What We Have Not Yet Understood Because It Still Not Within Our Power
there is a flower that
you did not pick because you did not find it
to your liking
'there is a standard for the picking
there are rules for what beauty is', you tell your friend
the stone is not beautiful
you use it for hitting someone's head
that moron
there is a poem and a non-poem
a combatant and a non-combatant
self-executing and non-self executing
there is a none for
fullness
i have confidence
and soon even in a hundred awakenings i shall prove you wrong
there is a song in
a chant
there is a chant
in a sorrow that is silent
there is always light
in a candle even if
it is not lighted
tastes change, rulers are ousted
the ants become kings
the winds turn to ice to stone to fish
everything is possible
you must watch out, but you shall not reach that point
you do not live that long
like a layer of histories
hidden in a rock
in the lines of
a tree's trunk
there is poetry in narration
there is poetry in chaos
there is beauty in the ugliness of things
in the madness of men there is still a hidden
humanity
there is a song in wood
there is a lesson learned in paths
you just not have the power yet to see all these
there is a tomorrow in the past
there is a story in the blank wall
there is grief in a smile
there is life in the bones of men
there is still an undiscovered law in mass murder
there is at the end
peace in a nuclear destruction.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
There Was A Poem About Poetry
THERE WAS A POEM ABOUT POETRY
There was a poem about poetry
Written by a poet whose name was hidden within the lines-
The poem about poetry
Became a song in the night
And a distant metaphor
For the incomprehensible journey that is life-
It became anything it could be made to be-
Love,
A world of a kind,
A mystery,
The holy sounds of light far far away -
All the poems we know are like this,
In the darkness they say one thing
But in the light in the light
Oh how dark and deep and far and lonely they are-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wanted A Poem/But There Was No Poetry In Me
I WANTED A POEM/ BUT THERE WAS NO POETRY IN ME
I wanted a poem
But there was no poetry in me
I said to myself from outside,
‘Write the feeling of a song'
But I had no song within me-
Poetry did not flow
No music moved me
I was alone with a Mind
That had no heart or song-
And then I writing
Simply tried to listen to myself
And what I heard
Was these awkward non- poetic lines
That make a poem
Which is not true poetry
And yet here now
proclaims its own rhythm as this page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Beauty today, Ugly tomorrow
Beauty and ugliness everywhere
Beauty in the eyes and mind of the admirer
Ugliness in the eyes and mind of the hater
Transformational reconstruction everywhere,
Driven by muscle and led by mind,
Tomorrow's eyes do not see the same as Yesterday's
Beauty today, ugly tomorrow
No guarantee beauty today will be beauty tomorrow
No guarantee ugliness today will be ugliness tomorrow
No guarantee structures standing today will be standing tomorrow
The world is beautiful by mankind
Man is forever in the chase of dirt
Today I live on my terms, tomorrow I watch and smile or cry
Today may look like tomorrow if wishes were horses
Tomorrow is uncertain
Everything in it is uncertain
Our wish ends in our hearts and minds
Our wish is castles in the air except today,
It is imaginary with no contract for reality
The brain is jelly in the minds of progeny
Our wish is noble in our minds,
Our wish is liquid in the minds of progeny
Today's life is dirt and gold like tomorrow it will be,
Today, tomorrow, yesterday, life is the same,
One purpose for living but different states, tastes and times,
Change is forever rolling by, spicing up states, tastes and times,
A turning wheel with no end
Milestones flashing past, no distance covered,
February 2012
Niki Nkuna
poem by Niki Nicholas Nkuna
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To A Friend On The Other Side Of The Earth...
you write and i listen to each word.
you are faraway. You speak in repetitive lines.
there are standards of art.
a poem must be so and so. so does a short story.
unity of plot, choice of words,
fixing the mood and
fortifying the contextual feel.
you are mumbling poetry in winter
inside a train that travels on a speed greater than light.
tomorrow it will be at ten in the morning
when the bullet arrives at its destination
you write.... breathtaking views, flashes of memories.
i listen to a chant. i chant myself.
speaking to speaking speaking.
we are all alone. yet we cope up without any
help from them, damn carpets and
dripping roofs.
whether what you write is poetry or prose
it is not important anymore.
you are a poem that i care for.
i do not know you but there is a shadow
it is enough for me.
damn biters. damn arrivals.
i do the same. Sit back and write.
senselessly. desperately seeking what we still do not know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Making Poetry
Why did I make a poem?
It's more than you can imagine
It's not about black or white
Because the power of poetry that I'm dumbfounded
Look at the whole Bible, everything is poetry {not, but a holy book down from Allah is the truth}
Abstract ideas of science are all from the poem
Idealism actual human life is poetry
I'm just trying to be honest...
Creating poetry for me is more than anything
Not me want to be Jesus or Muhammad {but imitate their pious}
But I do not know what my purpose {paradise}
Only the most important is to produce poetry
I just write from the unreal world
Introduce something to people here
Are they willing to accept it or not does not matter
Since the poetry of the poem is the image of eternity
Who continue to fly and only revealed to the seeker
Poetry for me is more important than life
More important than my beloved
More important than my brother
Because the poem can represent any
Why did I make a poem?
When you reject the poem in your life
It has a form of poem to poem
Actually you can not escape from poetry
But you did not realize it, be aware of?
Indeed the poem is really real
Do you not believe how strong poetry
Look at all the countries in the world today
All poems must have an ideology
Ideology of all States is poetry
Do you still deny its power?
From now on, deep down consider
The poem is more than just blank words without the influence
(30 April 2002)
poem by Irvan Hermawan Saichu
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Obsessive-compulsive Poetry
poetry, you turn
me on
i am hard, poetry
you bump
on me, i am hard
as a rock, poetry
you lay beside me
like his desire,
you suck,
poetry, you run away
and
regret, poetry you
come back,
spelling
forgiveness and
repeating
lines that were
said before
like a chant of
a Buddhist monk
Om Om Om
OmyGod!
I just come.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In search of beauty
Why is it so?
That beauty is an unfathomable mistress?
…like the uncertain truth…
Of a certain paradox…
The beauty of joy,
Is in its irony.
The beauty of smile,
In its tear.
The beauty of desire
Is in its incompletion.
The beauty of a poem,
In its vain-ness.
That of emotion,
In its numbness…
That of sorrow,
In its convalescence.
The beauty of past,
is in its eternity,
and that of future,
in its anonymity.
The beauty of beauty
Is in its ugliness…
That of life,
…in its death…
The beauty of
The search of it,
Is in its endlessness….
poem by Sarvesh Kulkarni
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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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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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No Recidivists
No recidivists
When clever Dr Guillotine
perfected his humane machine
for executing criminals.
It was accepted straight away
as being a much better way
of executing criminals
The state made no apology
for using this technology
for executing criminals.
The product of a brilliant brain
He was convinced it caused less pain
when executing criminals.
The guillotine’s not used today
It was a most effective way
of executing criminals.
Though not regarded as P.C
I think it proved effectively
that executing criminals
Ensured they did not re-offend
Results on which we can depend
by executing criminals.
You may see this as cruelty
Some states do not as you can see.
They still execute criminals.
10-Feb-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Not Always Is The Music Heard Inside
Not always is the music heard inside-
Not always do the poems come-
Tiredness and emptiness are often silence,
And ‘wanting' a poem is not enough
To make a poem come-
Still if one listens long enough
If one really waits to hear
If one trusts oneself and one's own inner song,
In time
There will be again some hint of beauty
That needs to be expressed-
For those who live in poetry
And for those who bear it with them
Wherever they go,
The poem will come eventually
If God gives it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Chant
We cant turn back the clock
But we can chant for love
Lets cut the idle talk so we can
Chant for love
We always have the time to quarrel
About such problems as money and war
Lets put it off until tomorrow
Who needs another dose of sorrow?
It dont necessitate an act of faith
To chant for love
What alibi is strong enough to wait
To chant for love
Though we dont hold the reigns of power
Somebody else seems to be in control
We mustnt waste another hour
Well get directly to the soul
If we can
Chant
For a world united
Chant
For a world thats dying for love
The hare krishna plays a drum and bell
When he chants for love
The tribal priest is afraid of hell
So he chants for love
I am not pushing some religion
Dont get me wrong,
I never mess with such things
Just be true to your own vision
This is your personal decision
The dervish spins to a hu hu hu
When he chants for love
Nobody knows what the angels do
When they chant for love
Youre at the bottom of the ladder
Someone may try to tell you where you should start
But the words, they never matter
If you can feel it in your heart
Then you can
Why dont you chant?
You can chant
Chant, chant, chant ...
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry is Everywhere
To all my friends who say –
Poetry is not my cup of tea,
I’d strongly recommend that
they watch “Dead Poet’s Society”.
Poetry is in your cup of tea,
poetry is in every wave of the sea,
poetry is in the song of a bird
poetry springs forth from each of your word.
Poetry is in the smile of a baby,
poetry is in the redness of a ruby,
poetry is the union of your heart and mind
poetry teaches you to be soft and kind.
Poetry is the song of your soul,
poetry reminds you of your life’s goal,
poetry is in a game of cricket,
poetry is in the sound of a cricket.
Imagine life without poetry -
What an empty life it would be!
Imagine a world without poetry -
What a dull place it would be!
09 June 2010
! 2: 50 pm
poem by Gita Ashok
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Double Faced Poet
double faced poet
like day and night
light and darkness,
the bad side of
the other good side,
that is not what i
really mean,
it is not about good
and/or evil, it is about
how we do things:
poetry at night
and bread and butter
during the day, something
that makes the terror
of our creativity,
moon and sun
they may not come together
but they must exist
to make the whole
narration of a complete event.
rushing myself to write a poem
and then rethinking things over
a decision between life and/or death
liberty and/or prison, and so on and so forth,
this time, as you read, it is poetry.
as i sign out, it will be another face of me.
it is something that you cannot read.
it is hidden by the clouds
behind the sun and the moon and the stars.
it is something that disgusts me.
it is something that i do most of the time.
apart from this poem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There Was A Poem Long Ago
THERE WAS A POEM LONG AGO
There was a poem long ago
A poem of youth and hope
Now there are other poems
Poems of age and sorrow.
There was a poem once
Of love – and happiness in love
Now there is a poem of lovelessness
And sadness.
There was a poem once
Of the long and distant open road
Now there is a poem of the dead end.
There was a poem once
That believed in Poetry
Now there is a poem that knows
Even the most beautiful worlds of words
End in dust
There was a poem once – long ago.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Teach Them How To Fish
you may give them fish
but for how long will you be giving them fish? for how long will you fish yourself?
teach them how to fish and they will also teach others how to fish.
that is wiser that way.
teach them poetry at first. let them read the easiest one to understand. let them
see the beauty of the simplest lines from you and from the poet that you love.
teach them how to write one from the fingers of their hand. love their work and tell them how beautiful are they. there is always beauty in every personalized line. i know.i am telling you. your lines speak what is in your heart and everything
inside our hearts are always innately beautiful
let them read their lines. let them speak the meaning that they are hiding in there. that which you have never seen yourself. let them defend beauty and grace and truth in their own work. beauty and truth and goodness have to be
defended by its creator too.
listen. open your mind. listen attentively.
teacher. listen to them. they are now making their own.
love each work.
teacher listen. now they are teaching you. now you are learning some more.
they have their own wings now.
teacher, see the sky. see them. oh how beautiful are they. they are all flying
and singing. do not wish them to come back to you. let them fly away.let them see the big wide world. let them find the other universes.
they are not yours. they belong to themselves. they are now free.
that is your happiness that even the gods cannot give you.
sit back. and write another poem for another batch. some more. some time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem Which Makes No Reference To Poetry
A POEM WHICH MAKES NO REFERENCE TO POETRY
A poem which makes no reference to poetry
And does not wonder who and what the poet is-
A poem that makes meanings of life outside the world of its own self- reflection-
A poem that is what life is
In some far and different way-
That poem
Waiting elsewhere
Written by someone else
So great in its beauty
And so powerful in its light
That poem written by someone else
About something I know nothing about
In a way I never dreamed or imagined
That poem is not written by me
And never will be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry Unlimited
Poetry is looking,
at a flower and,
seeing the beauty
hidden within.
Poetry is bringing
out love, deep in
your heart, telling
your love one how you feel.
Poetry is feeling
a cool breeze
as you lie in an open
field, so deep in thought.
Poetry is seeing
the beauty of soft
fluffy white clouds
as no one else does.
Poetry is hearing
sounds of nature
soaking it all in
to mind and soul.
Poetry is watching and
standing by river's edge
seeing rippling water
flowing to places unknown.
Poetry is gazing at
rolling hills stretching
as far, as the eye
can see.
Poetry is digging
deep into inter feelings
bringing it out
and exposing it.
Poetry is love
Poetry is feelings
Poetry is seeing
Poetry is what you are.
Every Poem Is Another Effort At Poetry
EVERY POEM IS ANOTHER EFFORT AT POETRY
Every poem is another effort at Poetry
Will it belong or not?
And what is Poetry?
And who owns it
And who cares ultimately?
We are criers in the night
Dawn- breaking whisperers of Awe
We make of our little lives
A gantze gescheft.
No one is where we are
When we are alone,
And even the once beautiful stars
Have given way for us
To cold measurements of deeper darkness.
Let us say we know how to pray
And some of us do
Let us say that for some there is God waiting to answer
Let us listen.
The poems and Poetry and who and what we are
Go on in ways we do not know.
I write these lines as congregant
Whose love for Beauty
Has been gratified
Through the the singing in prayer
in the synagogue Yakar
Yerushalayim.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Beauty Of A Poem
The beauty of a poem
The beauty of music
The beauty of light
The beauty of life
The beauty which makes us want to live life more
The beauty which pains us inside
The beauty in longing.
The beauty we come upon by surprise
The beauty of the day and the beauty of the night
The beauty we all have inside us
The beauty we can see and feel and never explain
The beauty that lifts us up
The beauty that makes us want to live more
The beauty that makes us reach out to God
The beauty we want to thank God for
The beauty of lilacs
The beauty of autumn leaves
The beauty of the people we love
The beauty that pervades life
The beauty that turns away from us
And will not let us be a part of it
The beauty we hold on to fragilely
As a driven leaf
The beauty the beauty the beauty
Oh life oh God of goodness oh death
The beauty we can never see
And the Beauty within us all
Oh God
The Beauty in us and Beyond us all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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