No Poem In Here
this is a blank space reserved for an obituary of a dead poem
prose claims a space though in another glossy page.
plese turn to the next page
those non-poets like me please transfer to another room
this place is for dead poems for those who killed living poems this page this space is reserved for all of them.
we non-poets are moving out to another empty page
about to be added, if you can wait, mr. poet...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode to a Blank Page
Ode to a blank page
It’s blue seemingly thin lines flying across the page
Each producing a small space to place your thoughts on
Next lies the taunting red margin
Baring how sparsely you’ve done
You can strike the page with a single blow
Leaving a mark that did no good
Ode to a blank page
Why do you stare?
Taunting and shrieking in my ear
Emptiness fills the page
The blanks intimidate even the strong
How strong it is
To give a cut even to the toughest skin
Ode to a blank page
You know I’m jealous
How I despise all your characteristics
poem by Rachele ...duhh
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The Outcast
as i see it
from page to page
it seems
that he does not like you
to write anything at all
be it prose
or poetry
minute by minute
every second
he puts the words
and on every line
there is no vacant
space for you
where do you insert
your thought? there is one space
for you
and it is outside his
big circle.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No poems published
Since two days no poems are published
As if space has been run out or finished
May be poems are not required
I keep mum as no use to be inquired
I send poem daily as usual
But it has been taken as casual
I have no room to worry
At least I am spared from agony
Comments are well taken and placed
Poems are no were seen as chased
May be some new criteria is laid down
Place might have been reserved for poets quite well-known
I shall need no regret
As it happens with fate
Sometimes favor is shown as good luck
Sometimes clock runs out of time and struck
So is the life to come to an end
For people, well wishers to shed tears as friend
Some may be remembered and some may be forgotten
As the disappearance may be all of sudden
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Fading ink
Fading ink
~
the words which flowed
from pen to page
in a steady stream
have trickled silently
into a vacant space
silent prose sits impatiently
awaiting the spark
to ignite inspiration
to fire up the pen
and resume its flow
of words from pen to paper
but a nothingness holds
space for rent across the page
a canvas of thought
where words once ran
the old ink fades
in the light of a new day
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Blank Page
Blank page leave me be!
Blank page please stop taunting me,
reminding me of what I have failed to do.
Oh how I long to fill you,
to take up your very last line
with creative, riveting lyrics of mine.
Blank page stop harassing me!
I wish to show you my thoughts,
desires, emotions and all.
How difficult it is to answer your call.
Blank page how sweetly you whisper
tempting my pen to caress your paper.
I immaturely expect the verses to flow
then I realize that my thoughts are much too slow.
Blank page so often you defeat me
teasing and challenging until hours later
all that is left is the tiny dot
where my pen merely touched your paper.
poem by Shaqueena Celestin
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Book Of Days
Your life is as a book
Written on the pages are the weeks
For you would give anything to take just one look
Into the next chapter, the next page
Each page is a new thought, a new dream
Sometimes it takes so long to pass that page
And sometimes nothing is as it seams
For you know you can not go ahead or back
You know you are where you are
You know you can't change that
As you read page to page, so near to fear
You write the chapters as you go, with each turn
Each turn, each move changes what's to come
And you know each moment could be the last
With this in mind you go so mumb
So numb to the touch, to the thought
You turn page after page
until you reach the 'end'
And only then, you are freed from the title
The title that has kept your thoughts bound, and tight
You turn the pages one by one
You take the pain, take the joy
Until you are done
And your story becomes another on the shelf of eternity
(1/24/2008)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Vow 2 (Right Words)
I've always been able to
now I don't even know what to do
it's never been a problem before
I've always been able to write about it
talk about it, now that it hit me
I'm somewhat speechless
I put pad to pen, nothing
an empty space on a white page
shouldn't this just write itself?
not a word or a single letter
I know it hit me, I feel it
it hurts yet I like it,
I smile at the sight of it
I've spent days and still on a blank page
it's stupid to say, but I give up
a pen is in rage to silence
to express this, these feelings
no words could describe
nor will I try
the only thing I can say for certain
that it is real, I Love you
this I vow.
poem by Kelvin Owusu
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Splash
the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil's
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room.
this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.
these words force you
to a new
madness.
you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.
the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.
you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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For Your Attention....
have a little time
to this page
it used to be a blank page
an emptiness, a void, a stare
it is calling for attention
its silence like roots call for more depths
it is not the normal page
that you open and leave
with your wet fingers
and dry tongue
listen with your eyes
let your ears see
this is this poem that perhaps
may not make you sleep....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Critical Readers
Critical emptiness I perceive
From some readers
They have no idea of entertainment
Only masters of displaying envious resentment
My words give you no right to talk
And make unnecessary comments that suck
Why such negativity
When all I share with all is my creativity
Critical readers
Before you key in words of condemnation
Into my commentary space
Be sure to be an established Poetic Leader
For if I look into your poetic page
And see only an empty hopeless space
Or a few pieces of poems hanging loosely
All over the place
I will only say, you are an ultimate disgrace!
When I write, I do so to entertain, not to get advise from wannabe Train the Trainers. My poem What is music to you is a fantastic poem to me. If you don't like it, keep your fingers in your pocket.
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The Other Side of the Page
I pass to the other side of the page.
-Pablo Neruda
On the other side of the page
where the last days go,
where the lost poems go,
where the forgotten dreams
breaking up like morning fog
go
go
go
I am preparing myself for death.
I am teaching myself emptiness:
the gambler's hunger for love,
the nun's hunger for God,
the child's hunger for chocolate
in the brown hours
of the dark.
I am teaching myself love:
the lean love of marble
kissed away by rain,
the cold kisses of snow crystals
on granite grave markers,
the soul kisses of snow
as it melts in the spring.
On the other side of the page
I lie making a snow angel
with the arcs
of my arms.
I lie like a fallen skier
who never wants to get up.
I lie with my poles, my pens
flung around me in the snow
too far to reach.
The snow seeps
into the hollows of my bones
& the calcium white of the page
silts me in like a fossil.
I am fixed in my longing for speech,
I am buried in the snowbank of my poems,
I am here where you find me
dead
on the other side of the page.
poem by Erica Jong
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Click On 'Poets
When you enter,
Click on 'Poets' and then,
Type in my full name: 'Edward Kofi Louis';
There and then, it will open automatically to my page! !
And, you can read my poems.
Sage, page, cage, rage, mage, marriage, wage;
From time to time!
But not like a runaway dog in the land of your muse;
For, the cat is always in your room.
Fine, dine, wine, vine, cine, sine, line, pine, mine, nine, shine;
Inperfect health,
On to perfection! !
But, it has been a while hearing from you.
Of the miracles of my life,
Of the joy of my muse,
Of the peace of my mind,
And like the muse of your sweet love!
But, not like a runaway dog in the land of your muse.
In the heat,
In the cold,
And like the candlelight of your love!
But click on 'Poets' to find my sweet muse;
For, i do have a message for you.
We are all over there,
Poets of the world! !
But, it has been a very long time hearing from you;
Vender, finder, blender, winder, lender, mender, tender, sender!
And like the muse of love in the land of peace,
But, be my guest at this page.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Poems Went Away
THE POEMS WENT AWAY
The poems went away.
Nothing inside.
An empty will for poetry
Forcing words on the page,
Words without music
Without resonance
Without great implication
Meaning.
Write, write, write
Lest you die.
And the words themselves
A kind of desperate uphill catching of breath
On the page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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When I write, the first blank page, or any blank page, means nothing to me. What means something is a page that has been filled with words.
quote by Guillermo Cabrera Infante
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The poet's page
Like a band of beggars
Revealing to each other
Where to find the bread
Is the poets page
An open line
Where poets reveal what's
Inside their heads
A platform of
Artistic exchange
Where an accompany of poets
Express what should be said,
As the
Words seems to take on life
For they are poet read
Poets can feel one anothers pain
As well as relates to each
others shame
Emphasizing on a topic is
A poet's personal lane
Poets dvides the spoil
As they expand, due to
sharing their gain
This is partly my analogy
Of a poet's fame
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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You Must Assume Other Names
you must assume other names
as i too shall assume
a lot of numbers
this is the comfort that i still want to enjoy
numb numbers
poems without a lot of words to make you
remember me
what do you feel now?
i know. You feel like a page of a book.
A torn page.
You feel like you are walking past
The numbered rooms in the hospital
Finding your way through same faced halls
Left turn, right turn
Until you find yourself at a certain dead end.
You see a bench. You sit there.
There is no window. There is no door.
Just the length of the hall and then the silence
Of this corridor.
It is. Indeed, it is.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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And the Child Draws a World
the teacher asks the child to draw
The world
& the universe
And the child with his Mongol pencil
put a dot
for a start on his clean white bondpaper
(& as his fingers are clumsy
His hands still shaky)
he makes a stretch of a crooked
line
Stretching
& occupying almost all the space of the paper
To make a
Crooked circle
His world
And for his universe
He draws five little stars
crude
A crescent moon A comet moving In a blank space
A space rocket
Is drawn
On the top page in propulsion
A crooked circle The lines hardly meet At a common point
For a world
A little blank space For the universe
And where is God there?
The teacher asks him
You gave no instruction, sir. The child answered.
But He is there, the Child thinks.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Woken From My Sleep
I awoke in the early hours,
between one and half past four.
My poet head was back again,
and I wrote like never before.
Page after page was covered,
paper was strewn everywhere.
Even though I felt exhausted
my mind didn't seem to care.
I thought my head had finished
and so returned to my bed,
but when I touched the pillow
sentences again filled my head.
I went back into the spare room
and penned as fast as I could.
My bed pulled after each poem
so I returned like all poets should.
In the end my mind became weary,
it repeated line after line.
Counting sheep was very similar,
it was definitely sleeping time.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Poetry Has Gone Out Of Me
The Poetry has gone out of me
I am as blank as prose-
There is no force of feeling in me
Flat as a lox my words on the page-
I am the middle of the Midwest
Going on and on on the surface only-
I have no inside-
No wind shakes me-
Words are words and only words,
Detached from all emotion-
How flat stale not even weary and unprofitable can a blank confessional poem be?
The feeling of being without feeling
No feeling at all.
A lox inside and a lox on the page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Are Times When Only By Hearing The Poems Of Others
THERE ARE TIMES WHEN ONLY BY HEARING THE POEMS OF OTHERS
There are times when only by hearing the poems of others,
Can one begin to write one’s own-
One needs the rhythm of poetry
And once one has it
One can perhaps begin.
This morning I have not listened to anyone else-
And I write these lines
Into the bare space of the page
With a tremor of doubt
At whether they are ‘poetry’.
I hear myself as a poem
But what others hear
May be something else entirely-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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