Thank Him
for the one who writes
so s/he may not be understood
for him/her who writes
merely to impress and leave us
lost in the crevices of
his mysteries
the labyrinths of his
pretensions
let us all say thank you
for the doubts and
for being part
of our confusions
let us gather the leaves of the laurel
and put that as a crown
on his/her hair
she/he deserves the tile and name
poet/ess
of the day.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Universe Writes A Poem
The universe is a poet.
She looked at him
with a forgiving smile.
How would you know that?
Well, the credo flows
from the unity
of the knower and the known,
he said.
Besides,
symmetry involves reciprocity.
And the holographic qualities
of the cosmos imply
that just as the poet
is part of the universe,
the universe is part
of the poet, too.
So, when a poet writes a poem
the universe writes its own.
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reflections 101
he writes not because
he wants to be read and
be understood
got him wrong really
he writes because he likes
to live
life writes upon himself
and so he writes upon life too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Must
She writes as if there’s not much time.
She writes to pain, to happiness,
She writes to every remote detailed thought.
She writes to the departed,
to the extant,
to poverty,
to wealth.
She writes to mourn, and grief.
She writes to the wind, the rain,
forest, the desert, and mountains.
She writes to her pouring tears,
to her grateful moments,
She writes because really what she has is time.
She has no little ones to feed, or bathe,
nor a husband to make happy. To write is
to escape- to her. Time is not a problem, time
is just a killing system, she needs to kill in many words.
She writes as if there’s not much time.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Message Here For All You Poets
The love poet writes of lovely things like true love and flowers in bloom
And the roses in the poet's garden scent of a sweet perfume
And the gentle hearted applaud him saying what a marvellous poet
He surely is a child of God and one worthy of note.
The love poet writes of love of God and the God fearing say
He's a fine poet one of the best love and respect to God he pay
He hear no evil speak no evil only write of God and love
And there's a place reserved for him in God's Kingdom up above.
The social issues poet writes of the poor and few his verses read
They say he writes such morbid stuff sob stories we do not need
He keeps highlighting the downtrodden and those in poverty
He ought to put more trust in God and in Humanity.
A message here for all you poets don't write of the downtrod
But write of affairs of your heart and write of your love of God
And some will say how great you are and your praises they will sing
And they will pay respect to you and call you their Poetic Queen or King.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Poem Is The Poet
THE POEM IS THE POET
The poem is the poet
It tells his story even when he does not intend it to-
It bears his signature even when he forges it-
The poem is the poet-
It reflects his mind his soul-
It cannot be written without what he is
Though he denies what he is to himself-
The poem is the poet
And the poet's contradictions-
It is the mask of his self - expression
And his ultimate definition in words-
When he writes he becomes himself
And when he finishes it
He leaves a part of himself in it for as long as it exists.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So What Do You Expect From The Title?
the poet writes the title
first,
he is the messy kind
that writes
whatever comes first
even though
literally each word
seems not to be significant
to the next one
practically like strangers
coming together
inside a train
whose common ground
is only to go somewhere
else
nothing like
care, or affection
they merely stand there
and wait
and then take their
respective
exits
he writes: so what do you expect from life?
changing it later:
so what do you expect
from the
title? trying to conceal the essence
of his question
and then he keeps on writing
like a lost kid
looking for its mother
who seems to be very busy
with her own
kind of obsessive
compulsive shopping
and then you arrive at the
end line which says: hey why are you stalking me?
changes it later to
something courteous: do i know you?
are you following me?
do you like me? funny, but
sometimes it is true
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Russell Baker writes columns as a poet writes light verse - with tongue in cheek and a steady hand.
quote by Thomas D'Evelyn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Book Of Suleika - The Loving One Again
WRITES he in Neski,
Faithfully speaks he;
Writes he in Tali,
Joy to give, seeks he:
Writes he in either,
Good!--for he loves!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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A Poet's Blues
A poet
Is having a hard time
To day
While he is writing his poem
He writes something
Om his computer
And after he finishes it he reads it
And it doesn't seem good enought for him
So he errases it
And he writes his poem again on his computer
When he is finished with his poem
He reads his poem
And he is not happy with it still
So he errases it again
And then he writes it again on his compute
Now his poem is finally making sense
And all he needs to do is to elaborate his poem
Now it it is getting late for the poet
Ans he needs a break from writing
So he goes to sleep right now
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Written in Black Ink
Upon
The tear-stained
Paper
She writes
Writes,
Her story
Her experiences
Her life
Written in
Black ink
Upon
The tear-stained
Paper
She writes
Writes,
Her sorrows
People she lost
People who are gone
Written in
Black ink
She writes for
Days and
Days
Until
At last
Her masterpiece
Is finished
Her eyes Begin to
Close and
Oblivion Takes hold
And when she
Awakens
Her story will be written
Written in black ink
poem by Autumn Winds
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Master Shakespeare
Quill in hand I see him so
A vision of him I there see
Word by word he writes on
No other can replace he
Master Shakespeare
A poet of Devine perfection
He writes and writes along
What an excellent inspiration
His words will continue on
Master Shakespeare
Magic in your very hand
No other takes your place
You I admire with my life
So full of love and grace
Master Shakespeare
poem by Suelynn Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Writes Of Poems And Poets And Poetry
THE POET WRITES OF POEMS AND POETS AND POETRY
The poet writes of poems and poets and poetry,
And the world goes by
And nothing is done.
And the sky- the sky.
Is it still above?
And Love and Kindness
Are they still deep in us,
Words or not?
Without Poetry the world does not exist for the poet-
But for others,
Dreams have other names,
And Music plays on,
And singing and laughter
Go on as the Beauty of Light.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death Toll 5,000,001
whew
if you as the modern poet
writes
ten poems a day,
this man writes
30 poems
a day......
giga...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If the poet be pure in his morals, he will be pure in his verses too; the pen is the tongue of the mind, and as the thought engendered there, so will be the things that it writes down. And when kings and princes observe this marvelous science of poetry in wise, virtuous, and thoughtful subjects, they honor, value, exalt them, and even crown them witt the leaves of that tree which the thunderbolt strikes not, as if to shos that they whose brows are honored and adorned with such a crown are not to be assailed by anyone.
Miguel de Cervantes in Don
Quixote
de
la
Mancha (1605), translated by John
Ormsby
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Matter Of Opinion 2012
I think I have the right to state.
The present poet laureate
Has chosen to ignore the rules
that govern poetry. The tools
which every poet ought to know
To ensure their words will smoothly flow
When they are performed publically.
The must be metered carefully.
In my opinion she writes prose
Though I am certain that she knows.
That prose cannot be poetry
But doesn’t care apparently.
Although she writes poetically.
To me its prose not poetry.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Waits For A Poem One Cannot Write
ONE WAITS FOR A POEM ONE CANNOT WRITE
One waits for a poem one cannot write-
And writes a poem one does not want to-
And dreams them both with longing for something else.
And writes and writes
Poem after poem
Until one does not know
Where the poem is,
And whether one is a poet at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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That's The Man
Unknown -a stranger in Antioch- the man from Edessa
writes and writes. And at last, there,
the final canto's done. That makes
eighty-three poems in all. But so much writing,
so much versifying, the intense strain
of phrasing in Greek, has worn the poet out,
and now everything has gone stale.
But a thought suddenly brings him out of his dejection:
the sublime 'That's the man'
which Lucian once heard in his sleep.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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There Was Nothing Left To Write
THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT TO WRITE
There was nothing left to write
Everything had already been written
And was being written over again and again
By thousands elsewhere-
There was nothing left to write
And nothing new to say -
And no need for anything he had to give-
It was over for him as a writer
Whether he accepted it or not-
No one would ever need or want anything he could do again-
And so when he despite all this still wrote
It seemed to many simply pathetic-
The obsessive reflex of an already lost soul-
Who wrote and wrote and wrote
Who writes and writes and writes
Who cannot stop
However senseless all he does, is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writes
He seems to be
Doing drugs and
Drinks...
As whatever
He writes
Doesn't
Make
Much
Sense
To me.
Maybe,
Whenever he
Writes...
He's so very
Intoxicated
On a high,
That his
Sanity
Bids him
Goodbye,
And the
Utter
Nonsense
That he
Writes...
Doesn't
Make
Much
Sense
To me ;)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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