I Read Unremembered Poets
I read unremembered poets-
Names little and less known -
Names no longer considered-
Each one was a person and a voice
Each one believed their words should be heard-
I read them and feel myself one of them-
Silence is who they are now
And who we will be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Names disappear
You are your own master
As thoughts flow faster
You should worry for none
As you have to go it alone
Let words flow from you mind
They may exactly suit and find
The place where they must affect
Crate the impression and act
They all come from inner strength
As you have picked the length
It may wait for no theme
As they have natural rhythm
You are destined to be bird
So your voice is likely to be heard
Not when you are live and prominently read
But there after when you are gone and dead
Flowers fade and lay scattered
Your poems are remembered and uttered
With all that messages you had planned
Read and reread as they were beautifully penned
Names disappear but not the poems
As they are all meant for them
Someone may adopt it as model
The message will be clear to tell
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Isolation Rocks
to read poets
their poems
is time choice
actually poet
would write
more superior
poems
if educated read
other poets?
interacted more
nothing happens
in still isolation?
isolation rocks
soul voice would
become more
mainstream
golden voice
is orchestra
soloist singers
must solo sing
orchestra backed?
therefore
give me
the crags
rivers
waterfalls
wilderness
as I sing
their alone
only echoes
are
distant
heard
poem by Terence George Craddock
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To Read And Read Again
TO READ AND READ AGAIN
To read and to read again
And to be left empty
By the abundance of words
Whose meanings multiplication
Erases all sense
Of their coherence
And our understanding.
To read and read again
As if in this pretence of learning
Salvation will come
To read and read again
And be forever dumb.
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Read My Lips
verbal silence. read my lips.
if you see them.
read the words. read it here.
these words. read them like
flowers in the garden.
these words speak a little.
tips of the iceberg. They are less
compared to the color of my eyes
the warmth of my fingers
the suppressed beatings of my heart.
these words that you read.
if only you can see my lips.
if only you can see my face.
and body, naked on the flowing sheet of
pure paper. IF only you know
what silence means, how emptiness
eats it, if only you know how inferior
verbs and adjectives are
compared to the caresses of the hands
and the tenderness of the fingers,
touch.
read the lines silently.
these words do not shape my lips.
they come to your eyes.
in the silence of your understanding.
never shall they speak
about me. they only talk about
the hands that write sometimes
without any meaning at all.
infinitives are not infinite.
neither do verbs know what is it to be still.
and adjectives talk only about the surface.
deep under, the noise begins.
and silence of the verbs move to another side.
now, the mountains of ideas collapse
and bury the casualties of silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.
Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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For All The Poets
FOR ALL THE POETS
This is a poem for all the poets who have no name,
For all those who have written and failed,
And for those who have not written,
And failed.
This is a poem for all the poets who dreamed themselves poets,
And were never, and will be known as poets
To the world.
This a poem for all those
Who after years of effort
Still live in an oblivion
They will die in.
This is a poem for all those
Who whether they have poetry in them or not,
Will never be heard or read,
For what their hearts must tell
Someone else.
This is a poem for all the silent poets
Those who live in silence
And whose silence is eternal
For all those whose only poetry
is the poem they have lived within themselves.
This is a poem for all those who would- be poets
And a poem for those
Who despite their efforts
Did not make their poem known.
This is a poem which may be for you,
And I know is for me
A confession
To make us less alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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One Day
one day
your feet take you to the cemetery
on tombstones
you pass by and read some names
you read a name
and you shall remember a certain poem
this is his name
he is dressed and he is not going anywhere
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Epitaph Of An Athiest
one day
your feet take you to the cemetery
on tombstones
you pass by and read some names
you read a name
and you shall remember a certain poem
this is it
'she is dressed and she is not going anywhere'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You And I Both
Was it you who spoke the words that things would happen but not to me
Oh things are gonna happen naturally
And taking your advice I'm looking on the bright side
And balancing the whole thing
But often times those words get tangled up in lines
And the bright lights turn to night
Until the dawn it brings
Another day to sing about the magic that was you and me
Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of
Others only read of the love that I love
See I'm all about them words
Over numbers, unencumbered numbered words
Hundreds of pages, pages, pages forwards
More words then I had ever heard and I feel so alive
Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of
And if you could see me now oh love love
Now you and I, you and I
Not so little you and I anymore
And with this silence brings a moral story
more importantly evolving is the glory of a boy
Cause you and I both loved what you and I spoke of
and others just read of and if you could see me now
well I'm almost finally out of
and it's okay if you have to go away
just remember the telephones are working on both ways
but if I never never hear them ring
if nothing else I'll think the bells inside
have finally found you someone else and that's okay
cause I'll remember everything you sang
Cause you and I both loved what you and I spoke of
and others just read of and if you could see me now
well I'm almost finally out of words.
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silence Must Be Heard
(m.cretu.)
.
Look into the others eyes, many frustrations
Read between the lines, no words just vibrations
Dont ignore hidden desires
Pay attention, youre playing with fire
Silence must be heard, noise should be observed
The time has come to learn, that silence ...
Silence must be heard
Or diamonds will burn, friendly cards will turn
Cause silence has the right to be heard
People talk too much for what they have to say
Words without a meaning, just fading away
Silence must be heard, noise should be observed
The time has come to learn, that silence ...
Silence must be heard
Or diamonds will burn, friendly cards will turn
Cause silence has the right to be heard
song performed by by Enigma
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm very influenced by landscapes, not so much the way places look as the way the names sound. In this country we've got so many cultures, and the place names - the Spanish names and the Indian names, which are so incredibly musical.
quote by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Books I Read
I was once asked
what sort of books I read.
To be honest
I never gave it much thought.
I read all sorts of books
from crime fiction to poetry,
by many assorted authors.
I read literary classics
and some not so classic at all.
If they asked me
who my favourite author is,
again I’d be in confusion there too.
However a few of the names
that spring to mind are,
F Scott Fitzgerald, John Steinbeck,
Ernest Hemmingway, James Herriot,
Agatha Christie, Edgar Wallace
and surprisingly enough Mickey Spillane.
I have no favourite author
of any particular genre
as I only read
how I feel at the time.
27 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Y.. Poetry and History
Tired at night, I went to sleep
I slept tremendously deep
I slept a very long time
I woke up in October of 2110
and some history books of then
were laying in that room of mine
How exciting it was, how queer
to read the history of the coming years
I was in for quite a surprise
The heroes of the 2011 history books
were labelled as what they were, just crooks
Heroes in 2110 were nobody else than the wise
There were some wise people, so clever
who brought to us kindness and wisdom forever
these were the heroes of 2110
Among the heroes, prophets and thinkers were found
poets of wisdom, their names all around
Sages and wise ones from way back,2010
In 2110, from what I could read
there was no longer hunger, no more greed
thanks to the poets sharing wonderful words
I prayed to go back to the time when I had started to sleep
I wanted to share that news, so good, so profound and deep
I was happy to wake up in the now, my prayers were heard
So here I share the wonderful news at last
That greed and hunger will soon be a thing of the past
it all 'll have started in 2012 during spring
History books of the future mention a kindness revolution
Starting in May 2012, affecting all subsequent evolution
Isn't that a wonderful thing?
poem by Aufie Zophy
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Vicious Games
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I cared
So I played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I was afraid
To go under
Afraid to see
When I closed my eyes
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I care
I just played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Now that youre gone
And you have left me
I had to learn
I had to learn how much it hurts
To play those vicious games
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vicious Games
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I cared
So I played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I was afraid
To go under
Afraid to see
When I closed my eyes
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I care
I just played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Now that youre gone
And you have left me
I had to learn
I had to learn how much it hurts
To play those vicious games
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Read and Reread/ The Poets I Love
I READ AND REREAD/ THE POETS I LOVE
I read and reread
The poets I love-
I seek new poets
To love poetry more with-
I write my own small poems
And read them again occasionally-
Sometimes I find in them lines
I want to return to
And remember.
If only I could be such a stranger to myself
That I in reading a poem of my own
Would know it belongs to Literature.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Zip of Zilch
He has great appraisal for poets
Neruda, Pushkin, Eliots’
Kalidasa, Tagore, Keki…
List is on and on
Reads on and on
Keeps a heap at store
Displays and describes with silky talk
I wrote a few small poems
Gave him for a read
Reader read and silently left
I waited for days together
Then someone said –
‘Silence speaks louder than words, sometimes
But not everybody listens’
Lightning struck
I gave ear to that silence
Tagore has written –
‘Man has in him the silence of the sea’
Learnt to respect the silence
Today I am happy
Writing and reading my work.
-vidi-
28/05/2009
poem by Vidi Writes
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Do not read my poems…. [for YOU ]
Do not read my poems…
After I am dead
As a lament, a wail
An elegy, a requiem
Do not read my poems…
After I am gone
When no more I can
Hear your velvet voice.
Do not read my poems…
Alone without me
To comment along
And read with you
But, do read my poems
When I beside you lie
With my head resting
On your supporting arm
Listening to you read
In whisper, in kisses
In silence, in love
In sleep, in dream
Watching you feel
Every word I wrote
I’ll close my eyes - Love
Brush aside my hair
With your breathe
Which half veils my face
Sleepless fevered I wrote
Read me my poems
Now sing me a lullaby
Rock me to sleep
On your broad chest
Diving into your eyes
A thousand times
I am refreshed
By your smile
I’ll write on you a poem
Traced by my fingertips
To be etched in your heart
And burnt into your soul!
So, do not read my poems…
poem by Angelina Pandian
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Suicide Kid
As she read the note aloud
Her voice clear and loud
'This is what she wrote
Her suicide note'
There were gasps all through the air
For everyone seemed to care
They said she was so great
But their compliments were too late
Her note read like this
'Nothing in my life is bliss
And no one sees the tears I cry
You will only care once i die
Perfection was only a minor concern
Love is what I yearn
This pain you say you now feel
Is probably not even real
As you sit there and moap or gloat
What you just read was my suicide note'
No words were spoken
No silence broken
No child whined
And no one shined
They were all put down to dirt
To see how much she hurt
This was her master plan
To hurt the common man
To feel the way she did
Little baby suicide kid
poem by Laura Kelly
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I May Admit Finally That I Am Lying
in our short conversation when you ask questions
about me i may answer you some lies and then
you wonder if i am the kind of person who makes lies
to you as i wonder too if you are the kind of person deserving
to be lied by myself, and so i try to figure out the lies
i made before and how honestly you believe them and then
i sort of changing myself, and slowly revealing some of the names
i keep on using, that these names may refer to one and the same
person, which is myself, and you honestly believe me and i am
of course, guilt-stricken and then i slowly unravel other names,
other places, other circumstances, sorting out my life,
page by page, and you listen carefully, and you also tell me
there are two of you, two names, and that is the truth,
and i honestly admit, i had some lies, lies for me to survive you
and this sad world, and then i begin to answer your question
with all honesty: you will regret it, there is more pain to the truth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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