
Good!--for he loves!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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A Man Became Addicted To Poetry
A MAN BECAME ADDICTED TO POETRY
A man became addicted to poetry-
Wherever he went he read or wrote a few lines-
Poetry became much of what he did-
Poetry and poetry and poetry-
As if that alone could give meaning and pleasure to his life.
A man became addicted to poetry
And so lost at times
What true poetry is –
Now he writes without knowing
Whether he is truly writing
Or merely using the ‘idea and world of poetry’
For his own peace of mind.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry
Poetry.......
Poetry defines me
Poetry.......
A place where you be you and I'll be me.
Poetry.......
We are best friends for eternity.
My Poetry.......
Is the daughter of my emotion,
There I've said it, no need to interpret the connection.
Poetry.......
Where my pen and paper are sealed with a kiss,
So easy to write for my mind is a bliss.
Poetry.......
Poetry has multiple meanings,
An indescribable feeling when I realize others understand them.
My Poetry.......
It just comes natural to me.
My Poetry.......
Is out there, , , , , away from exile,
And style of writing is very versatile.
Poetry.......Poetry.......
P oetry.......
It speaks out to me.
poem by Anita Khelawan
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