impact
Turns me on
I will write a poem.
Delirious moon had
picked me up from under the skin.
The safety pin was broken,
now a crowd will disrobe me.
Everytime when my pain makes you cry
oranges are not meant for the sale.
A collegium will stich up the wound.
Once upon a caste the country will go.
• On reading Orange Crush of Simone Muench.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
I Will Not Write About A Poem Where You Can Relate
i will not write a poem
where you can relate
because it will
be painful
and i do not like
you to take
the pain
the pain
you have now
will be too much to bear
and if i add another dose of pain
from these lines i am afraid that you may not be able to take it
instead i will write a poem
where everything will be strange to you something that
will not make you remember something that will make you wonder
about a world which you have not ever known something that strikes a
note in your heart
that awakens you and brings you a new day
that presents to you some pages of the sea and tell you a story
not about us, that which takes you at the top of the mountain and lets
you see some clear skies, a full orange moon, a dark blue horizon something
that makes you wish upon another star that makes your heart
stronger than ever that which makes you live and never again think of death
because i love you
poem by Antonio Liao
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Three Oranges
first time my father overheard me listening to
this bit of music he asked me,
"what is it?"
"it's called Love For Three Oranges,"
I informed him.
"boy," he said, "that's getting it
cheap."
he meant sex.
listening to it
I always imagined three oranges
sitting there,
you know how orange they can
get,
so mightily orange.
maybe Prokofiev had meant
what my father
thought.
if so, I preferred it the
other way
the most horrible thing
I could think of
was part of me being
what ejaculated out of the
end of his
stupid penis.
I will never forgive him
for that,
his trick that I am stuck
with,
I find no nobility in
parenthood.
I say kill the Father
before he makes more
such as
I.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
I will not write an enigmatic poem to annoy the casual reader
I will not write an enigmatic poem
to annoy the casual reader
Nor will I write a jonquil one
as in some ornamental garden
set on a long forgotten shore
Nor yet a poem oleander like
those daffodils or buttercups
some sailors say they saw
on Far East Indian isles
But I will write a poem to burst
The polished bubble of the era
A poem to slam the
very ethos of the age
But not today I think because
Today, today, is for oranges
poem by Sean Joyce
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You Complimented My Poem And I Did Not Have The Consideration To Read Yours
YOU COMPLIMENTED MY POEM AND I DID NOT HAVE THE CONSIDERATION TO READS YOURS
You complimented my poem and I did not have the consideration to read yours
Now I apologize to you without mentioning your name
Or reading your poem-
A weak apology
Meant to get me off the hook-
Still I know how lonely it is to write and write
And not hear the words you want to hear in reply
Forgive me
Perhaps I will read your poem or poems one day-
But I cannot promise.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Wrong Side Of Love
She said that shes got something else on her mind
Im spending my money, but Im wasting time
It looks to me like the end of the line
Well, she plays both sides and shes making me choose
Its heads, she wins, and tails I lose
Each time I call, its another excuse
I thought I was finally doin everything right
Now it looks like Im the one left lonely tonight
I picked the wrong side of love
And I wound up on the losin end
The wrong side of love
Now Im starting all over again
She makes me feel like Im out of control
She comes on hot but she turns ice cold
Her light says stop when Im ready to go
She set me up, now shes puttin me down
Sometimes I feel like a face in the crowd
One day Im in, the next day Im out
I picked the wrong side of love
Right place, wrong time
The wrong side of love
Well honey, point me in the right direction
I picked the wrong side of love
Is there a bad side to love?
I picked the wrong side of love
The wrong side of love
I picked the wrong side of love
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem I Did Not Write Today
THE POEM I DID NOT WRITE TODAY
The poem I did not write today
Will never be written.
No one knows what it is
Or where it is
'How it can be? ' is another question
No one can answer.
The poem I did not write today
Never went away
It is always here with me and with you
It is the same simple poem
Written over and over again
In our everyday minds.
It is the poem of love of life
The poem of happiness
The poem of belief in God
And in the goodness in the world to come
It is the poem which believes too that poetry will help save the world.
It is the good poem
The happy poem
The poem I did not write today
Is the poem my life is writing now and always
And with you it says
‘What a miracle it is that we are here
reading and writing
and loving life as we do’.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Scribbler's Stymie
Pen and paper in sight
I've got no poem to write
Staying up all night
I've got no poem to write
Although my mind is bright
I've got no poem to write
It's windy out tonight, should I go fly a kite?
I've got no poem to write
My ceiling, it is white
I've got no poem to write
It's 4: 59! Five, but not quite
I've got no poem to write
In your arms I'd feel so light
I've got no poem to write
I've had no sleep tonight
I've got no poem to write
Will you just hold me tight?
I've got no poem to write
Outside it's almost light
I've got no poem to write
It's late, off goes my light
I've got no poem to write
poem by Julia Grace
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The teaser
So you are alone?
What now, what about your being alone?
You write a poem about it?
Let me see and read it.
(reads like reading an
electric bill for January)
there is nothing here,
everyone feels like you do
except that you write about
it, and you call yourself a poet,
I don’t think it will make a difference
Do you drink san mig beer?
Do you smoke 2 packs of Marlboro
A day? You don’t? Why not try it?
Let me see your choice of words,
(reads the poem again)
There is nothing in here that
Makes you different from the rest
Of us, smokers and drinkers and
Gamblers. What makes you think
You are not like us? Huh?
(crumples the paper where the
poem is written and leaves,
he picks it up and smoothens it
folds it like his blanket and slides
it in his pocket like a paycheck)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Write Poem
Write write write
And write poem and write
Till you cross the poem
And to cross the poem
You have to write and write
And write.
Look,
Child is here
Moon is here
Look
Here is flower
Here is water
You are here
To write poem
On different color
That give you pleasure
Pleasure is the
Ultimate aim of creature.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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With Or Without You
I don't wanna live without you
God, it hurts to be alone
But livin' with you or without you
Cuts my poor heart to the bone
'Cause my heart gets broken everytime we fall
There's only so much left unshattered
This time I know my back's against the wall
But the truth's the only thing
That matters anymore
I'm scared in a crowd of people
And you're afraid to be alone
I have prayed you'd be beside me
I guess I'm meant to stand alone
Oh, cause our heart's get broken
Everytime we fall
They're beaten down and battered
You're so afraid you don't deserve it all
But you're not the only thing that matters anymore
How can I live without you in my heart
When I walk out this time
It'll tear me apart
My heart gets broken everytime we fall
There's only so long I can fake it
'Cause you let me go babe
We could have had it all
We had a chance
I thought we'd make it
'Cause I gave my heart
You had to break it
God give me the strength
I just can't take it anymore
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Green Sour Orange....
first i get an orange
a green orange, the young one
sour, but still
citrus, not pungent
but inviting, not a cure for the
wound, not easing,
it penetrates pain and
makes it more painful,
then i cut the orange,
press it
and press it some more
to get all its juices....
i do not drink it
i leave it in the glass
for all those dark nights
till every juice dries,
till what you see and feel
is the same
emptiness....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No One Can Write A Poem For All The Pain Of The World
NO ONE CAN WRITE A POEM FOR ALL THE PAIN OF THE WORLD
No one can write a poem for all the pain of the world-
No one can write a poem that can truly heal another’s suffering-
A poem may help in a small way sometimes,
It may bring a bit of light,
But it rarely can cure-
So many I know have sufferings,
And so many need help.
A poem is a prayer to God
For help for those suffering-
May more kindness come to the world
And your and our pain
Be less.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Was It You Who Wrote Some Poems?
it happens in a crowd
or a party or a reunion
to be exact and short of
any dialogue
you ask,
was it you
who wrote some
poems?
and i say
yes
and i ask why?
and you say
oh i like every poem
there
and i ask
which ones?
the one about love
or passion
or compassion
or was it the poem
that hurts
and makes
one feel the
urge to kill oneself?
and you say
i like the
sad ones
those that
make me cry
and think
of my broken heart
and i say
i never wrote
sad poems
and you say
you swear
i have read
the sad ones
and i really cried
alone
and i say,
i never wrote
them
they write themselves
and i do not really cry anymore
and you say
really?
and i say: i am numb.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem Of Pain is A Different Kind of Poem
A poem of pain is a different kind of poem
Than the poem I would write
But what if this becomes all I have?
What if Pain makes Poetry meaningless?
What if Poetry becomes only the vain self- exaltation
Which gives no help and comfort
To the one one loves?
What if Pain makes Poetry meaningless?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Arrogance of a Poet
Reading, reading, reading aloud,
Out to an audience or a large crowd,
A lovely poem, simple like this,
Rhyming couplets, O what a bliss,
Next a succulent simile,
Like this, like that or just like me.
Alliteration, simile all in one,
The Sun looked down, thinking well done!
Woah, personification, the touch of skill
But ofcourse, I can still
Go further and further with these thoughts,
Enjambment used, eat my shorts!
My skill unmatched, the audience applaud,
Score,10/10, definitely assured.
But still this skill was not enough,
They believed my poem was still a rough
Copy or a draft, not the final one,
A poem to impress, that could have won.
And so I wander back, like a whale
To feed my young poems a treacherous tale,
To which they will, rebel and fight
For why did that poem not set alight
The crowd with all its great talent,
But I will not, never, relent
In making you poems walk into fame,
And there goes my poetic technique again...
poem by Viraj Bhanshaly
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Anaesthetic
Im burning out the tv tubes,
Its three oclock & Im confused
Cause commitment is so complete,
Its burning little holes in me
I know that I might look a mess,
And shes so perfect in that oxfam dress
She looks just like a beauty queen,
Shinning out in velveteen
Im delirious
You make it better
You make the weather seem ok
Youre my anaesthetic
You just take the pain away
I love it when she comes around,
Shes a firework that never ends
A micro chip inside my brain,
Im crawling on my knees again
It scares me the way I am,
Im buried in a sea of sand
Lying on a hand grenade,
Waiting for the world to shake
Im delirious
You make it better
You make the weather seem ok
Youre my anaesthetic
You just take the pain away
You make it better
You just take the pain away
Delirious, Im so delirious, delirious,
Im so delirious, delirious
You make it better
You make the weather seem ok
Youre my anaesthetic
You just take the pain awayyou make it better
You make the weather seem ok
Youre my anaesthetic
You just take the pain away
Anaesthetic,
Shes my anaesthetic
Anaesthetic,
Shes my anaesthetic
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is A Poem Of Outrage And Sorrow
THERE IS A POEM OF OUTRAGE AND SORROW
There is a poem of outrage and sorrow I cannot write in a strong enough way-
It concerns the injustice of allowing murderers to go free-
It concerns the additional hurt and pain given to families
Who have had their loved ones cruelly taken from them-
It concerns one person I knew and deeply cared for
Burned to death-
A kind quiet man
Whose murderer will now go free-
There is a poem of outrage and sorrow I cannot write in a strong enough way-
It concerns a country so concerned with saving one life
That they risk the lives of many to do this
A country too compassionate
And an enemy so evil it sings and celebrates the deaths of children-
There is a poem of outrage and sorrow I cannot write in a strong enough way-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Are Those Who Wait Years To Write A Poem
THERE ARE THOSE WHO WAIT YEARS TO WRITE A POEM
There are those who wait years to write a poem
The fruit slowly ripens inside and then as with Rilke
It suddenly falls -
There are those who write a few lines
And come back time after time
And find the poem after many efforts-
There are those who cannot wait to write a poem
And once conscious of it must write it down as fast as possible
Before it is lost-
And there are those who only in the present writing
Find the poem -
The page suffers many methods and modes
But what truly makes a poem worthy
Is another question.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Why I Am Not A Painter
I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,
for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.
But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.
poem by Frank O'Hara
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