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Cryptic Lipstick

Some poems are simplistic
They don't wear cryptic
lipstick
They never try to force it
If the words don't fit their corset
They may don a facade
But they never try too hard!
They're not as flat as pancakes
They are natural and are not fakes
Some work it trips and crashes
If it's wearing false eyelashes
'up do's ' can look pretentious
Wear it messy, be adventurous
It would lose all of its passion
If poems followed fashion
Whether free flow, prose or rhyme
Wear it your way, it's looks fine

poem by Stevie Taite
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The missing

I was missing...
I was missing...
At my self
I was missing...

Wear is i am...?
wear is i am...?
Asking for my mind
Any time...

I am missing...
For my sence...
Wear i am...?
My work...

my money...
my poem's...
my dayana...
Wear i am...

Wear...?
I was leave
At me...
But...

I was searching
For the world drama...
I was search

Wear i am...?
My answer is;
'Missing...! '

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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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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You Wear It So Well

All of those things
Yeah, that you got to give
Yeah, you wear it so well
Hey, you wear it so well
All of those stories
Honey, that i know you could tell
Yeah, you wear it so well
And your face hides it so we can't tell
That you knew we would wear it so well
You wear it so well
Yeah darling, you wear it so well
(you wear it so well)
Yeah baby, you wear it so well
(you wear it so well)
Yeah now baby, you wear it so well
(you wear it so well)
Hey now darling now, yeah, you wear it so well
(you wear it so well)
All of those things
That make poets sing
You wear it so well
Yeah, you hide it so well
And all of those pain
That you used to tell
You hide it so well
Can't tell from your face that you knew it so well
Hey, now that you have such a story to tell
Yeah, you got style and grace and you wear it so well
You wear it so well
And you got, you got such a story to tell
Yeah, yeah, yeah, you wear it so well
Grace and style equals you so well
Yeah, yeah, yeah, you wear it so well, well, yeah, so well
Yeah, you wear it, wear it, wear it now, wear it now, baby
Yeah, now you wear it so well
And you got such a story to tell
(ooohhh, ooohhh, ooohhh)
(ooohhh, you wear it so well)
(you wear it so well)
(you wear it so well)

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happy Endings

some poems are sad but we may help
them to be happy again
to let the poems wear a smile
and let these poems like
fairies dance in the
prairies let them sing the songs
of love and
passion and thanksgiving and
praise and be
so venerable before the throne
of the divine

i read this poem this morning
that has made my day
a very inspiring one indeed
and it was not that long and winding
and direct to the point

it simply said: i love you too.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I don't always wear underwear. When I'm in the heat, especially, I can't wear it. Like, if I'm wearing a flower dress, why do I have to wear underwear?

quote by Naomi Campbell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Women Wear Heels?

Women wear heels, fashion dictate.
Women wear heels to imitate.
Women wear heels to feel great.
Women wear heels to look taller.
Women wear heels, feet look smaller.
Sky high heels to look sexy.
To walk on heels, one can't be lazy.
To walk on heels, a balancing act.
To walk on heels, risks the back.

poem by Philo Yan
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I Wear A Smile

I wear a smile
that never reach my eyes.
I wear a smile
that feels misplaced.
I wear a smile
that is completely fake.
I wear a smile
to drown my sorrow.
I wear a smile
but i'm so numb.
One day this mask will break,
but then it will be too late.

poem by Precious Arroyo
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It Doesn't Pay To Wear Red (A Kyrielle)

No Matter what the Captain might say
When he urges you to take part of that fray
You are better off to remain in Sick Bay
It doesn't pay to wear red when your on an 'Away'

The Captain will encourage you to be a brave young man
But neglects to tell you they'll use you as prey
And it is so easy to fall to his charismatic command
It doesn't pay to wear red when your on an 'Away'

You might want to reconsider stepping through that door
And by now I know this may sound a little cliche
Just ask any-red wearing Ensign that has gone before
It doesn't pay to wear red when your on an 'Away'

No matter what the Captain might say
It doesn't pay to wear red when your on an 'Away'

poem by Sheri Hockman
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Oh if You Only Knew

I do not know what I should wear
but I know that I must choose
something tempting for your eyes,
something to make you lose
your self-control when your eyes see me.
Let me see, what shall it be?

I do not know how to wear my hair.
Shall I wear it back
or let the tendrils free
just to see how you'll react?
Will you wish to touch it with your hand
and send me off to some sweet dreamland?

All these things are on my mind
as I anticipate your stare.
How to primp, which perfume to use,
and how to make you become aware
of all the things I do for you.
Oh, oh if you only knew.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Womens Next

womens are

not sexy wear...

womens are

not beauty wear...

womens are not

funny wear...

womens are not

hotty wear...

womens are

a power wear..

in another world...

not only child birth

with hands

with brain

with works

with loves

make a new world...

tommrow...

that is day near...

very near...?

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Poems About Poems About Poems

Poems about poems about poems-
More poems and more poems and more poems-
Poems poems poems poems poems-
How many poems?
How much poetry
Until there is no poetry at all?

But only 'words' and 'words' and 'words'
Until one goes far away
Where there was never a poem before-
And suddenly hears
“Let there be Light”.

And Poetry perhaps
Is born again.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Prose-Poetry

Once prose and poetry existed side by side
Two styles of literature, each with its bound
Jealously guarded by the literati
Lest prose masquerades as poetry.

The First World War smashed all fetters,
Soldiers wrote heart-rending poetic letters
To sweethearts, friends, fathers and mothers.
Newspapers published their anguish and horrors

The literati classed them as prose
And turned up their nose
At such a new trend of mongrelised poetry;
But the public gave it name and identity
Prose-poetry began to gain respectability.

Prose-poetry is a contradiction in terms,
An oxymoron; a paradox of many forms.
When well written, words flow as though in rhyme
Thought and syntax together dance with rhythm.

Some pen few lines haphazardly,
String words together arbitrarily,
Flit between thoughts randomly,
Structure their poems casually.

They want us to see them as thinkers
In fact, they are just wearing blinkers.
If only they could see their folly
They’d stop abusing prose-poetry.

poem by Isam Hussain
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New Year's Eve

normally i'd be french-twisting my hair and
selecting the right earrings to wear it's a special
evening for most normally i'd be proposing a
toast but not this year because i'm here the
party's all around me you're there indifference
has found me i know it's not in fashion wearing
heartache on your sleeve but i'm here and
you're there so who cares what i wear on new
year's eve normally i'd be knee-deep in
champagne i'd kick my heels up until neighbors
complain it's a glamorous evening for most
normally i'd be upstaging the host but not this
year because i'm here the party's all around me
you're there indifference has found me i know i
should have dressed up but i just can't make
believe now i'm here and you're there so who
cares what i wear on new year's eve if you're
flirting with some other girl tonight i'm not flirting
with some other guy i keep thinking how last year
at midnight you blew me away with the resolution
that you made i'm here the party's all around
me you're there indifference has found me and
tonight before the ball drops i'll grab my coat
and leave i'm here and you're there so who
cares what i wear on new year's eve

song performed by by Nina Gordon from Tonight And The Rest Of My Life
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Wing And A Prayer

I heard someone talking
about kids and what they wear.
They said they walk about these days
wearing nothing but a wing and a prayer.
I smiled to myself at that remark
because it was obviously they had forgot
about the clothes they used to wear.
So before we are quick to condemn
lets take a trip down memory lane,
back to the clothes we used to wear
when we were that age
and to the designs that were all the rage.

Suppose we go back to the sixties
now that was a good time,
the Mods and the Rockers,
scooters and motorbikes,
not to forget Flower Power.
Oh, yes I remember it well.
The drainpipe trousers,
sitting in the bath
to shrink the jeans down,
not forgetting the holy vest and long hair,
brothel creepers and winkle picker shoes,
and that was just the boys.
What about the girls with their skirts?
There was the maxi, the mini and the micro,
the latter once described as nothing more than a long scarf.
So before we condemn the youngsters today
for going around with nothing but a wing and a prayer, l
et us not forget what we used to wear.

I can remember my parents saying
your showing your knee
now that is so shocking.
Today people look at youngsters
saying it wasn’t like that in my day.
Don’t you believe it,
we were just as bad,
and we were just as crazy as kids today.
When it came to our clothes,
we have no right to condemn
for whatever they wear.
We were just the same at their age,
we used to wear
nothing more than a wing and a prayer.
We called it Fashion
way, way back then,
the same as they call it now.

poem by David Harris
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The Man in Green

Well, you wonder why
I always wear the green,
The colours of the world’s
Finest football team,

You will never see me wear the colours
Of royal or navy blue,
As I’m a Celtic supporter,
Faithful through and through.

I wear the green for my ancestors,
Who came from Ireland, long ago,
Who left Erin’s shores and settled
In the town of Glasgow,

I wear it for the Irish Diaspora,
Who fled the famine and the crown,
I wear from Brother Walfrid
Who sheltered the poor in the east end of town.

I wear the emerald green
In memory of my father,
Garngad born,
A faithful Celtic supporter,

He walked the path to heaven,
Over ten years ago,
As he stands with Our Lord
Wearing his green, white and gold.

I wear the green for the Celtic legends,
Who have left our lives,
Knowing that they entered heaven
With Our Lord on their side,

I wear it for Willie Maley, Jock Stein
And young John Thomson,
I wear it for Bobby Murdoch, Johnny Doyle
And wee Jimmy Johnstone.

I wear the colours of Celtic,
Each and every day,
I pray for the bhoys of Parkhead each night,
And to God, I do say,

Why do all the Orangemen,
All hate the sight of green?
For green’s the finest colour
That the world has ever seen.

March’29th 2006

poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Dead To My Poem

DEAD TO MY POEM

Dead to my poem-
Dead to the poems of others-
Dead to poetry
In any way at all-

Into another way of feeling:
Dry- nervous- anxious- fearful.
Prose is my soul
Empty small literal flat prose.

Flat prose
Lines too flat to even need paraphrase
No poem no poetry
Prose.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Ill Know What To Do

I.......
If I fall in love , its only with you
And if I call for love, its got to be true
But if you fail . to keep it a tie
Then Ill know, its only a lie
And Ill know what to do
Oh, Ill know what to do
If you wear my ring , you wear it for me
Youve got to wear that thing indefinitely
And if youre bad , even just for a while
Ill be sad , then Ill push you behind
cause I know what to do
Oh I know what to do
I.......
I am a man of words, the few words I say
If you play my game , you play it my way
If you dont , one look in your eye
And Ill know, youre telling me lies
And Ill know what to do
I know what to do
I.....
Oh Ill know what to do
Oh Ill know what to do

song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing Extraordinary Nothing Peculiar

i wake up early today
3 a.m.,
not for any call from
God
as though it has something
to do with the divine and
the miraculous,
telling me what to do
or his angels
for some reminders,
to be good, and kind
and compassionate,

there is nothing
extraordinary about
waking up early,
nothing peculiar really,
there is no rhyme
or even prose in this
unholy hour where
the other spirits
still roam claiming
this hour to be
still theirs rightfully,

sometimes i claim
this is pure work,
legal matters to be
finished and done
on time, or some
personal matters
to be written and
clarified, some journal
entries of my life,
for their reference when
i am gone
dead, to say the flat
word for departure,
but i think, to be honest
with you
(dear reader) i wake
up because some words
come inside my mind,

well, i admit, poems,
some more poems,

to my embarrassment
from my undisturbed friends

they ask, what have i to
do with these orphans?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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American Idle

An excuse
Getting through
Kick around your leeway

An idea
Overdue
Work-shy with hunger pains

Wear out your dunce's cap
Wear out your pocket flaps
But don't wear out your mind
Because you can't have mine

American Idle
Overfill your seidel
'Cause excess is romance
And everyone's convinced

Channel-surfing
Devil's food
Kick around your leeway

Snake oil rigged
Fate is sealed
Work-shy with stomach pains

Wear out your dunce's cap
Wear out your pocket flaps
But don't wear out your mind
Because you can't have mine

American Idle
Overfill your seidel
'Cause excess is romance
And everyone's convinced

poem by Michael Fischer
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I Know Only Poems With Rhyme

To the children of the world

I know only poems with rhyme
That stay in tune with ev’ry clime.
I know only poems with beat
That make me stand up on my feet.
When poets all have breathed their last,
And poems are buried in dust,
Then children will come out in time
To dig the poems, black with grime.
And when the cloud of dust is gone,
And children are through having fun,
They’ll throw away poems like lime
But pick up only those with rhyme.

poem by Gilbert Pangyarihan
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