Related quotes: this is fun and fun...

Nothing Serious

this is fun
and fun cannot be serious
if it were otherwise
there is no fun
anymore
this is fun
anything goes
prose, poetry, essay,
a novel,
anything is fun
even thoughts can just be fun
play with a word
like it were a doll or a gun
nothing serious really
just passing the time after
a nice dinner
when the stomach gets big
and wanting rest
because of
too much eating and dining
and drinking wine
this is fun
writing, making others read
something
nonsensical, and letting them follow
something prejudicial
a letter, a metaphor like what?
a sea that does not exist?
a flower that grows where?
on this cementer pavement?
on these four walls?
on the computer screen?
a bee? how can a bee exist
in thought alone?
unless i get stung and i run
and laugh
about this misery of
boredom.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Innocent`s Farewell

innocent`s farewell

i`m not dead
you will see me again for so much you loved me
let your innermost peace
i`m going to the world of poetry
where i will be eating poetry, drinking poetry
hate me no more now allow my soul to rest in peace in the world of poetry.

i`m not dead
i`m going to the world of poetry
where love dont exist but only wisdom
where there is no weapon but just pen and paper
where hunger and anger don`t exist but only joy.

i`m not dead
thy shall not cry for that is the waste of tears
i feel no pain anymore but only joy
i have no problems anymore but only progress
i`m not coming backto life
for where i`m death does not exist
i`m not dead but i`m living in the world of poetry
i`m with poets
we don`t get bored we are always writing poems.

poem by Innocent Mkhwanazi
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Totally Biased

I do not often write free form
to me it is not poetry.
Freely admit my prejudice
I think it’s just a passing phase
Although I can appreciate
poetic and well written prose
This does not make it poetry
When I consult my dictionary
it makes it very clear to me.
All writing must be one of those
It can’t be both at he same time.
Prose poetry cannot exist
an obvious oxymoron
Though modern writer still insist
that what they write is poetry
.It may be really beautiful
and well presented on the page
but definitely not poetry.
Why can they not be satisfied
with their well written thoughts in prose.
Why do they call it poetry
a dandelions not a rose.
Its meter defines poetry
it doesn’t even need to rhyme.
Even free verse had its rules
but writers seem to think today
There are no rules anything goes.
I nail my colours to the mast
Not afraid to let my bias show.

31-Jan-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Is letting go a metaphor?

what is letting go -
letting go of grief?
the serenity of letting go?
(must be a bad metaphor)
losing represents letting go of control

I need to understand this 'letting go'
is it a metaphor for facing the inevitable?
breathing as a metaphor for living
'the practice of pruning wine vines'
is that a metaphor for letting go?
surrender. reaching towards the future
if you'll excuse another bad metaphor...
'the last of the sand is pouring...'
onion metaphors are stripped down to the core
letting go is a metaphor for acceptance
is acceptance a metaphor for failure?
'The freedom of letting go'
that does sound grand

letting go is not for the faint-hearted
my hands and heart are tired from letting go
so many times over

examine why metaphor is not
a substitute for the literal

letting go is
a metaphor
for goodbye

110709

poem by Terri Turrell
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I do not exist

I do not exist,

I do not breath,

I do not bleed

I do not hurt

I do not exist in your eyes,

not anymore,

I am far, far away, like

the stars that don't exist,

but still they shine and

you can see them far away,

but there not alive, there not

really there. Yes I am not there,

not for you, I do

not want your pity.

I do not want my broken smile

painted in your thoughts.

I do not exist, I am not there,

do not look for me, I do not

exist, I am not there, I am not there

poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Two schools of thought.

The lady chose to take offence
Although I said she wrote fine prose
She may not know the difference
between poetry and prose

She thought that she wrote poetry
But what she wrote was free form prose.
I offered no apology
It was not my fault that she chose.

Not to learn the basic rules
defining prose and poetry
Two very different writing schools
in which to show your artistry.

The so called experts can’t agree
and coined the term poetic prose.
Though writing cannot possible
be classed as poetry and prose.

If it’s not metered it is prose
no matter how poetical.
But you’re entitled to compose.
Fine prose and call it poetry.

Though I suggest respectfully
you should be proud of writing prose.
As some do most successfully.
But it was poetry I chose

Thursday,11 March 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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My Preference

Modern proponents of free form.
Do not accept that poetry
has certain rules and must conform.
Or it becomes mere anarchy.

Anything goes just will not do.
It’s either poetry or prose.
One must give credit where it’s due
They both have merit I suppose.

Prose poetry cannot exist.
An oxymoron obviously
but modern writers will insist
that what they write is poetry.

They aren’t content to call it prose
well written and quite beautiful.
Care taken with the words they chose
describing something wonderful.

Although so many writers try.
There’s very few achieve their aim.
They do not stop to wonder why
But simply write more of the same.

Make no attempt to learn the rules
Meter and rhyme a mystery
they lack the simple basic tools
You need for writing poetry.

A poem is a message to
transmit your ideas and your thoughts.
So other folks can share them too.
If you can write them as you ought.

Simplicity and clarity
are prerequisites for our art.
The finest kinds of poetry
are written from the poets heart.

Mere strings of words in random lines
are neither prose nor poetry.
Each of us knows what he defines
as being his idea of poesy.

I rest my case I make no plea
I merely state my preference.
Applicable only to me
I do not wish to cause offence.

6-Jan-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Craving Of The Flesh

when i write this
i am full, my stomach bloats
i am holding something
inside me
with all restraintand if i do not follow
the law of
expulsion
i may die of this
poison

i must empty
what is here inside
to make me feel well

there is poetry in my head
poetry in my stomach
soon
if i keep them and not let them
go out
i may die

and so here i am
noting this metaphor of expulsion
to let you know
that i cannot stop writing

for health reasons and not
for anything else

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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36

a metaphor is easy to make
and so easy to recall

remember the cat's feet like a fog
leaving softly the harbor in the city?
remember a misery that jumps like a flea &
bites you and you cannot sleep
and you say life is like that
a flea

remember
you think of time as a growing child
a man,
a wild man running and chasing
virgins that must make most of their time
because
time is a-flying and
the rose that blooms today
tomorrow
may be dying

remember time in a bottle

remember life like a fruit fly trapped
trying to figure
out how to escape
and you say life is like that
a fruit fly

remember death
like a woman sleeping in her chambers
closing the curtains
and you say
death is like that
a mere closing of a curtain

just like that

remember how
loneliness is like a steel tunnel
you get in there,
some birds hover and fly away from you
you get in there,
and there seems to be no light visible
at the end

loneliness

life is like that

you see
metaphors and dissect every vein
every artery
every bone and
cartilage of
these metaphors that you
say do not exist
in prose

, , , , , , , , , , , that you say do not exist in my prose

mine is not poetry
mine is a poverty of poetry
and you claim
yours is the basket the cornocupia of true poetry

good for you, you are the prima donna
of this
dance
this quibble in poetry

it does not matter

give me some metaphors
about poverty, discrimination, meaninglessness,
purposelessness,
non-being, the metaphysics of early death
a being-in-distress
an addict
a streetchild
a battered wife
a cruel father
a hypocirte priest
an embittered professor
a disgruntled student
give me some metaphors about
corruption, lying presidents, secret killings

you are the master of metaphor
you are the queen of slave
metaphors

so be it.
make me a poem to the strictures of metaphor
give poems a strange face
a hybrid of dog and man

make them read and not understand
delude them
give them illusions
confusions

make them baffled, submissive, uncritical, uncomplaining
complacent,

bewilder them to your secret,
derivative and too personalized
metaphors

and you are happy
they do not understand a thing

and they will believe that you are God.

for those that we do not understand
we call it mystery
we call it metaphor
we call it

unquestionable.

let the oppression stay.
let the discrimination live in the metaphors that
you have made.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Metaphor Is Easy To Make

a metaphor is easy to make
and so easy to recall

remember the cat's feet like a fog
leaving softly the harbor in the city?
remember a misery that jumps like a flea &
bites you and you cannot sleep
and you say life is like that
a flea

remember time in a bottle

remember life like a fruit fly trapped
trying to figure
out how to escape
and you say life is like that
a fruit fly

remember death
like a woman sleeping in her chambers
closing the curtains
and you say
death is like that
a mere closing of a curtain

just like that

remember how
loneliness is like a steel tunnel
you get in there,
some birds hover and fly away from you
you get in there,
and there seems to be no light visible
at the end

loneliness

life is like that

you see
metaphors and dissect every vein
every artery
every bone and
cartilage of
these metaphors that you
say do not exist
in prose

, , , , , , , , , , , that you say do not exist in my prose

mine is not poetry
mine is a poverty of poetry
and you claim
yours is the basket the cornocupia of true poetry

good for you, you are the prima donna
of this
dance
this quibble in poetry

it does not matter

you are the master of metaphor
you are the queen of slave
metaphors

so be it.
make me a poem to the strictures of metaphor
give poems a strange face
a hybrid of dog and man

make them read and not understand
delude them
give them illusions
confusions

make them baffled, submissive, uncritical, uncomplaining
complacent,

bewilder them to your secret,
derivative and too personalized
metaphors

and you are happy
they do not understand a thing

and they will believe that you are God.

for those that we do not understand
we call it mystery
we call it metaphor
we call it

unquestionable.

let the oppression stay.
let the discrimination live in the metaphors that
you have made.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My companion

I don't know where I'll be,
when who ever buys my book to read.
I was just writing the date on my new
notebook, and these thoughts came to my mind.

Sometimes when I'm going over some
writing I see the date on the paper,
and it brings me memories of
how I felt at the time when I
wrote those poems,

Those notes, they have the flavor
of me. My intimate thoughts my most
saddest and happiest moments of
my existence.

My poems my notes my
stories and my hands, they are one.
One memory in all together.
The way my hands clinch my
writing my every move of prose.

I don't know who
Will want to read the writing coming
from a stranger a none-known poet.
From lonesome I, no one
knows who she is.

I cherish every letter,
word and phrase my hands have writting.
Because all of this has been to me a wonderful
companion of my lonesome life of appetence to feed.

poem by Elenushka Toledo
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A Change Of Time!

A change of time changes everything in life!
Glorious poetry turned into prose for use earlier;
Stories, novels and articles ruled prominent;
With the coming of computer poetry resurrected!

Now everybody enjoys indulging in poetry for fun;
Articles, stories and novels are superseded by poetry!
Many poetry websites entertain new poets daily;
Many enjoy poetry reading and writing at anytime!

Poetry has become cheap product for all to use;
Nobody thought that such a thing could happen!
Nobody buys poetry books but novels and magazines;
Is poetry a use and throw material only in market now?

The things that cannot be expressed in stories, novels
Are done in poetry to satisfy heart, thought and spirit!

poem by Ramesh T A
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There is poetry even in prose, in all the great prose which is not merely utilitarian or didactic: there exist poets who write in prose or at least in more or less apparent prose; millions of poets write verses which have no connection with poetry.

quote by Eugenio Montale
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Woman And Poetry

writing poems together

with that woman is so much fun

i write mine, (i am much better than that woman)

i ask her to read my poems she obliges with her spectacles

as she opens her mouth to syllabicate

i gulp some saliva to my mouth

this woman is terrible

she makes me giggle

i have her word for word i have her metaphor per metaphor

there is no time to discuss

i like her to undress this time

i'll take the magic of her word

this time i will open my mouth

this time i will read all of her

i will not discuss i will not understand

i will just feel these metaphors

this mouth this tongue this body

this most important poetry

this love this lust this moment

after we have written

our poems together.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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THEY ARE POETS TOO, You are a poet!

THOSE who misspell
And those who are still coping up
With their metaphors
The techniques
Of rhyme & beat
Those who think
They do not
Know how to
Write poetry
And those
Who fear
What to say
What to write
What the others say
About their poetry
And those that doubt
Their writing
Abilities
Their thoughts

Their feelings
Their feelings
Their feelings
Yes
Yes
Their feelings

Or those who simply
Fear that they may only
Be displeasing
And disappointing

And those whose
Sense of confidence
About this thing
This poetry
This poem thing
Those that still
Hide what they
Feel to what they
Think

Is prose

Those who think that
Their life
Is not worth
Sharing in the
The beat and
Rhyme of poetry

Behold
The mere thought
About life
About a beating heart
The pulse
The eyes that blink
The fingers fidgety
That type the words

Of feelings
Of feelings
Yes
Yes
About feelings
It is all about feelings

The genuine feelings
Of your life
You type them
Each word
To another word
A chain of words
A long chain of words

Like playing the music
To the piano keys
Like strumming
The strings of a
Flamenco guitar

A certain music
A certain beat
To the sound
Of your computer keys
Hear the beat
And the rhyme
Of your computer keys
Each word
To another word
To a chain of words
To a longer chain of words
You are running a chain of feelings
You are chasing a chain of feelings long chained in your hearts wanting to be free

To be free
To be free
Yes
Yes
You, feeling to be free to run free to be all free

Like you were scattering red rose petals to this pedestal
Like you were sprinkling waters to this garden
Like you were splashing waters in the sea
Like you were bathing playing dancing in the rain
Like you were humming a tune to a trek on a hill
Like you were making love with your beloved the whole night

Behold
A poet in you is born

Behold
You are typing
A poem

You are
Feeling

And you are
By all means

Now a poet

I hereby baptize you
With that name.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Passing The Time

By ginger baker and mike taylor
It is a cold winter,
Away is the songbird.
And gone is her traveller,
She waits at home.
The sun is on holiday,
No leaves on the trees.
The animals sleep
While cold north wind blows.
The snowflakes are falling,
The roof a white blanket.
Theres ice on the window pane,
She waits alone.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Her children are sleeping,
She waits in their home.
Passing the time.
Passing the time.
Everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, wine and time rhyme.
Passing the time.
It is a long winter,
Away is the summer.
She waits for her traveller
So far from home.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Theres ice on the window,
Shes lonely alone.

song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passing The Time

song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Through The Water-Frame

My eyes see mist
And time no more
My heart fights war
Of passing memory
That once you made exist

I stand before thee
In armor of shattered glass
Such fantastic sentiment
Of my unprotected heart
In everlasting malcontent
What blind shields weren’t meant for me

When my tears turn into
Bottomless wells
Beauty
Fountain of youth,
We sit on its borderline
Drinking from the callow truth
Our lips,
We sip from each other’s wine
Learning wisdom from unwise
We drown into the mirror’s shards
Impress thy words, gone the sane
I hear you through the water-frame
I fight this war
Of passing memory
Again my eyes see mist in light
Of passing memory
That once you made exist

poem by Sammy Edrisi
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I have a dream

I want to write real poetry
But I’m not sure how I should start
I need someone who can teach me
the basics of poetic art.

I do not know if it should rhyme
and meter is a mystery.
I have the will I have the time.
I somebody will please help me.

I have the urge I have to write
I really want to get it right
What makes it poetry or prose?
there is a difference I suppose.

I know there’s different schools of thought
an ongoing controversy.
I’m simply looking for support
to help me with my poetry.

I have the basic writing tools
a pad a pencil and P.C.
I need to learn the basic rules
which turn prose into poetry.

I am willing to study hard
and heed advice that’s offered me.
By any older wiser bard
who’s skilled at writing poetry.

26-Apr-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Chose With This Prose To Share

I could,
With this prose...
Ramble on,
Nonsensical.

And in doing so,
Seek content.
In a way I believe,
Would have intention meant.

But for some living foolishly,
Whatever another observes and perceives...
Would be for them a waste of print.
And that would be,
Their message sent.

Yet there come those days,
That separate themselves...
From events experienced,
Like none that have before been felt.

And with aging comes an acknowledgement...
Of an acceptance done,
As one awakens to enjoy each moment.
To appreciate with gratefulness...
An opportunity to address,
A growing enlightenment...
Arriving to inspire within one's consciousness.

I could,
With this prose...
Ramble on,
Nonsensical.

However...
It seems that in the making of sense,
Only those who have the time to do it...
Are the ones caring less,
To make attempts to convince!
And I chose with this prose,
To share a part of me I willfully expose.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You exist now only in my heart

You exist now only in my heart...

You exist now only in my heart,
An ode to my internal defeat
A fading memory from an eternal realm,
A time gone by and incomplete.

You exist now only in my heart,
A message which truly proclaims
Your very essence and nature changed,
speaking softly your innumerable true names.

You exist now only in my heart,
As the wind carries my thoughts of you
Toward the angels standing in the clouds,
Innocently fairing me to bid you adieu.

You exist now only in my heart,
In the nature of who you've been,
But now, you are more than I'll ever know,
as I walk along this grassy knoll, ever so green.

You exist now only in my heart...

poem by Chad Fisher
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En.Citatepedia®.ro

Nothing Serious

Related quotes

Innocent`s Farewell

Totally Biased

Is letting go a metaphor?

I do not exist

Two schools of thought.

My Preference

The Craving Of The Flesh

36

A Metaphor Is Easy To Make

My companion

A Change Of Time!

Woman And Poetry

THEY ARE POETS TOO, You are a poet!

Passing The Time

Passing The Time

Through The Water-Frame

I have a dream

I Chose With This Prose To Share

You exist now only in my heart

En.Citatepedia^®.ro