While Waiting
while waiting
be it in the bus
or in the rest rooms
for something more
important
for something that
shakes my world
or twists my
fate
i look inside myself
killing the impatience
battling with
ennui
i write this poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Killing Time
Just killing time, til I see you
fleeting imagined moments abound within my unshaped head
happy and hopeful dreams of my unknown future, and some uncertain fate,
The blackness is more clear here than you can ever know
you cant see me swimming in the murky fluid of our home
but I'm still in here waiting, and I'm just killing time
The shame on my fathers hidden brow
and perhaps the regret of that drunkin night
the deadly decision, led by your embarresed smile
but still I'm right here waiting, waiting for the promise
for just the promise of your pain,
I heard what you said to father last night,
It scared me, did you feel me kick you in the middle
I feel too can you really just forget that, like they told you to?
but I'll wait here for you, just keep killing time, swimming inside
Waiting for you to decide, waiting for you to to set the day
of the killing time, or the beginning of my time.
poem by Wilfred Owen Bitner
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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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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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Letting Go
I still hear my voice
It's calling in my head
But if I had only one choice
I'd leave it left unsaid
Unsaid
I try to reach you but my senses got so blurry
And I, try to teach you but my words come out so muddied
And I, if there's one thing that I should let you know
It's go away
But I keep fighting and I'm finding your injustice
It's just killing me (killing you)
I cannot breathe
Just let me go (killing me)
Or this will break me
My inner voices
Are part of my disease
'Cause it's pushing me to hurt you
But killing you is just killing me
If I can't have you and the dreams you put inside my head
I would not leave you but I keep you here until our death
You think it's over, there's a gun in my head full of lead
I want to use it but I can't abuse it and that's why
It's just killing me (killing you)
I cannot breathe
Just let me go (killing me)
Or this will break me
My inner voices
Are part of my disease
'Cause it's pushing me to hurt you
But killing you is just killing me
What are you waiting for?
You will never get away
What are you waiting for?
You will not get away
What are you waiting for?
You will never get away
What are you waiting for?
You will not get away
(Unsaid)
My inner voices
Are part of my disease
'Cause it's pushing me to hurt you
But killing me you just killing me
'Cause killing you is killing me
song performed by by Ill NiO
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letting Go
I still hear my voice
It's calling in my head
But if I had only one choice
I'd leave it left unsaid
Unsaid
I try to reach you but my senses got so blurry
And I, try to teach you but my words come out so muddied
And I, if there's one thing that I should let you know
It's go away
But I keep fighting and I'm finding your injustice
It's just killing me (killing you)
I cannot breathe
Just let me go (killing me)
Or this will break me
My inner voices
Are part of my disease
'Cause it's pushing me to hurt you
But killing you is just killing me
If I can't have you and the dreams you put inside my head
I would not leave you but I keep you here until our death
You think it's over, there's a gun in my head full of lead
I want to use it but I can't abuse it and that's why
It's just killing me (killing you)
I cannot breathe
Just let me go (killing me)
Or this will break me
My inner voices
Are part of my disease
'Cause it's pushing me to hurt you
But killing you is just killing me
What are you waiting for?
You will never get away
What are you waiting for?
You will not get away
What are you waiting for?
You will never get away
What are you waiting for?
You will not get away
(Unsaid)
My inner voices
Are part of my disease
'Cause it's pushing me to hurt you
But killing me you just killing me
'Cause killing you is killing me
song performed by by Ill NiO
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I May Still Wait
The ennui covers me,
Like a black cloud.
With darkness all around,
And utter low visibility.
There are no hands,
To reassure me,
As I dive deep into,
The sea of Emptiness.
The delusion is crushing,
As of yet and when,
A hand on my head,
Brings me to this world.
A real, vibrant world,
Full of life and character,
I discover myself,
Out of the ennui.
I may still wait,
For her to return;
And envelope me,
Again inside the ennui.
Copyright © 2012 Sanjeev Kumar
poem by Sanjeev Kumar
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Once The Idea Comes To My Mind
i may find a pen and make a note in any of those
papera in my pocket anticipating such a situation
of radiance
without light at all
i may have captured the new idea
on paper
in writing, so it may not escape and slip like an eel
like a droplet of water
on my raincoat from my head,
but sometimes, i am too lazy to listen and
impatient to write what comes to me
as a gift
and i let it go, let is slip in my tongue like a spit
a phlegm
after all, it may not be important, so important that i may soon die
if i forget it
or the world stops spinning
or this whole world ends,
there is no such an idea,
there is no such person even, so indispensable, so important
there is no such line
no such poem, everything here is always something throwable
into some trashcans
sometimes, i have them inside myself, and then
without so much regret
i vomit,
who cares anyway?
oh well, nobody, except the critics who are there
always to kill your urge
to write poetry, who are always there to compare you to someone
deserving
the laurels of despair, the crown of literary gall
the thorns of misery
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poet in His Own Time
Who am I to criticize others,
I'm a poet in my own time,
my own place and my own world.
I just write what I see feel,
and hear.
My poetry may be different,
I don't follow the path
of other poets, but that's
ok, let them write what
they must write in their
own way.
All poetry is beautiful,
some takes longer to
understand.
We're all in this together
we write the poetry that
fulfills our needs.
(4-11-07)
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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Poetry?
what is poetry
a bunch rhymes
or just simple words on paper because you have to much time
poetry to me isnt all about rhyming
poetry to me is a way to get out emotions or things that happen in the past your to scared to say so instead you write about it. poetry can be sweet, bad, naughty, nice poetry is how your feeling poetry takes on the tone of voice your to scared to explain. poetry is that voice deep down inside that voice that takes over when your typing or writng. to me people are poetry people are the voice, people are the future, but poetry is the key that on locks us all. to stand up and use that voice that we write with when were writng poetry.
poem by Jerrell Frazier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Waiting For The Sunrise
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I can take your hand and stroll about.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go on the streets and see the people smile.
Give me your hand,
So I could tell you that things will be alright.
The rooms still dark,
But it wont be so long,
And I can take you outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go to the park and roll about.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go to the docks and watch the boats go by.
Come on, love, give me your hand,
And things will be alright.
The rooms still cold,
But it wont be so long,
That we can go outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I could see your hair shining in the air.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I can see the sky reflected in your eyes.
Come on, love, dont be depressed,
Things will be alright.
The rooms too low,
But it wont be so long,
That we can be outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Private Poetry
Every poem, Every poetry,
Where are all the poets?
Hiding out, Hiding away.
In the beaches, forests,
In the caves and rooms,
In the islands and temples.
Make their private poetry,
Every now and then,
Here and there,
Over here, Over there.
Somewhere, somewhen,
Someone, somebody,
No one, No body,
Some here, some there.
Somehow, not matter how,
Everywhere, every when,
Every turn, every look,
Every search, every research,
There is a private poet.
Making a private poetry,
Writing private poems,
Writing lovely poems,
Writing profound poetries.
For the world and all
To ponder,
To reflect,
To open our heart,
To hear and listen;
What poets have
To say and write,
In a private poetry,
For the world to read
And treasure.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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I Can Write Poetry All Day Long
I CAN WRITE POETRY ALL DAY LONG
I can write Poetry all day long
But what will it give me?
There is just so much others will listen to
If anything?
And what is the value of writing words to myself for myself
Even if I love them
And believe they are real poetry,
And know in my soul
That their music is real?
I can write Poetry all day long
Or think I am writing poetry
When I am not-
Am I writing poetry now?
I feel I am-
Within me there is the song and the sound
There is the music of poetry
But is it real
Or only my self- deception?
Can I write poetry all day long?
Can I write poetry at all?
I am writing poetry now
Or so I tell myself-
But as I write this
The music within
Is already fading
And I hear in myself
The silence of my own lonely sound.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The time I discovered myself a Poet
I wouldnt say I was patient
but I have an interest in poetry
Is it the dawning of a new error
or will the sky be grey
I write how I see life and it is not always pleasant
I like to write abou experiences that I have been through
my poetry has changed as I ave changed
I see it as a hobby as I write in my grange
My poetry is mainly fiction but I also write about things that are true
I am not a person that would share alot of enthusiasim
poetry is a work of art
on each sheet of blank paper
I put my mark
Poetry is simple in this world of sin
I am not into shakesphere
what I write is authentic
the imagination on paper creates magic
a poem can change an atmosphere
I would like to say my poems mean something
my poems are meant to sting a mind
I want my poems to create pictures for people who are blind
poem by Natasha Browne
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Little Wonders
Let it go,
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don't you know
The hardest part is over
Let it in,
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
Let it slide,
Let your troubles fall behind you
Let it shine
Until you feel it all around you
And i don't mind
If it's me you need to turn to
We'll get by,
It's the heart that really matters in the end
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
All of my regret
Will wash away some how
But i can not forget
The way i feel right now
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away but these small hours
These small hours, still remain,
Still remain
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These little wonders still remain
poem by Tiana Webb
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Isn't Poetry Great?
Poetry is great
poetry is fun
you can write
about anything
under the Sun.
It can be cathartic
and can save your day
you can write how you feel
if your unsure what to say.
Poetry can be serious
and can make you weep
but some poetry is boring
and can send you off to sleep.
But as long as you have a go
and you enjoy what you do
that's all that really matters
when you write a verse or two.
So long live poetry I say
may it always be here
but I've got to end this one
as my muse has run out, oh dear!
poem by Kevin Halls
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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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Disaaaociative
I can tell you what they say in space
That our earth is too grey
But when the spirit is so digital
The body acts this way
That world was killing me
That world was killing me
Disassociative
The nervous system's down
The nervous system's down I know (x2)
CHORUS
I can never get out of here
I don't want to just float in fear
A dead astronaut in space (x2)
Sometimes we walk like we were shot
Through our heads, my love
We write our song in space
Like we are already dead and gone
Your world was killing me
Your world was killing me
Disassociative
Your world was killing me
Your world was killing me
Disassociative
CHORUS
The nervous system's down (x4)
CHORUS
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Egoism of Poets
We don’t write poetry,
Poetry writes us.
How can we make poetry,
If we are part of poetry.
The world around us is poetry.
Poetry is already defined.
Calling ourselves poets.
Selfishness in every line.
Egoism in every word.
Stealing poetry from the world.
That already exists in every form.
It’s written in every mist,
Every tree, every bliss.
Who are we to write?
Calling ourselves masterminds.
Trapping ourselves in believe
That we are creating something unique
The world at our feet.
Just too full fill our need.
Even this poem is an act
of a selfish deed.
Every letter in ink.
Created through love and sin.
Writing on a paper
But it’s the world’s skin.
Pressing on the surface.
To see blue blood is our purpose.
Thinking poetry is ours.
Poetry devoured
By poets every hour.
Poems all around us.
Turning grey to dust.
Turning brown to rust.
We have captured the most
But there is still so much.
Bleeding away in disaster, poverty
And war.
Ink to us all.
A poet’s only lord.
His only norm, his only home.
His precious and beloved poem.
We should be ashamed.
poem by Nadim Lost Soul
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