This Is All I Am/ These Simple Lines
THIS IS ALL I AM
This is all I am
These simple lines
Others have metaphor
I only- half- rhyme.
Poor is my poetry
Sad is my life
Greatness for others
For me, inner strife.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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A Poet Became His Own Poetry
A POET BECAME HIS OWN POETRY
A poet became his own poetry
And all he could be
Was lines and lines and lines
Inside and outside
Lines and more lines
Off- rhymes
Finding a phrase
A metaphor
Hearing listening
To sounds
His own mind made.
A poet became his own poetry
And went into the long sleep
Of being only what he wrote.
No one can know how
Reading these lines now
The poet and the poetry live
without themselves.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry Is A Metaphor
Poetry is a metaphor
For beauty
For deepest feeling
For light
For all kinds of dreams we may not know the name of-
Poetry is a metaphor
For life at its most intense
Poetry is a metaphor for Poetry.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
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Why Do I Write Poetry?
Why do I write Poetry?
The answer is not plain to see,
As a Legal Cashier I earn my Living,
For me and my family.
Why do I write Poetry?
Thoughts come to me in rhyme and verse,
They have to be worked on continually
To make those lines seem terse.
Why do I write Poetry?
One day HE’ll answer me,
Hopefully while I’m on this Earth,
Before I reach Eternity.
Why do I write Poetry?
Why must my lines scan and rhyme?
Not only on this occasion,
But forever, and all the time.
Why do I write Poetry?
Why put them on your website?
To leave my Thoughts and Visions of Life,
To you all and posterity.
© Jonathan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 9 April 2005
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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As A Child I Loved Poetry
AS A CHILD I LOVED POETRY
As a child I loved poetry,
As an old man I love poetry-
Years of reading poetry are in me,
A lifetime of poetry.
But as a poet,
I am less than what I know from others,
And less than what I would have been-
A small poet
Of small lines
Old and getting older
And still loving the lines
That rhyme inside
And make life more beautiful.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Appreciating Free Style Poetry, From The Loose Poet
for EVO e.i.c and his staff
poetic seeds germinate
above the 5 poetical quilts:
mood, imagery, thought
melody, rhythm
regardless of twigs sprouting -
matured poet reaps twists and surprises
immatured one duplicates
poetry is not a sole reflection of man's
damn imagination thru rhyme and metrical phrases
poetry is not a tone of
monotonous lines of ala-classical tounges of greatness
and hackneyed syllables, homonymous end-words
poetry is but a variation of
mute voices from artistic loose mind
puzzling emotions spill out in any wad of papers
in unlyrical odes, or sober sonnets
in rhyme or wild verses
then what makes my poetry
when read
to make my critics weep
they feed to every reader's mind
as they know -
my poetry has magic
most of us keep so well hidden
sometimes narrow
sometimes deep
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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On Poetry
1
poetry can be
like a sky filled with wrangling clouds
or as a sky without a wisp
2
in poetry there are no
clichés in thought and phrase;
and what is left there is
the resplendent and the living
3
poetry leaves one
rich inside
and ordinary outside
4
the fool defines poetry
and poetry defies all definitions
5
poetry entertains, inspires;
poetry tickles, distracts, and shapes and frees -
but its true intent, no one knows
6
many lines, and countless lines
many pages, and thick volumes
don’t make poetry
7
if one had no coins
one cannot buy bread;
but not all the world’s wealth
can bring you poetry
8
Oh no!
Not another love poem!
Oh no!
Not another poem about oneself!
9
rhyme, technique and meter
and tricks of prosody
don’t make poetry: passion does
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Piet Mondrian
The lines produce
the simple things
the world
Its lines are not
delineating anything
known out
of the world
simple things
as if they had
not been before
the complex metaphor
for the encounters: trees,
houses, fields
connections, that have never
had a name.
poem by João Tomaz Parreira
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The Language Of Poetry Is Metaphor
The language of poetry is metaphor
And irony and ambiguity
And beauty-
Beauty is the language of poetry
And metaphor and irony and ambiguity
And irony -
Beauty is the language of metaphor
And poetry without beauty
Is like poetry without metaphor
Like poetry without simile-
Poetry is poetry
Like beauty is beauty
And metaphor, metaphor
And language language -
Ironically
Without themselves they are something else
Or perhaps another variant of themselves
Ironically.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dust to Dust We Go
DUST TO DUST WE GO
Dawn saw fame borne away to flame no more
Undone our time, light's boon, for dust bests fun -
Sun's one hour rhyme, - night's soon sure, rust rests run.
Torn core, aims shorn, waylays true name so poor.
Thorn store shames born day's plays, few claim crow - chore
Once spun power mimes fight, loon scores crust, jest done.
Dunce - shun tower chimes' rite, noon whores' lust, gest stun.
Unpure frame, worn, frays, pays - too tame, shows flaw.
Scorn pour, lame mourn, praise phase new, game grows bore,
Turns tunnel dower, limelight’s floor just crest dun.
Won shone flower rimes, trite croon caw bust, Quest? none!
End: forlorn blame gaze stays acclaim, slows roar.
Glory for soul, some say life sends gold key,
Or we poor, sole, dumb pray strife ends, goal flee.
28 April 2009 Acrostic Sonnet DUST TO DUST WE GO
robi03_1887_robi03_0000 AQS_CDZ
NOTES:
Rhyme ABBA ABBA ABBA CC
most syllables in A lines rhyme with corresponding syllables in other A lines
most syllables in B lines rhyme with corresponding syllables in other B lines
final couplet all syllables rhyme
poem by Jonathan Robin
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There Was A Poem About Poetry
THERE WAS A POEM ABOUT POETRY
There was a poem about poetry
Written by a poet whose name was hidden within the lines-
The poem about poetry
Became a song in the night
And a distant metaphor
For the incomprehensible journey that is life-
It became anything it could be made to be-
Love,
A world of a kind,
A mystery,
The holy sounds of light far far away -
All the poems we know are like this,
In the darkness they say one thing
But in the light in the light
Oh how dark and deep and far and lonely they are-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry Has A Rhythm Of Its Own
POETRY HAS A RHYTHM OF ITS OWN
Poetry has a rhythm of its own
I have lost it
I have words
I have sentences
But I have no rhythm-
I have flat lines
One after the blank other
A mind without depth
A sense of lack
But no real way
Of making a music of poetry
All my efforts now
Are like these lines
Without resonance
Simple and single in meaning
Not what a poem at its best
Should be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Metaphor of Poetry/Meets The Mysteries Of The Soul
THE METAPHOR OF POETRY
The metaphor of poetry
Meets the mysteries of the soul
And wakes us in words
To worlds of wonder.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I don't like Lines that Rhyme
In my lines
They all think
I rhyme,
But I cry.
I cry
For lost
Of my right.
In my mind
I know I don't
Like lines
That rhyme.
All I know
I'm not afraid
To die
For my right,
Cause if today
I die
Tomorrow
I shall rise.
With Christ
I shall fly.
As was profesied.
Tho' I don't like
To write
And my
Lines
Don't rhyme
But my love for
You is no lie.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Extendibly Kept
Greatness declared,
Seems almost too simple to say.
Too simple to adorn that which isn't...
With such a high placed esteem.
Greatness just to say,
With few ways of it expressed.
Seems as if a parody,
Of what isn't there with wishes it could be.
A greatness achieved and extendibly kept,
Takes a constant self reflection.
And a careful watching of one's steps.
A greatness achieved and extendibly kept,
Takes repeated self examination.
With a wanting always to do one's best.
Greatness declared,
Seems almost too simple to say.
Too simple to adorn that which isn't...
With such a high placed esteem.
Greatness just to say,
With few ways of it expressed.
Seems as if a parody,
Of what isn't there with wishes it could be...
Forever peceived and to others believed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Poems As Diary
to know me
there is no other but this poetry
to know poetry however
please do not read
my diary
for this diary may fail the standards
of your poetry
but at any rate everyday poetry is a diary
what makes us fume like a mad cow
what makes us whistle like a satisfied lover
what makes us surrender in defeat and shout victory in triumphs
little things and big things
all summed up
in this new thing: diary as poetry
and poetry as diary.
we do not even have to rhyme
does life rhyme at all my friend?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Why Do We Need Rules For Poetry?
Why do we need rules for poetry?
Let's make a Haiku with ten lines and one hundred syllables.
Let's make a limerick with ten lines, and not rhyme it.
Let's just do whatever the hell we want to do.
After all it's yourself that you want to express,
Do whatever the hell you want to.
You don't have to listen to anyone.
You don't have to follow rules.
After all you say it's acceptable now.
This is modern poetry,
I am not governed by archaic rules, put forth,
By men and women thousands of miles away,
Or in some foreign country.
I am me, I will do as I wish, and no rules apply to me.
Why do we need rules for poetry?
Beats me.
poem by Juan Olivarez
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A Man Became Addicted To Poetry
A MAN BECAME ADDICTED TO POETRY
A man became addicted to poetry-
Wherever he went he read or wrote a few lines-
Poetry became much of what he did-
Poetry and poetry and poetry-
As if that alone could give meaning and pleasure to his life.
A man became addicted to poetry
And so lost at times
What true poetry is –
Now he writes without knowing
Whether he is truly writing
Or merely using the ‘idea and world of poetry’
For his own peace of mind.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This Morning I Rebel Against Myself
THIS MORNING I REBEL AGAINST MYSELF
This morning I rebel against myself
Without enthusiasm I approach the page
I do not know where I should go right now
Empty as I am I am afraid.
Yet hearing echoes of a greater voice
And knowing Inspiration real through you
I laugh and wonder if your Greatness makes
A mockery of all I’ll ever do.
Dear Shakespeare in whose most casual lines
Poetry beyond all I strive to seem
I hear you through my minor reverie
Undermine the rhythm of my dream.
So in poor imitation I now write
Lines that won’t survive this angry night.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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