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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
City Streets
The gaudy glow of neon lights
dispels the darkness of the nights
on city streets.
They pop and fizzle noisily
creating a cacophony
on city streets.
The sober folks walk warily
and drunks stagger uncaringly
on city streets.
The ladies of the night parade
for there is money to be made
on city streets.
Drug dealers ready to retreat
if they should hear a coppers feet
on city streets.
The night shift workers wend their way
towards their work to start their day
on city streets.
The noisy revellers thin out
as one by one the signs go out
on city streets.
The gradually noises abate
and ghostly shadow congregate
on city streets.
For some few hours peace will reign
before the noise will start again
on city streets.
The early morning traffic sounds
start with the milkmen on their rounds
on city streets.
This builds up to an angry roar
as cars and lorries inward pour
on city streets
then when at last rush hour has passed
noise levels will subside at last
on city streets
I thank the lord that I am free
to leave this noise far behind me
on city streets.
I walked my beat the whole night
through exactly as I’m paid to do
on city streets.
I choose to live outside the town
where constant noise won’t get me down
on city streets.
My village is a quiet place
A haven where I need not face
the noisy streets.
8-Jun-07
poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sweet Silence Speaks
At the brink of the midnight
When every mortal sleeps
When voices turn their faces
Then the sweet silence speaks
With the onset of the moonlight
Slowly deserting the streets
When the noises are duped
Then the sweet silence speaks
When the zephyrs are high
At the snow covered peaks
And the voices get numb
Then the sweet silence speaks
I desperately wait to meet her
Through days and all through the weeks
I really die to hear her voice
And then the sweet silence speaks
Through an edge of a dream
When my sweety slowly peaks
All of a sudden I wake up
When the sweet silence speaks
poem by Sumeet Mukherjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Know The Word of the Spirit Original 01 16 2011
TO KNOW THE WORD
OF THE SPIRIT:
Original 01 16 2011
To know the word as motive
Know that God speaks the nous
Between his will and knowledge
Prerogatives of vision and reason
To know the word as verbal
Know that God speaks transcendent
Nous -to know the word as noun
Know God speaks the tone of you
To know the word as poem read
To know the word as pronoun
Know that god does not speak
Of you god speaks to you
To know the word as adverb
Know that God does not speak
About you God speaks through you
To know the word as adjective
Know that God speaks by you
To know the word as preposition
Know God speaks from the heart
To know the word as poem write
To know the word is off the table
Know that God knows who sops
And all that was [was] forgiven
To know word as free verse
To know the word as parable
Know that God speaks nous
To know that God has spoken
Know pain and pleasure in spirit.
Lee Mack copyright 2009. ISBN # 0615318347. Do not reproduce without permissions.
poem by Lee B. Mack
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poem Versus Prose
You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Enough with your predicates
And your subjects
In this poem you will find
No commas and semicolons
This poem
Is armed with rhythms
Stanzas and shifts
This poem has no end
There are no colons
In this poem
Your prose is replete with nuances
This poem echoes
The plight of the oppressed
And dispossessed
In your prose I find parentheses
This poem speaks of life
Your prose can be edited
Cut this poem and it bleeds
You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Prose has pauses and hyphens
Prose comes to a stop
This poem plugs images
Even in your head
Prose deals with fiction
And nonfiction
This poem can be heard
It can be felt
It speaks of hunger
Of hopelessness
Homelessness
It speaks of a bitter reality
You do not like this poem
poem by Buxton Shippy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How Does One Hear The Echoes Of Silence?
silence. Does not speak, silence is dead.
it is buried underneath the mouth,
and simply rots there, like dust,
with worms. It will be the worms
that shall utter silence, but at the end
silence is devoured
and gone.
what you hear and see is this
emptiness. it has feet and walks in air.
and tinkers in space, some moods and
feelings, fleeing, fleeting,
this emptiness speaks a lot
some words turning themselves
from elves to giants to cyclops
to monsters of the universe
where this emptiness dwells
it is in my heart, always, resounding,
with lots of echoes as it reaches
the walls of the farthest planet
and comes back to me
like the twinkling of a star.
and then i am full.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mr Speaker Gets The Word
Wriggles from his captors arms
Mr speaker gets the word and
Running now from the alarms
Speaks his mind free as a bird
Free now to roam around
Stand up straight when he quotes
Spread the word that he has found
Books of verse and scribbled notes
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
Stands up straight outside my door
I bring you now the words Ive learned
To whom it may concern senor
Tell my friends I have returned
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
Excitement rages through his brain
Stirred and stirred throughout the years
Not enough time to explain
Eyes of many sighs of fear
Making space from colney hatch lane
Just some poetry my friend
Scuttles past my window frame
Vanishes right round the bend
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Mr Speaker
Wriggles from his captors arms
Mr speaker gets the word and
Running now from the alarms
Speaks his mind free as a bird
Free now to roam around
Stand up straight when he quotes
Spread the word that he has found
Books of verse and scribbled notes
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
Stands up straight outside my door
I bring you now the words Ive learned
To whom it may concern senor
Tell my friends I have returned
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
Excitement rages through his brain
Stirred and stirred throughout the years
Not enough time to explain
Eyes of many sighs of fear
Making space from colney hatch lane
Just some poetry my friend
Scuttles past my window frame
Vanishes right round the bend
Mister speaker gets the word
(to tell the secrets he has heard)
Speaks so fast his words are slurred
(mister speaker gets the word)
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Poem That Speaks Of Nothing
The poem that speaks of nothing
Tells of nothing convoluted at all.
It has no need of metering,
Or of emotions that rise and fall.
The poem that has no content
Lacks subject matter to cover.
So forget the flowers that you sent
To your faithful lover.
The poem devoid of plot
Has no farfetched tale to tell.
There’s no mention of battles fought
Against the very spawn of Hell.
The poem in absence of metaphors
Is not written by someone who will
Tell of reposing forevermore
Or of running naked through the hill.
The poem that speaks of nothing
Dares not mention the roaring sea.
And the poem that speaks of nothing
That is the poem for me.
(veritas h.s.2005)
poem by William Mcgehee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The God speaks
Macbeth speaks; Hamlet speaks.
We say Shakespeare speaks.
Krishna speaks to Arjuna.
We don’t say Vyasar speaks.
21.11.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When will the desires arise?
When will
The desires arise?
The soul speaks
Thoughts arrive
When will the pen get up?
From deep sleep
I do not know
However, I know one thing
Whenever it opens its eyes
It will convert my thoughts
Into words
Turn them into lines
Carve them on a paper
Give birth to a poem
Pleasure to my heart
Contentment to my soul
20-03-2012
419-153-03-12
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On The Poet And Poetry: The Complete Text
1
Shakespeare and Kalidas and Homer
had no need to flaunt qualifications
so don’t trumpet too much of yours
2
in this kingdom
where one writes
there is no seniority, each is equal
3
it is not important to be a poet;
the thing is to bring the poetry
4
one may win titles
and may be crowned Poet Laureate:
but only time points out
the poet from the crumpet
5
none of your self
and none of your importance here:
just poetry, if you can,
poetry is all that’s needed
6
poetry can be
like a sky filled with wrangling clouds
or as a sky without a wisp
7
in poetry one wakes from dreams
and it may yet be
that one’s wakefulness is itself but a dream
8
in poetry there are no
clichés in thought and phrase;
and what is left there is
the resplendent and the living
9
the writer who repeats
inaptly
word, phrase and concept read or heard
comes second-hand into a market for bad verse
10
one writes;
one does not fill one’s mind with the words:
I want to achieve
11
one writes and
the self disappears
and what is left is understanding
12
poetry leaves one
rich inside
and ordinary outside
13
the fool defines poetry
and poetry defies all definitions
14
poetry entertains, inspires;
poetry tickles, distracts, and shapes and frees -
but its true intent, no one knows
15
expand your understanding of the self –
it includes the world
16
if one had no coins
one cannot buy bread;
but not all the world’s wealth
can bring you poetry
17
celebrate your locality
but go beyond the parochial;
go beyond the region’s arrogance
to reach minds across cyberspace
18
many lines, and countless lines
many pages, and thick volumes
don’t make poetry
19
Oh no!
Not another love poem!
Oh no!
Not another poem about oneself!
20
rhyme, technique and meter
and tricks of prosody
don’t make poetry: passion does
21
the fool speaks of having
written the most number of poems in the world;
and the same fool speaks of quantity
22
we rarely succeed
if one does not go
beyond oneself
23
you wink, you twinkle
you want praise;
you write and you publish online
and you want to win titles –
and so poetry eludes you always
24
a hundred titles, a hundred prizes
a hundred spots of fame
and international renown
all these pale, all pale
before a single line of luminosity
25
the ambitious write pathetic verse;
the lover yields
and poetry embraces such a one
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All Hells Breakin Loose
Street hustler comes up to me one day
And Im walkin down the street, mindin my own business
Now he looks me up and he looks me down and says
Hey man, what be this and what be that and why you gotta look like that?
Well I just looked at him, I kinda laughed, I said
Hey man, I am cool, I am the breeze
Havent you heard, theres a new revolution
Gotta spread the word - too much confusion
All hells breakin loose - hey hey have you read the news
All hells breakin loose - overloadin n blowin my fuse
All hells breakin loose - day and night, baby, night and day
All hells breakin loose - in the streets theres a brand new way, yeah
You know we aint always winners, but this is the life we choose
And we wont change or rearrange, and we aint never ever gonna lose
It aint always easy when the goin gets rough
When youre gettin even, you gotta show your stuff - tell about it now
Take a look around, only one solution
Set the world on fire, fight the institution
Gonna stand our ground, feel the new sensation
Somethings goin down - rock the nation
All hells breakin loose - hey hey, have you read the news
All hells breakin loose - overloadin n blowin my fuse
All hells breakin loose - day and night, baby, night and day
All hells breakin loose - ah, take it
Havent you heard, only one solution
Gotta spread the word - you gotta tell it to the people now
Take a look around, feel the new sensation
Set the world on fire - rock the nation
All hells breakin loose, all hells breakin loose
All hells breakin loose - baby baby baby baby whoo
All hells breakin loose - hey, hey, have you read the news
All hells breakin loose - overloadin n blowin my fuse
All hells breakin loose - day and night, baby, night and day
All hells breakin loose - in the streets you can hear them say
(repeats out)
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
This Poet Is Always Beside You
You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Dreamer and The Redeemer
If you dream, your are a dreamer
If you take action to redeem, your are the redeemer
Success is not measured in time
If only real goals and not of the mined.
Talk, as the baby walks, speaks, crawls.
Towards it so slowly, But as in any eventualities it is achieved.
Not by the talker, but the baby
Who knew nothing but did something
Procrastination, kills all motivation.
Wish you would, could, should
Its all good, but its nothing more then a mere thought
Like the fisherman who never caught you are.
Always wanting to put that pole out there, but it just never is
Reasons why and why not
no pity on you for what you have and have not
For a chance wasted, is one that could be taken.
I could go on and on with this
but why worry about what one missed.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!