If Poets Dreams
If Poets were Politicians,
Everything that's good would rhyme,
And the Beauty that this world is,
Would not cost a single dime.
poem by Sandra Feldman
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A Sick And Twisted Mind In A Rhyme
A sick and twisted mind,
turned by time,
becomes a new story in a twisted rhyme
Come along and read it don't cost a dime
Little Red Ridding Hood
Walking through the woods
The wolf,
mouth drooling,
up to good
Now Little Red dropped a piece of candy
With a jump and sprawl,
her face was in his jaws.
He started shaking breaking her neck,
skin started to tear apart,
and the muscles started to bleed.
The wolf was walking off with her head in his mouth,
Rage in his eyes
He was suprised that
he did succeed.
A sick and twisted mind,
turned by time,
becomes a new story in a twisted rhyme
Come along and read it, it don't cost a dime
Hansel and Gretel got left on a bridge,
scary place,
chilly like a fridge,
Owls howling in the moonlight.
They're so scared,
But they see a bright light,
The ginger bread house,
In it an old witch quiet as a mouse,
As they walk up,
She walks out
Now she invites them to eat the couch
While their back is turned she grabs an axe
Now from behind their skulls are cracked
she starts chopping wack wack wack,
Into the stew their meat goes,
it is so yummy to an old raggity hoe
A sick and twisted mind,
turned by time,
becomes a new story in a twisted rhyme
Come along and read it don't cost a dime
Jack told Jill to come play a game,
When they got up the hill,
He stabbed a knife in her brain,
Her eyes fled in the back of her head.
He pushed her down the well
her body falling dead
A sick and twisted mind,
turned by time,
becomes a new story in a twisted rhyme
Come along and read it don't cost a dime
Alice fell down a rabbit hole into a scary room,
blood on the walls
a wicked gloom
and on the floor
a dead white rabbit
the red queen loves it
killing is her habit
Alice opens the door
the queen was waiting now
Alice can't feel anymore
The cheshire cat watching the gore
He licks the blood of the dead
Then disappears with nothing said.
A sick and twisted mind,
turned by time,
becomes a new story in a twisted rhyme
Come along and read it don't cost a dime
(I Know Gruesome Sorry,
Just trying to make something
cooler than just love poems.
Just added a second part.
Sick and Twisted Mind In a Rhyme II.
If y'all liked this one,
check it out.)
poem by Matthew Petranovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Moderns
To many reading modern poetry more interesting the meaning in the metaphors they seek to find
They feel it makes their brains work that much harder that it is good exercise for the mind
Rhyme for their great brains seems that bit too simple it does not test their thinking power at all
'Tis not a poem to them if it seems simple and the meaning in it easy to recall,
Yes rhyme for them it does seem that bit simple and deciphering it to them is not a test
The hidden meaning in the metaphors is something that does seem to try them best
Rhyme poetry to them is too simple and far too easy for to understand
It has to be blank verse with dozens of metaphors for their interest for to command
They look on rhyme and bush poets as inferior their preference in poets and poetry they make known
On literature they air their opinions like it is said to each their own
Their poetry evenings do seem quite exclusive rhyme poets to read they never do invite
Their unmusical lines that are laced with metaphors to each other they do recite
They do not like rhyme or they do not like bush poetry to them it is of another time
And in their poetry evenings there is no place for the men and the women of rhyme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Richest Man
If i had a dollar
For every time
You broke my heart,
Messed up my mind
Well i'd be the richest man
I'd be the richest man
...in the world
If bad times paid interest
I'd have you to thank
I'd be driving a new car,
Have money in the bank
I'd be the richest man
I'd be the richest man
...in the world
Baby..money can't buy love
The kind i dream of is so hard to find
For a good womans touch in the morning when i rise
Well baby i'd give up every single dime
Money cant buy love
The kind i dream of is so hard to find
For a good woman's touch in the mrning when i rise
Baby i'd give up every single dime
If teardrops were diamonds from the african mines
If heartaches were silver
My whole life would shine
And i'd be the richest man
I'd be the richest man
...in the world
Baby.
song performed by by Counting Crows
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A poem with the perfect rhyme
If a poem could cost a dime
I will spend my ink and spend my time
Making the perfect rhyme
More than a million people may read it
Even if I have to sell it on credit
I will be the businesswoman with wit
Sit down! Think about it!
A penny for the perfect sentence
A penny for a poem glaring with essence
A penny for writing about the present and past tense
A penny for describing a situation that is intense
A penny if I write truthfully without pretence
As I turn away from crime
Making the perfect rhyme
If a poem could cost a pound
I will turn my life around
As I compose the perfect poetic sound
That rhymes against any background
My words will be sublime
Not just the perfect rhyme
They will be read both at teatime and during bedtime
My sentences will mature in their prime with time
As I turn away from crime
Making the perfect rhyme
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
www.sylviachidi.co.uk
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The Woman Of Rhyme
She is not what you'd call beautiful though still in her prime
And to those who know her she is known as The Woman of Rhyme
In Local Literary circles not even one of note
As she does not fit the bill of the Modern Poet.
But the rhyme from her gushes and it races along
And in five minutes flat she can pen you a song
And though not classified as a poet her verse is not doggerel
And with her gift of rhyme one might say she does well.
Some fifty years ago she would have known fame
And her's would have been a great Literary name
But rhyme it would seem has passed it's use by date
And what's now seen as old fashioned was once seen as great.
Even the best of the Local modern poets seem strangers to renown
But then such is life in a football mad Town
In the pubs the names of famed poets and artists they never recall
Their small talk mostly of sports, footballers and football.
For what she is good at she is not recognized
But having said that I am not really surprised
since rhyme verse has long passed it's glorious time
And none to applaud the young Woman of Rhyme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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If I Knew What Poets Know
If I knew what poets know,
Would I write a rhyme
Of the buds that never blow
In the summer-time?
Would I sing of golden seeds
Springing up in ironweeds?
And of rain-drops turned to snow,
If I knew what poets know?
Did I know what poets do,
Would I sing a song
Sadder than the pigeon's coo
When the days are long?
Where I found a heart in pain,
I would make it glad again;
And the false should be the true,
Did I know what poets do.
If I knew what poets know,
I would find a theme
Sweeter than the placid flow
Of the fairest dream:
I would sing of love that lives
On the errors it forgives;
And the world would better grow
If I knew what poets know.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Most Of The So Called Literary Experts
Most of the so called literary experts are dismissive of rhyme
They say 'tis the poetry of a long gone time
Yet the poets that they laud the poems they do write
Cannot be put to music and are hard to read and recite
The rhymer of today is not looked on as a poet
Or is not seen as one worthy of literary note
By the so called literary experts with literary degrees
Though their judgement on what is or is not poetry not everyone does please
They never will convince the old style rhyme buff
To him or her well written rhyme is not throw away stuff
In well written rhyme are the words to a song
And good rhyming poetry to music belong
Yet the degreed literary experts who on poetry like to have their say
Dismiss rhyming poets and their poetry as of yesterday.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Rhyme
Poets rhyme from time to time
They don’t find rhyme a crime
It’s no sin, their using rhyme
Inspired rhyme is so sublime
Can often form a perfect line
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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The 'budding' Poets
The 'budding' poets in early teens
Pen down here lyrics on love!
They write lines on ravishing beauty and craving eyes!
The 'budding' poets here flee from care
And embrace the images silhouetted
On the canvas of their dime-heroines of infatuations!
My past asks me, ' What about your lines in my times? '
I keep my eyes closed for some time and answer him,
' I was innocent of course, but a coward too then'.
I see the budding poets marching ahead
Enchanting the magic of sweet love and nectar
And I applaud them for their courage.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The Everlasting Throes of Those
The Everlasting Throes
Of Those
Who Argue about Poetry versus Prose
And about the Propriety or Crime
Of Meter and Rhyme
In Poetry:
as I see it, it’s back to the ancient Greek idea
of three near-absolutes – Truth, Beauty and Goodness
and although they’re all absolute in their aim,
and therefore theoretically equal,
most of us, I suspect, have our personal order for this list
those who put Truth first at all costs are more likely
to write prose; but if they love beauty in words
and have the urge to write something beautiful in words
they may try poetry; but to them,
rhyme is untruthful, dishonest, because
looking for a rhyme
becomes a crime:
and leads your mind away from the strict Truth.
while those who put Beauty first don’t have
a fixed attitude – they may, as children do,
love the formal music of hearing about
A certain Mrs Dhutti
Who was very slightly nutty
She wouldn’t wear a saree
As her arms and legs were hairy
And thought it was much better
To wear trousers and a sweater
etc.
or they may feel that their response to the world
is so full of love, of awe, of wonder
(of which Aristotle said the second and third
are shared by philosophers, that is, lovers - note the word - of wisdom,
and poets – though a poet
may not know it…)
where was I oh yes, their response to the world
is most truly - note the word - expressed
in free verse
which may be better poetry
or worse
and what about Goodness – oh let’s not
get into that: the poetry Forums are full of the emptiness
(though it’s a necessary evil, looked at in a way)
of poets and readers and critics saying
what’s good poetry and what’s bad
according to them and feeling
they’ve made a contribution to
Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, in that order
by pronouncing this.
some few, some worthy few, and I’ll mention no names
for reasons not unconnected as Milton might put it
with the previous stanza,
whose brilliance of that servant mind which we all share,
manages to juggle Beauty, Goodness and Truth,
in that order in this instance, and not only juggle but
remain faithful to them all; we could call them
The Absolutely Great – they speak straight from heart to heart
and they don’t worry about prosaic considerations like the above
because they’ve got it all, all this, within their art; within
their constant heart.
(Readers, please note,
that last line’s a quote.)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Beauty of Love!
I enjoy beauty of star studded night sky;
I enjoy beauty of harmonious waves of sea;
I enjoy beauty of peaceful living of people;
I enjoy beauty of natural poems of poets!
Beauty of human life I enjoy in all forms;
Beauty of fun loving children I enjoy often;
Beauty of smiling flowers I enjoy in garden;
Beauty of art work I enjoy in all forms ever!
World is full of beauty Nature bestows to all;
World is paradise due to love and beauty ever;
World is the abode of man's cultural refinement;
World is the spring board to heaven at the end!
Beauty of love is eternal for all to enjoy in life
Evolving animal into man and man into divine!
poem by Ramesh T A
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In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.
quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem about Poery - Poetic World
a hindrance for poets
are those who read
some poems and
think they know what
all poets are up to
they live in a world
of make believe -
a poetic world indeed
that somehow clashes
with the actual poetic world
if the rain would just fall
down in one straight line
the ants all created in a single rank
and the wind, blowing from
one lasting direction
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Our Poetry Critics
Our poetry critics ageing males on saturday evenings from six to nine
Meet at the literary room of the Lions Club to do what suits them fine
To talk of poetry and poets each to their point of view
Though they agree on one thing that good poets only few.
Well educated gents of course and they could not be rude
But contemporary rhyme poets only poetasters and them they exclude
From their talk of poets and poetry and in their literary knowledge they take pride
And who is or who is not a poet seems their right to decide.
They never talk about bush poets such verse they see as slipshod
And they see them as the children of the lesser poetry god
And for their years in Uni they have their degrees to show
And of poets and of poetry so much they think they know.
To them a poem is not a poem unless it reads like prose
And a ballad different from true verse as a weed is from a rose
And true poets only write for the privileged few that's what they do imply
And never for the ordinary, people like you and I.
Our poetry critics at the Lions they meet on saturday
And who is a good poet and what is a good poem each like to have their say
And if you wish to become a member of their club you must have your Uni Degrees
For if not to them you are not qualified for to talk about poetry.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In The City Of Poets,12/26/09
in the city
of poets
all men
are equals
and stride about
congratulating
one another
on their genius.
in the city
of poets
the statistics
of attentive readers
exceed
all expectations
and the bookstores
burst
like fat silos
with their harvest
of rhyme.
in the city
of poets
passports
to immortality
are issued
with abandon,
frontiers
evaporate,
and customs gates
are thrown open
by exuberant
and trusting
guards.
The city of poets
is a classless
society
where no one
dares admit
the existence
of aristocrats
or kings
and everyone
shamelessly
lays claim
to successful
expression.
In the city of poets
bad verse
drives out good
or rather
drowns it
in a sea
of mediocrity,
a conspiracy
of equality,
a brotherhood
of banality,
and every man
is his own
best
bard.
poem by Percy Dovetonsils
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Tribute To All Poets
Poets in awe
beauty of the sea
swimming the ocean
begging to be free
Poetry in motion
Walking the land
Carving out each word
Deep down in the sand
Poets hungry
Devour each page
reach for each meaning
put on a stage
Poetry screams silence
during blackened night
with the glow of the moon
shining silvery white
Poets asleep
thinking each new rhyme
Waltzing the floor
Running in time
Poetry Forever
neither alive or dead
remembering the words
that get stuck in your head
poem by Linda Racaniello
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Just smile
A smile never cost a dime
a smile is not a crime
Every smile has a rhyme
A smile might take awhile
a smile might be a life style
you might even smile
walking down a grocery aisle
just remember a smile
comes from deep inside
so i think everyone
should be a smile
guide :)
poem by Meghan Andrews
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God's Poets A Good Poem & Love
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
A GOOD POEM
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.