Can it be Memory, Inspiration, or Figment Causing This?
The poems I write are a story of my life
They are a foreseeable future, a regret filled past
In this they stain, in my poems they stain
The dreams, my ideals, life lessons, and hopes
Flood on to the page waiting to be read
Stranger they become
Stranger to be in my mind
How they come to be there
That bolt of lines that swirl and toil in my mind
They say for my allure, they sway for my attention
'Take me', they cry, 'Take me for your own'
'Release us from here, bring us to life and capture us in
your work! '
'Immortalize us in history on that page! '
They sway faster in an angry tempo
Chanting now on how to be used
Begging, pleading to be used
I grasp the pen and paper
Pull my laptop closer
I write and type as fast as my hands can go
The tempo soothes, and the swaying stops
All is quiet
All is empty
They are released, glorified on this magnificent page.
Written: January 21,2012
poem by Ryan Collins
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Book Of Days
Your life is as a book
Written on the pages are the weeks
For you would give anything to take just one look
Into the next chapter, the next page
Each page is a new thought, a new dream
Sometimes it takes so long to pass that page
And sometimes nothing is as it seams
For you know you can not go ahead or back
You know you are where you are
You know you can't change that
As you read page to page, so near to fear
You write the chapters as you go, with each turn
Each turn, each move changes what's to come
And you know each moment could be the last
With this in mind you go so mumb
So numb to the touch, to the thought
You turn page after page
until you reach the 'end'
And only then, you are freed from the title
The title that has kept your thoughts bound, and tight
You turn the pages one by one
You take the pain, take the joy
Until you are done
And your story becomes another on the shelf of eternity
(1/24/2008)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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I don't
Many people write
For their true emotions to unravel
Out of depression, angst, spite
But I can’t
I don’t write poems when I’m sad
They write from their experiences
When he left me
When they died
Bringing tears, causing cries
But I can’t
I don’t write when I’m sad
The tears dutifully stain my cheek
And roll on and on
Through and through
Down
Down
Down
But I can’t
And I don’t write poems when I’m sad
And all the anger and sadness
Thrust inside of me
Just bursting to get out
Screaming
Pleading
Begging to get out
But they can’t
Because I don’t write poems when I’m sad
And I don’t know what to do
How to express my pain
And woe, and the feeling
It drains me, and it shows
But there’s nothing I can do
Because I don’t ever write poetry when I’m sad
The Poems Went Away
THE POEMS WENT AWAY
The poems went away.
Nothing inside.
An empty will for poetry
Forcing words on the page,
Words without music
Without resonance
Without great implication
Meaning.
Write, write, write
Lest you die.
And the words themselves
A kind of desperate uphill catching of breath
On the page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Home Alone Happy Without Working Computer
Home alone happy without working computer
I take my pen in hand
And slowly write these words –
Let the world click and paste and post
I am out of it for now-
I have before me an evening of any book I like
Of any page I want to write
-
Peace of Mind is one place of attention at a time-
Here weighing each word as I write
I am at home with my inner self-
I hear my own thoughts
I correct them at my own pace.
So many words and so many pages
Have been written in my life-
Now in this one
I am wholly at home
Peaceful, quiet happy
Each word a small blessing
As I write it-
This is the only poem I know
The only page I see
The only place of attention
I give myself and my soul to
At this moment.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Back To My Work
It's time for me to write again
The poems were on pause
So as to ease my mind
Now I see it only took my emotions away
It was locked with the thoughts of new poems
Now I'm back and filled to the brim
Here come the poems
For so long tried to escape to paper
Blocked by procrastination and laziness
Welcome to the world new poems
May the paper caress you for years to come
Written January 31,2011
poem by Ryan Collins
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Golden Days
Another day of toil and strife,
Another page so white,
Within that fateful Log of Life
That I and all must write;
Another page without a stain
To make of as I may,
That done, I shall not see again
Until the Judgment Day.
Ah, could I, could I backward turn
The pages of that Book,
How often would I blench and burn!
How often loathe to look!
What pages would be meanly scrolled;
What smeared as if with mud;
A few, maybe, might gleam like gold,
Some scarlet seem as blood.
O Record grave, God guide my hand
And make me worthy be,
Since what I write to-day shall stand
To all eternity;
Aye, teach me, Lord of Life, I pray,
As I salute the sun,
To bear myself that every day
May be a Golden One.
poem by Robert William Service
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Pages of Life
Yesterday's page has benn written
it is over.
Tomorrow's page has to be written,
it is still has to come.
But,
Today's page can be written,
only by you.
It is only yours'
so, live the best today by correcting your past pages
and making ways for your future roads.
Life is yours' and live it to the fullest.
Today,
never think about past,
erase them from your mind,
think about future,
by writing your today.
poem by Yashika Goyal
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I am in love
I am in love
With books
As they are
Like my life
My Life is like
A page written
In Black and white
Read and turn
Never look back
As the past been
Eaten up
Good or bad.
Tomorrow my future
The Next chapter
An adventure
Between the lines
I find life- a beauty
The new opportunity,
The second chance
Which I under lines
With a color full pen
Never mind whether
Lose or win, loss or gain,
As The story never end
Of the true lovers
In pain or pleasure
Chapter after chapter
Grief or relief
Story must go on.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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I Have Read Many Poems I Know I Never Could Have Written
I have read many poems I know I never could have written
Poems whose language was far richer and more remarkable than mine
Poems that saw as I cannot see and sounded as I cannot sound
Poems of magnificent music and many hidden meanings
I have read many poems greater than those I could ever write
And have been humbled and saddened and inspired by them
Out there somewhere else
There have been real poets
And I in my own little lines
Love and respect them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Gratis Et Amore
for the poems that i have written
and which you read
by heart, i bless you with a prayer for luck
for another year
for the poems which i have not written yet,
i wish you a longer life, so you may read them
when they become finally written
for the poems i have in mind and which i will not write
i wish you patience i wish you some prayers
may these poems realize their worth
may they decide to become truths
with you i pray that God may be also kind
for those still unspoken
and may God bless your mind
may they open up like tight buds to become the flowers
of the world, the sun to warm them, the rain to shower them
may these poems live and linger
may they be like grass always unswerving to grow and cover everything
alive and loving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Whispers In The Wind [How I Write]
The words I write
Are just whispers in the wind
Coming home to greet me
Like an old friend
Swirling around in my head
Waiting to be set free
From my mind to my fingertips
On paper they must be
Written down before they're gone
Oh Lord how can this be
Word by word they hit the page
In an order I do not know
But once all are written
They are where they all should go
Telling a story in magnificent words that
Jesus whispers to me
poem by David Kush
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Poet, Write Well
- Young poet write
Of the harshness of life, the angst, the melancholy and disappointments
But use care with hate,
For if too much is spilled on paper,
Soon it becomes your own human trait:
There's many a page
Filled with a poets rage,
While words fresh and fair
Are so utterly rare -
Thus the true poetic mind
Must stretch to find
Grace, Beauty and Serenity
In phrases bound for infinity -
Our souls are poems
That forever live on and on,
So write them well
With the fire of love always burning brighter
than the dread bitterness of hell.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Author's Inspiration
My fingers do not type the words on the page; they do not draw delusions on a thin piece of white lined paper. They are not meant for the works of art to be used and unworthy for. My fingers are worthy enough to paint pictures inside your cognizance, more than painting a paintless sheet that means nothing to me. My fingers work as if every picture I paint in my mind, inspires them to write the unwritten page, to make it a master piece. But not every inspiration inside my mind, will take merely a second to create. It takes time, patience, and art to smear the writings onto a page. Author inspiration is from what comes from the heart; deep and dark, inspring and light - it's as if it was left inside its cage. No freedom, no light, no darkness, no being of a creature that the render of the paper, simply gave up on inspiring the little ones'. It's as if this mere creature was left within a white blank world. No colors to paint, no words to express. An author inspiration is formed when they see or hear other works of art, whether it's music to their ears, movies they wish to be in, life and feelings that they feel or positioned in, or other writings that they write something else about - but as an inspiration from them. An inspiration can be from anything from the outside world, from what happens inside one's life, to what creates such imagination within one's thoughts that coats the page with color and creativity. Anyone can be talented. Anyone can have an inspiration. You just have to feel and be it.
poem by Alicia Meyers
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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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No Poem In Here
this is a blank space reserved for an obituary of a dead poem
prose claims a space though in another glossy page.
plese turn to the next page
those non-poets like me please transfer to another room
this place is for dead poems for those who killed living poems this page this space is reserved for all of them.
we non-poets are moving out to another empty page
about to be added, if you can wait, mr. poet...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Story Of Opinions
A story so strange and disturbing that it writes itself
Surely these actions are not good for ones mental health
As dark as the day yet twisted in the hands of a pen
A story that has not yet fallen to the mind of men
A title that holds so much more honour than the object
The words that mark the page are nothing but a prospect
Of a decision or miscalculation that causes such deep regret
That neither king nor tyrant shall ever try to forget
Engraved on the face of the earth, buried in the heart
Burnt in the mind and sleeping in the soul, there is the start
Of a tale from so many different angles and opinions
Mourned by the victim or retold by the loyal minion
The ink that taints the page slowly swallows the truth
‘Unbiased' yet moulded to teach today's youth
The story clear as water yet disturbed by the waves
Propaganda gives the public the words they crave
So maybe it is true that one should read between the lines
Lessons have taught that words are twisted with the times
Whether for added affect, sympathy or to remain a mystery
That is the truth of my story, their story, her story, History.
poem by Rebecca Pepper
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Losing
Oct 2012
Losing
My love for you inspires me to write poems of love, yet mixed with sadness and sorrow.
Loss and gain of finding and losing, of regret and fulfilment,
happiness and the denial of enlightenment in reality, that I was ment to write for you.
Love, yet not to posses, or to touch.
Only to write of loss and to live in reality, to write of what I may of had...
To write how I sabotaged love.. yet still.. and how I'm too hard to like never mind to love.
Its all written down on paper, in my mind scarred and seared into my heart, im just too out of reach
for anyone to want to....
Loving you, allows me to see this... I have failed...and I thank you for this...
I hope, I'm sure, love will never come my way again.
I write it all down for you,
using red ink.
poem by Jill Laughlin
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Why No Reviews?
With tired eyes I scan
Down lists of poems new,
Posted as New Releases,
Written for Me, by You.
Many poems are posted daily,
Hoping to be reviewed by all,
The pages get longer and longer,
Will I find any of mine at all?
It is now the 17th of January,
Hurrah! ! ~ I’ve found two of mine,
Written 2nd and 3rd January,
Will they be seen by my Reviewers as fine?
Why do I torture myself often?
Why must I expect New Reviews?
I’d write my poems as usual,
Whether or not, they’d be read by you.
I force my Mind to write verses,
HIS Thoughts are not directed to me,
Lethargically the words form as poetry,
But with HIS help, they form abundantly.
© Jonathan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 17 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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