Night Poets
we night poets
are not supposed to stay
in the room and write poets
at night
we are meant to be
fliers, bats, and God forbid
vampires
in deeds, hidden in thoughts
least in words
we are werewolves
howling in the deepest
silence of our souls
to those who are still awake
we must be pungent
like musk, restless, unloved.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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(V – 2010) The Poet’s Nature
Reflecting Nature’s various hues
Poets write colourfully.
Echoing Nature’s innate songs
Poets write musically.
Learning from Nature’s righteous laws
Poets write more sensibly.
Drawing from Nature’s spotless love
Poets write more humanely.
Living with Nature’s poetic life
Poets write living poetry.
I Write Poems For Poets
I WRITE POEMS FOR POETS
I write poems for poets
Our situation as poets-
The longings the feelings
We so need to express-
The love of language-
The hunger for recognition-
The frequent rejection-
The kind word of a reader that moves-
Poems for poets
We as we each are
All so different-
And we as we share
Words and worlds
We hope to have read.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Together They Howled
My mother was a teenage werewolf
and my father a wise vampire.
They met in a medieval graveyard
in the shadow of the church’s spire.
They married on the eve of Halloween
in the light of a bright full moon.
Together they sang a haunting melody,
which became their howling tune.
Screeching bats blocked out the moonlight
as werewolves and vampires danced.
Throughout the night the creatures howled
as my mother and father romanced.
I became the first product of their union
and I’m a changeable type of man,
but I do have my problems
just knowing what I am.
poem by Orlando Belo
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0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Poets
Poets write
and when the poem is done
they search for words
to write another one.
Poets write
and when the poem is through
they search for thoughts
to write another two.
Such is the life of a poet.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Versatilty
I think that I can claim to be
a poet who is versatile.
I try to write my poetry
in varied form and varied style.
I emulate and imitate
styles of great poets of the past.
To show that I appreciate
poets that time has over cast.
Although long dead their words live on.
A source of inspiration to
poets today.Though they’re long gone
and I give credit where its due.
Although some things I write are new
I cannot trace their origin.
I trust my muse as poets do.
She prods me until I begin.
She tells me there is no such thing
as writers block there cannot be.
A poor excuse for not writing
I’m not allowed to be lazy
That’s something she won’t tolerate
and drags me from my bed to write.
Though I protest the hour is late.
She is insistent that I write.
If she should choose to stay away
I’d seize the opportunity
to simple have a lazy day
Without my conscience pricking me.
11-Mar-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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My Poet Time Travelers
I thought of it all day and well into the night
That for you a poem I would write.
What words can you use to describe a person
You’ve never seen.
Then a realization came into my mind
I’ve been writing them for a very long time.
Every time we write about GOD and his begotten son
The words flow freely and never left undone.
So it matters not if it is sight unseen
We write about everything- it’s a poets dream.
Poets go into worlds never traveled before
Seeking all that GOD has made
And come back with knowledge that they’ve gained.
Into the realms of mystery, love, excitement and fear
So that with you these words they could share.
They see the realities of today
The dreams of yesterdays
The future of tomorrows
And the pains and sorrows.
They are the time travelers of the mind
Their eyes are open - they are not blind.
So when you read what they write
It’s because of this time travelers insight.
So to my time traveling co-poets, this I must say
I am proud to have traveled this road with you
Into the minds of man, and writing
The stories that they all understand.
poem by Louis Rams
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In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.
quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who to blame for writers block?
Risen up from his cold dark tomb
the malevolent poet is alive again
his evil master has given him power
to confuse poets and bring them pain.
He's invisible to the poets eye
and he doesn't make a sound
his mission is to bring writers block
to all poets everywhere around.
The unaware poet stares at a blank screen
unable to create one single verse
the satanic force takes over his mind
his thoughts go from bad to worse.
The romantic poet thinks about death
his thoughts no longer on love and light
he wants to write about misery and war
and things that go bump in the night.
So the next time you can't write a poem
and your sitting there full of despair
you now know it's not you who's at fault
but it's the evil poet and he's over there!
poem by Kevin Halls
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For All The Poets
FOR ALL THE POETS
This is a poem for all the poets who have no name,
For all those who have written and failed,
And for those who have not written,
And failed.
This is a poem for all the poets who dreamed themselves poets,
And were never, and will be known as poets
To the world.
This a poem for all those
Who after years of effort
Still live in an oblivion
They will die in.
This is a poem for all those
Who whether they have poetry in them or not,
Will never be heard or read,
For what their hearts must tell
Someone else.
This is a poem for all the silent poets
Those who live in silence
And whose silence is eternal
For all those whose only poetry
is the poem they have lived within themselves.
This is a poem for all those who would- be poets
And a poem for those
Who despite their efforts
Did not make their poem known.
This is a poem which may be for you,
And I know is for me
A confession
To make us less alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A poor pen
Pen is
Not great...
On the paper...
poet write at
Moon+ sky...
Stars...
Earth and sea...
All are in poets
Hand only
At poets hand...
Poets is think...
Poets dream...
Thats all
pen is very poor
Noock out...
undrestad to try...
Try too under stand....
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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A poets prayer
A poets prayer
~
To the poets lost
please look upon me
as a kindred spirit
guide my words
that I may write well
watch over me at night
help me dream your dreams
teach me about poetry
~
to the poetic spirit
reveal your love to me
show me the beauty of life
in all its many forms
that I may understand
the ways of this world
and that I may convey them
in a verse to others
~
to the poets lost
and the poetic spirit
I ask of you this favour
to guide me in life
in the poetry I write
I ask of you also
to watch over those I love
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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Poets, Oh! Poets awake awake and face the world!
Life is bright and a pleasure to enjoy!
And above how nice to see the moon light!
Love is without blemishes and bliss in life!
Poets lie; lie more as much as you can!
Always write the positive traits
And suppress the negative, is it your habit
Or consciously do you do, to flinch the reality?
How do you get pleasure living in falsehood?
Life may be bright and but it has darkness inside
Which can't be overlooked, the moon has a spot
Love is a lust tick which sucks blood.
Poets play happy, happy game as much as you can!
But reality is truth, truth is the more reality
Make believe is a fairy tale lies only in the dream
When you awake it breaks in thousand pieces
Poets, oh! Poets awake, awake and face the world,
As it is! It is more beautiful and more truth in it.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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A Wish
I'd like to write - like grown-up poets do:
with similes that span the universe,
that sparkle, crackle, dazzle, woo the mind;
and touch the heart with tender, swoony verse...
I'd like to write - like grown-up poets do:
in literature that's all the better for
those soaring, parabolic parables
and paradigms, and rhymes, and metaphor...
I'd like to write - like no-one else has done:
forget the rules and precedents; let fly
to heights undreamt of yet, new mindscape won..
And yet, perhaps, the world's served better by
small lamps of words amidst the cold night winds
of chance and change; cupped in a poet's hands.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Tribute To All Poets
Poets in awe
beauty of the sea
swimming the ocean
begging to be free
Poetry in motion
Walking the land
Carving out each word
Deep down in the sand
Poets hungry
Devour each page
reach for each meaning
put on a stage
Poetry screams silence
during blackened night
with the glow of the moon
shining silvery white
Poets asleep
thinking each new rhyme
Waltzing the floor
Running in time
Poetry Forever
neither alive or dead
remembering the words
that get stuck in your head
poem by Linda Racaniello
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Heart and Soul
Poets are…
lyricists
For which the music…
Is not yet written
Words that wait
Uncertain fate
For songsmith’s
To be smitten
Poets write
The very heart
Songsmiths write
The soul
It takes the two
To both imbue
And make two parts
…a whole..
poem by David Whalen
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Imagery Animal
Poets are imagery animals
Wait for thoughts arrival
Think a lot and then write
Use head more to ignite
Thoughts are burnt
Wish ashes to turn
Into new form to upraise
The status to be up and praised
But normally they are quiet
Allow things to let
Down at low level
With proper time to excel
Now millions come up like flowers
Even without rainy showers
They are product of fast age
Not much to impress with each page
One in million stars is praised
Taken to recognition and believed
Poets are known as star family
Twinkle little in their own capacity
Not all may be able to speak with authority
Some may define imagery love and some may praise almighty
Some may put with all the times to remember and some with variety
It is all about poets tenure and may not be remembered like deity
It is their job to create pure imagination
Sometimes to be painted with correct relation
Not all the incidences pure images
Some ideas are meant to take out souls from the cages
It is reasonable stand to expose
To be known as poet and pose
With whatever capacity and thrust
The poet's position is commendable and is must
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Werewolves Of London
I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand
Walking thru the streets of Soho in the rain
He was looking for the place called Lee Ho Fook's
Going to get himself a big dish of beef chow mein
Hi ho, the werewolves of London
If you hear his howling around the kitchen door
You better not let him in
Little old lady got mutilated last nite
Werewolves of London again
Hi ho, werewolves of London
He's the hairy-handed gent who ran amuck in Kent
Lately he's been overheard in Mayfair
You better stay away from him, he'll rip your lungs out Jim
I'd like to meet his tailor
Hi ho, werewolves of London
Well, I saw Lon Cheney walking with the Queen
Doing the werewolves of London
I saw Lon Cheney Jr. walking with the Queen
I saw a werewolf dringing a pina colada at Trader Vic's
And his hair was perfect
Hi ho, the werewolves of London, draw blood
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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