Passion Of A Poet
in the world of the poet
passionate about his next poem
there are many trees reaching
high upon the skies
there are bluer skies up there
there are black and white birds
blending
day and nights
dusk and twilight
there will be more things to see
in colors and tastes and
scents of onions and
roses
there is no world as passionate as
a poet in love
with his craft
his beloved asleep in the beauty of her
closed eyes
his lips touching the nipples of her breasts
his tongue unraveling the magic
of a navel
in the world of the passionate poet
there are never aching eyes
perhaps only
an aching heart still wanting to embrace
so much love
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Poet vs Poem
Does a poet makes poem
Or poem makes poet?
The eternal war goes on.
The big confusion who will solve it?
Poet fight with sword of pen.
Poem armoured with shield of senses.
Poet tries to rich sky high,
Poem pulls rope of meaning and tenses.
Does poet sketc the poem
Or poem drags him through the invigible gravity.
A piece of paper becomes battlefield.
The war of ink and vocabulary,
Creates a historic beauty.
Poet cages the poem in a book.
Where the world will look.
Praises all to poet 'oh how great'
But the poem is what counts after his death.
poem by Saurav Karki
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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
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Poet is free
Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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I Am Not The Poet's Poet But Perhaps The Would- Be- Poet's Would-Be Poet
I AM NOT THE POET’S POET BUT PERHAPS THE WOULD- BE- POETS WOULD – BE –POET
I am not the poet’s poet-
The one poets of name and fame admire-
But perhaps the would- be- poets would be – poet-
Who tries to be a poet
And tries to understand what it means
To love poetry and live by writing it
Even when the world does not recognize me..
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Doubts Of Mystic poet!
Nee maye olago,
Ninnolu mayeyo?
Kannada Mystic poet
Kanakadasa
Are you in MAYA,
Or MAYA is in you?
Are you in body,
Or body is in you?
Is sugar sweet,
Or sweetness in sugar,
Or sugar and sweet both are in tongue?
Is tounge in body,
Or body in tongue,
Or both body and tongue are in mind?
Is mind in you or
You are in mind,
Or both you and mind are in
world?
Is the God in world,
Or World in God,
Or both world and God
are in your eyes?
Are eyes in you,
Or you in eyes?
Or both you and eyes
are in
beloved
Kaginele Adi Keshava?
15th century
mystic poet
Kanakadasa.
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Poet And The Lonely Lady
one summer a poet writes about
true love
and happiness
and this lonely lady
chances upon the lines of this poet
and she has tasted the sweetness
of happiness that love can bring
she loves every word in the poem
feels the ecstasy of every line
and every night
she says she cannot sleep
thinking, feeling,
wanting to be lost and be held in
his arms
she decides to love
the poet
ultimately
she travels to the place stated in his address
hoping to see him
so she will finally know
his love that touches her
in the bottom
of her heart
only to find out
it is sad
that the address does not exist
and the poet does not live there
and does not even
exist
perhaps only in the imagination
of those who want to love
and be loved
she is so sad she jumps into
a conclusion that love is a
lie
that the poet is a
liar
since then, she stops reading the poems
of that poet
(or any other poet)
who never dies
because he for once never ever lived
in the first place
except the poem
perhaps
which to date still convinces lonely ladies to live and believe
to love and be loved
that which defines
what love is
where love is found
and find it somehow in the arms of one
who is real, like it is alive, like it is true
to the one beside her
who touches her
with his
warm hands
who melts
her in his eyes
because
even unwritten by any poet
this love is still so beautiful....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Google = A Good Poem = 147, Ooo, Ooo
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
POETRY
God has always had his poets
Who He watches with love from space.
But Satan has his poets too
Who try to lead us from our grace.
King Solomon was a poet
Who spoke of love, life, death and war.
That lips were like threads of scarlet
And that breasts were roses and more.
The wild birds sing and flowers bloom
As clouds form figures in the sky.
But only humans will write poems
That shall last long after they die.
The eldest sister of all arts
Which some have called the Devils wine.
Poetry is but pure passion
To stimulate the heart and mind.
BY GOD'S POET = tom zart!
God is the best poet
He thinks this world is not a poet’s game!
How can he hate the poet but love poem!
It’s like loving the creation and hating the Creator
Although from every perspective God is better!
He has not known yet
God is the best poet!
poem by Asif Andalib
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The Poet Is....
the poet is a vase,
collecting tears like rainwater,
with a tiny hole in the bottom,
connecting to the ground.
the poet is a prism,
seperating colors from black and white,
then drawing black and white from colors,
dissolving and evolving.
the poet is an illusion,
that looks and smells like home,
redefining distance by closeness,
finding the familiar in a stranger.
the poet is an orphan,
a messenger, and a thief.
bringing you a lit candle,
and stealing your heart for a stand.
the poet is a carpenter,
building from scraps of wood.
using time rusted nails,
and an eye for dreams.
the poet is a healer,
and the moment you forgot,
on the way to remembering,
who you really are.
the poet is a bridge,
borrowed wings, and a cross.
a simple fire tended by no one,
and ears left behind by god.
the poet is a body,
grown tired in it's dying.
and the small winged creature without name,
waiting to follow the wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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From A Poet To A Poem
From a poet to a poem
These hands performed artistic ink work
So delicate and flexible like a plastic fork
From a poet to a poem
These hands deciphers my mistress inner beauty
And her magical physical appearance
With these hands her intellect was portrayed
While the tears of ink resembles
The gentle flow of her tender, love and care
From a poet to a poem
Through the work of my hand,
The notion of love from the top of my head
Is wandering amid the lines of my page
From a poet to a poem
A heart to a page,
From emotional to physical
Hands made it possible
And now she knows
That through these hands I'll continue to love,
Care, speak and embrace her
poem by Leonard Webber
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Wonderful Beautiful Lady Has Golden Eyes
Your angel eyes cursed me from the first time I met you
Your eyes have magic made me follow you simply
Your eyes colors stolen the color of the honey
Because the color of your eyes its gold
Your eyes shining in the night same the stars in the sky
I had never seen like you in whole the world
On all these specifications in you is not finished yet because you are unlimited in the beauty
Your long blond hair is very awesome
When the air plays with your blond hair & its fly when you are walking
Oh my god
I'm dying on this section of your beauty
Your awesome beauty chasing me everywhere I go
I can't remove you from my head simply
I see your picture always in front of my eyes
You burned fire inside my heart
I woke up on a dream I can't tolerance it simply
I can't tolerance your love simply
You are very hard love on me
But at the end I must accept it because this is my fate
May be I can't do everything for you that you want
But I have a white romantic heart it's for you only
So please except this heart that it's in your hands
I don't have money but I have this heart
I can give you only the real love in whole your life
But I can't build castles in the air & all suddenly fail down on the ground
This is me my lovely lady
The answer is up to you
I'm waiting for your answer
I became a romantic poet because of you
I became a famous poet & everybody know my love for you how its looks like
I loved you from the first time I met you
You are always in my head & I had never forget you for a while
I will still love you forever in whole my life
To my last day of my life
To my death day
You are my first love & my last love in whole my life forever, forever
Sincerely
Your Lover Forever In Whole Your Life
The Romantic Man
Ali Sabry
The life of a Poet
The poet listens
the poet hears
he writes down
all his fears.
He observes things
that others don't
going to places
that others won't.
Inspired by simple things
like a sound or smell
the poet has lots
of stories to tell.
Even when asleep
his mind isn't at rest
in fact this is the time
it's at it's creative best.
The poet can be a restless soul
his life reflected on the page
some verse can be sweet and mild
then full of anger and rage.
The poet can be mysterious
and write in a strange way
he will say Black is White
and that night is day.
The poet is an artist
but instead of paint it's the word
painters want their work to be seen
but poets just need to be heard.
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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By Night The muses told me.
By night the muses snatched me away, in to their
loveliest
Abode where the gods grow fond of. But poor I am in word to describe
The heavenly refinement of this humble paradise.
Laying me helplessly on this sour grass and looking into the early skies as a lover
On the tour of painful love and yet whispering in my ears as my ears quiver for answers
My dear poet the fairest of them all, whose heart is as loveliest as a thousand bouquets of roses laid by the lover's bed.
Grow within your thought the learning of love and let the world be indeed a beautiful place for you.
Though I do not challenge your words great muses, whose radiate skin bring light in darkness, whose word flow from your mouth as you were present when the world came to being, my great and wonderful muses, whose song feels the heart of the faint lover and bring to tame the proudest heart of the lion on a mid day hunt.
Your beauty I as a mortal i dare not compare any beauty with.
How should I love, how should I give my heart and not get pain in return,
You trained my heart and though I am weak, spirit me away in to your humble blossom
And let me rest my head on your golden lap.
For my lips are so moisten with words from my heart, I am not in control of my self.
If I, a lover of a thousand women, how then should I, a god like me
In mortal flesh prevent my pleasures for over taking me.
Hence my muse answered,
my dear poet and god, who I bestow my graces upon, who
Are the hands I write my songs and poem with, do no despair, write what ever I tell you through your heart and understand my plight, but if still you do not comprehend go and listen to my dear god Ovid, it was him Venus thought the art of love
But oh my dear lord and love muses, your words grace my heart, but my mind is not at peace
Ovid my great and wonderful love teacher, who none compares not even Shakespeare with his renown wits and words' sit with open eyes and heart applaud when he delivers the speech of love. But still I am a lover of thousand women.
My dearest, whom I endowed with the riches of words, hear me, your heart though full of wonder love, it is with it I deliver the power of love through, learn to live with it my young poet.
Tell the loveliest women how you feel and if she does not comprehend, craft them into words on paper, go my young poet and tell the ladies of the world through your words how elegant they seem in there natural beauty, how beauty grows and fade. Tell them to grace there appearance with inner beauty for the goddess and muses shall be with you.
You are my handy work, the man of a thousand lover, forgive cupid for his jealous looks my dear poet live and enjoy your fruitful days as young, soon old age comes fleeting in a chariot.
poem by Samuel Donkor
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World view
Come to poet
And enjoy life.
Come to poet
And see beauty.
Come to poet
And know truth.
Come to poet
And have patience.
No non-sense can
Disturb you
And you have
At your hand
World view.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet as a Feeler of Pain
What makes a poet?
Many have tried to guess.
Is it a voice
like a conduit,
a plainspokenness to grief,
the hairs of the head
dancing on end,
the blood swarming
with the voices
of all those who have died,
will die,
& will also be born?
Is it a catch
in the throat
that awakens the eyes,
is it in the eyes themselves
or is it something
in the heart?
I think it is pain-
an openness to pain,
so that the least leaf
cuts the hand
& the smallest tear
cuts the cheek
like jagged crystal,
so that the world
is a sick infant
& the poet its mother,
praying, crooning, promising
to be good
if only the cure
takes.
There is, of course,
no cure.
Poetry does not cure
the poet
& the poet
does not cure the world.
Usually he catches
the world's diseases
& dies
even before his time.
But against all odds
& all indifference,
another one is born.
The world must have
someone to feel its pain
& speak of it.
The poet is that mouth.
poem by Erica Jong
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Together
Slowly the sun sinks, as does my heart
When twilight beckons.
My light expired when you left my gaze.
I grope in the dark for a kindle
In this cave they call the world
But only you illuminate heaven's stars.
The dawn breaks, as does my heart,
I look for your lips but can only kiss a shadow
Thrown across the ember of your eyes
While white dove disappears into weeping skies
That the world calls rain.
The clock stops, as does my heart
Because love doesn't walk, it flies
I died when our lips did part
Despite the mask of life's disguise.
Ah chance i see like vapour rise
As my hands bleed to hang on.
Your beauty's written across the skies
I blink and then your gone.
Yet love's eternal spring
Will take away the sting
Until we sing- together.
poem by Kevin East
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The Girl Who Tamed A Poets Heart
Those words which screamed out
From a heart into a silent world
Those passionate dreams once known
Of a love which seem to be a stranger
The lyrics and the verse which sang
To love, to a love they longed to find
All fell silent, all slept sound
She came from such silence
Full beauty body, heart and mind
Her words touched and soothed
The mind of a poet like never before
The wild tempest which once reigned
The heart and the imagination
Each word which built their world
Now spoke softly to a love they knew
Now whispered gently her name
She came as though called
To answer each prayer and wish
She took the heart in her hands
And cradled it in a kiss
She tamed its wild passion
And heard it sing anew
To the girl who tamed a poets heart
I shall forever love you
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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See The Sky Again
Whispered from my heart and soul to my unwilling eyes
Lift my vision from the ground lift it to the sky
Skies they used to be so ugly rain that stings my face
Opens up their glory just earth and sky and space
And your passionate embraces absolve me of my sin
Your life lifts me up so I can see
See the sky again
And Ive lived through all the flash-fire set off like lightening spark
Yes they burn so brightly and oh they burn so hot
And these fantasies of all our love tearing at the ground
Wrapped up in the vortex of sweat and sex and sound
And your passionate embraces absolve me of my sin
Your life lifts me up so I can see, see the sky again
Hide me
From the love Im too scared to send
Hide me
til I see the sky again
And your passionate embraces absolve me of my sin
Your life lifts me up so I can see
See the sky again
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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