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On The Wings And Claws And Beaks Of Poetry

lame, i walk on the crutches
of poetry,

wingless, i put on the feathers
of words,

i get these beaks
of metaphors

to feed upon
the richness of meaning

i am a hundred birds
on a hundred wings

i have claws and beaks
and eagles' eyes

on the flights
of the madness of poetry

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Birds In The Air

DID they not tell you
about their lightness?
oh, must you forget
that their beaks and feathers
are designed
for wordless existence?
i may figure it out
on their songs
their freedom

Did you not read
that the sing because they have their own songs?
It must follow that they have to fly
because they have their wings
otherwise
what is lightness for
what use are feathers
their beaks and claws

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An act of poetry

Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry

A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art

Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation

Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:

The pen be our salvation.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Moderns

To many reading modern poetry more interesting the meaning in the metaphors they seek to find
They feel it makes their brains work that much harder that it is good exercise for the mind
Rhyme for their great brains seems that bit too simple it does not test their thinking power at all
'Tis not a poem to them if it seems simple and the meaning in it easy to recall,
Yes rhyme for them it does seem that bit simple and deciphering it to them is not a test
The hidden meaning in the metaphors is something that does seem to try them best
Rhyme poetry to them is too simple and far too easy for to understand
It has to be blank verse with dozens of metaphors for their interest for to command
They look on rhyme and bush poets as inferior their preference in poets and poetry they make known
On literature they air their opinions like it is said to each their own
Their poetry evenings do seem quite exclusive rhyme poets to read they never do invite
Their unmusical lines that are laced with metaphors to each other they do recite
They do not like rhyme or they do not like bush poetry to them it is of another time
And in their poetry evenings there is no place for the men and the women of rhyme.

poem by Francis Duggan
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What's the real meaning of Poetry

Poetry, Poetry, Poetry
what is the real meaning of you?
is it the sonnets, the haiku's the imagery
no one will ever know.

Poetry, Poetry, Poetry
I know the real meaning of you
to express my feelings and thoughts on paper
to be able to publish you.

Poetry, Poetry, Poetry
you tell me the meaning of you.

poem by Nadia Potenza
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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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Poetry On The Chin

You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.

You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.

You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.

Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Poetry To Me

What is poetry to me- it is words of beauty-words of life
Words of love, pain and sacrifice.
Words of showing and growing and needing and feeding
Words of hope and despairs, wanting and cares.

Poetry takes you into the minds of mankind
From days of old to the present time.
Poetry takes you on trips that you've never been before
And opens up every door.

Poetry becomes a longing, a want, a desire, a need
On which your mind must feed.
It becomes a life within itself
And takes you to the heavens and down to hell.

Poetry becomes a flaming desire
And only writing can put out this fire.
I call it my passion while others say it's my obsession
Yet! No matter what they may think or say
Poetry is here to stay.

So many different types of poetry
For the different minds 'you see'.
You will always find one that will give you meaning
From a loving heart to one that's bleeding.

Jump on the bandwagon and take a hold
For with poetry ' life unfolds'.

poem by Louis Rams
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Gertrude Stein is interviewed on American poetry

and there was the knocking on the door
that we were expecting
and it was the man
that we were expecting
with the questions we were expecting
to which answers were expected
by those who expect answers
as if life were like that
which for writers it is not

yes, tea was drunk
and after tea the tape recorder set up
so that what I said
I would continue to say
somewhere else
even when I changed my mind
here and nowhere else

and he said Ms Stein
what do you think of American poetry
and we said well it's American
and it's poetry
that's as it should be
and really that's all there is to say
and the man looked disappointed
so we asked him did he read poetry
and he said poetry no I dont read poetry
but my editor does
so I said it's really about Americans
living their lives
that's what American poetry is really about
because Americans move around
and so their words move around and
words in English have lost their intensity
but American words are always on the move
and they are more intense
yes, Americans living among Americans
and talking to their neighbours
if it's not about that
it's not really American poetry at all is it
if it's not about that
then why bother writing poetry

and the man was asking about a rose
being a rose being a rose and we said
for a hundred years the rose
has not been red in poetry
but now for the first time in a hundred years
the rose is red again

and the man looked at his watch
and said thank you Ms Stein
and was switching off his tape recorder

and a month later that
was what we said
in a magazine much read
by Americans who mostly
are not poets no very few but we said it
we know that this is so
because we read it there
and we think that really
that was all there was to say
because that was all we think
is really important
about American Poetry
that the words move like Americans move
and that is exciting for a writer
and that is the important thing about
American Poetry

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Poetry Is All In One!

Passion for poetry is insatiable!
Poetry gives pleasure nothing can!
Poetry is many subjects under one roof!
Poetry never bores to write and read ever!
Poetry is a compression of many ideas in a nut shell!
Poetry displays power of pen to capture men ever!
Poetry captures as photo castles built in air!
Poetry is spontaneous over flow of ides!
Poetry flows free if extemporary!
Poetry is prolific words sure!
Poetry is a thing of joy!
Poetry is beauty!
Poetry is witty!
Poetry cheers!

poem by Ramesh T A
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Period Of Adjustment

In haste you accept me like
Whirlwind
Romancing the cliffs and stone

Then we settle for the nest of
An eagle
Up there where no one climbs
The eggs are safe

What have I become of myself?
Something you feed on
I am still this fish
With scales and gills
Unable to adapt to your lungs and beaks
and your threatening claws
and wings

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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With Poetry

With poetry
I have found a purpose

With poetry
things just seem easier

With poetry
words will dance the tango

With poetry
I can put meaning to my thoughts

With poetry
I can ramble on and on

With poetry
everything is easier

poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
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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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It Is Your World Now

it is your world now
you have enough of theirs
those who are gods and goddesses
what is perfect is never your choice
not yours
though

you live in your world now
of imperfections

on the other hand
upon such acceptance
you have become one
perfect human being

it is your world now
fill it with the birds of your choices
red, blue, yellow
feathers and claws and beaks
keep them well
in your hands
let them fly forever in your minds

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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A Chicken's Life

we watch it from the beginning
an egg, plus days
hatching into a chick
seeing the first light
of the bulb
and the hen pushes
each chick into
the ground to feed
by themselves
until some feathers grow
beaks and claws
now we view a full grown
chicken,

at least, i am not talking
about a coward, do you understand?

do not, please,
chicken out from life's bitter days
we were babies
not chicks

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Poetry Has Become Prose

MY POETRY HAS BECOME PROSE

My Poetry has become Prose
I have lost my music
Nothing sings in me;
I have lost my richness of meaning
Nothing in me is not linear, flat and clear.
I have lost my poetry
And have become a writer of Prose
In pseudo Poetic Form-
There is in me no Line
That says more than itself-
I am Prose now not Poetry
And yet still secretly hoping
My inner irony will
In contradicting me
Save me.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry The Beacon!

Beacon of literature is ever poetry only!
Greatness of literature lies in quality ideas;
Richness of language depends on poetry;
Worthiness of matter in poetry only is best!

Writing needs creative mind whatever thing is!
Novels, Short stories, Prose and Poetry are they
That enhance the richness of literature ever;
That too writing poetry makes one great sure!

Having chosen the form of poetry to write itself
Is not an easy matter as it needs skill and time
To write what one feels, thinks and conceives
In heart, mind and soul, otherwise no good at all!

Other forms of literature needs concentrated work
But poetry needs natural ability to express free all!

poem by Ramesh T A
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Why Poetry?

'what is in poetry? 'sometimes you ask me,

'you can always love me without poetry,
why bother about words?
your kiss is enough,
what is the use of the metaphors?
we can always make love all through the night
and words become all too useless
and images become too superfluous' you ask more that what i can
muster to answer.

And this i say:

'i agree, poetry is is useless but like the monk who was asked
one day about something that he does
like sweeping the floor
like climbing the stairs
like praying and contemplating...'

let me say
'we have poetry because they are there to be written'

my heart smiles.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.

Poetry...Poetry...

poem by Akash Agrawal
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you begin your story about the birds
walking on telephone wires
or are they just there holding on
with their lives
intact with the clouds at their
claws and beaks

and then you tell your story
about a man walking on top of the water
and the many ways you can really do
it like some miracles they all remember

jesus!

i cannot be beaten. i write a poem
about a drifter who names his two kids
clouds and fog

i bring a cat for you to see to listen
to its paws

how silent they are.
like a cloud. like a fog on the harbor of the city

this crap about Robert
frost. we know them.

so please do not tell me again that it was you
who walk on top of the water
and i will not tell you about my kind of kid
poetry, cat's paws and harbors and fogs

and the silence in my room that i have chosen
as a delicacy for your
kind of escape, to the windmills, and to Miguel
his pony and his Spanish
prison.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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