Poetic licence
Poetic licence
I use my poetic licence a lot
Its a vital piece of ID
Border control won't let me cross
They'd stop me being as free
Its dog eared now beyond repair
And if it falls to bits
I'll order me another
For all language's misfits
I use it so much when I jiggle my words
Ought to get it laminated
Cover my back when the words don't quite fit
In the stanza I've created
The poem police are out there you know
In search of a dodgy poet
Always carry it in your head
In case you have to show it!
If you are so daring
That you'd use a word like orange....
Some would get a nervous twitch
I get a nervous twinge!
A few words, they just cant be rhymed
No matter if you're smart
So write in prose
And prosper in this slightly different art.
poem by Stevie Taite
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Related quotes
Lunch With a Poet
I had lunch with a poet, just the other day.
A poet who has written fine and lofty verse,
Conveying his experiences, emotions and his ideas, in
Vivid, imaginative ways, condensed in simple language,
Choosing words for sound and power,
Rather than impressing readers with poetic adulterations.
Almost apologetically, he said he uses 'nickel words'
To write his inner thoughts. It was as if he were at fault,
As though he thought those simple sounds
Had lessened the intent of his poetic worth.
I emphasized how wrong he was, and tried
To make clear, a poet writes in sympathy with his reader,
Overleaping the barriers of understanding by the simplicity
Of his language, and of his words.
To write with words of misty meaning does not make
A mystic.
To write with vulgar words does not lift up the poem
On wings of song, it only floats as high as the poet's
Commonality who, mistaking flatulence for inspiration, becomes
Enmeshed in a literary byproduct of the foulest of excretion and Smells.
My friend failed to intellectually understand,
But spiritually Accepts, as his writings reveal,
That clarity of thought and mind is the poet's
Highest point of the poet's integrity.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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Poem about Poetry - Poetic Enlightenment
a poem being written,
head, legs and hands awry
struggle to be placed in
their proper places so
that a smart and recognisable
child can be brought to the world
my master like a woman in labour
tries his utmost to carve a masterpiece
so that each word tells its reason
in his field to cross over the mind of readers
spawn echoes in depth of meanings
and holds on to their heart
i am a poem still being written
words jostle in and out of the space
of a verse, to get things to fall
into a poetic scheme, so that
readers can give their mind
a sublimal lift in their quest
for poetic enlightenment
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Just Once
`
Wake up
talk back
don't tell me
what I lack,
save up
turn back
bring along that
fav'rite song
don't tell me
I've no social
conscience
wasting my
poetic licence
turn back
to your real self
your hunger for
poetic justice
look up
the sky's
still higher
than your highest
tower
let down your
flaxen locks
your ivory walls
are too slick
come with me
where the air
is free
and maybe,
just maybe
for once we'll agree.
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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The First Poem
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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A Spirit Of Poetry!
when a spirit of poetry decent,
it came
In a form of dove
When it came
Jesus became first poet under sun
And Almighty God
Was already, first poet over sun?
Using Poetry in poetic foam
Almighty GOD spoke through poetry
And he is a poet himself
Now his poetry is everywhere, and anywhere
We interact with poets
Words are like soil, are everywhere
Brighter that Sun
His poetic lights lead the way
When he likes
He will come
He will be in poetic foam
To Re-arrange poems
Schedule them in a poetic manner
On a judgment, He will met poets first
And secondly meet
Those who haven't written a poem
To Discuss similes, metaphors and personifications
Future of poetry is in heaven
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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You Do Not Have...
you do not have to
read me
for me to become
another poet
i am
and i can be
and i will be
even without you
and you are
and you can be
and you shall be
even without me
i am a poet
because i have decided to write the poems
and the poem shall be there forever
until the right reader comes along
the one who loves
a poem even without me
even without you
even without the world
this poem and that poem shall be
even without us
for these are words
and words shall be words even without the world
for it was the word which came first
and shall remain
till eternity.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetic Licence
I've got Poetic Licence
Applied the other day
I took a little test you see
They said I was OK.
With this Poetic Licence
I now talk just in verse
But sometimes when out shopping
It feels like quite a curse.
Where some would say
'Tomatoes'
I find myself in rhyme
I ask for things at length you see
It sure eats up the time.
Not 'tomatoes' do I ask for
Nor a kilo and a half
I come out with some poem
I do get lots of laughs.
The other day was dreadful
I wanted some roast duck
But try and try as I might do
The rhyme came quite unstuck
The only word that came to me
Was really very rude
It rhymed with duck quite well you know
But didn't fit with food.
I stumbled and I stumbled
Said 'errrr' a hundred times
And ended up with sausages
For the 57th time.
'Why sausages? '
I hear you ask
It doesn't rhyme with much
But I've got into a habit that simplifies my task
I just say to the butcher
'Do you think I am a bore?
Can I have the very same
That I bought here before? '
Each day it's getting worse and worse
You see I like my beer
But try and try as I might do
It only rhymes with 'queer'.
I've given up on sandwiches
That really is too hard
And trying to buy Panadol
Would foil just any Bard.
I often think of Shakespeare
Wordsworth, Tennyson and Donne
When they went out shopping
Did they just go on and on?
Or were they simply better
And quicker on their toes
Did they just point somewhere
And ask for 'one of those'?
My Licence is provisional
I've only got P plates
I must get in more practice
And not procrastinate.
I should read up on some poets
Using more contemporary words
Maybe those guys from the West Coast
Like that howling man Ginsberg.
They didn't see the need to rhyme
Now that would free me up
They wrote in lower case as well
Now that's a bit of luck.
Their style's just right for emails
In this computer age
So I could buy my goods on line
And dissipate my rage.
Let's have a go with this right now
Now what shall I purchase
A pizza or a hamburger
Delivered to my place.
My God this is fantastic
This is going to be fun
I'll download lots of music
Buy some books from Amazon.
Now will there be some problems?
It doesn't seem that hard
Oh dear for now I've hit one
Using my credit card.
It has such a long number
That doesn't seem to rhyme
No wait I think I've got it
It will simply take more time.
Let's look at that long number now
It ends with 649
Now what on earth could rhyme with that?
Be quick and be on time?
I think this is a breakthrough
I've really cracked it mate
Maybe order some champagne
So I can celebrate.
Suddenly I'm feeling lonely
Well that’s fixed up real quick
I'll go to on-line dating
And chat up some nice chick.
This virtual life suits me
It suits my poetry
I'll never move outside my house
Live electronically.
What's that?
You find me boring?
My talking just in verse?
You think I find it easy?
You think I can't converse
In ordinary language
Well let me tell you straight
It's my total dedication
And desire to innovate
That drives me ever onwards
And makes me play with words
What's that I hear you say to me
You find me quite absurd?
Well let me tell you sunshine
This special and new craft
It marks me out from others
At whom you have to laugh.
It's my artistic mission
To boldly go to where
Wordsworth may have trifled
But I shall bravely dare
To turn this thing called poetry
Into a living tongue
Make other talk seem boring
And find that I belong
In the world of art and culture
Intellect and song.
Combin-ed with the internet
I'll let my message reach
All those happy surfers
Replacing normal speech.
Now, what shall I have for dinner?
Damn those delivery men
The fridge is almost empty
Oh dear, sausages again.
12 May 2004
poem by David Keig
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In Defensione Sui
When a poet writes the words
floating in a sea of hopelessness and despair
he does not mean
that he goes around
with a big black raincloud over his head
he intends to convey
to his readers if he has any
and to himself if he has not
that we all despair at times
but does not intend them to think
that he is in a permanent state
of desiring to kill himself
and waiting for death to come
he does mean
that when the poem came to him
he was in a room with a large number of people in it
which he found conducive to poetic thoughts
and he could not hear what people were saying
because of the noise
but he did not immediately write it down
because someone started talking to him
but he wrote the words down that evening
by which time he felt fine
and he was not feeling particularly sad in any case
it was a metaphor
(Tuesday,8th November,2005.)
poem by David Mitchell
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Modern Day Poet
I am the modern day poet you know
that must make words that easily flow.
For to just present words that ramble on
is to yield forth words that soon are gone.
They're gone from the listener and reader too,
who cannot reason or cannot view
how the words just seem to sit on a page
allowed to sit and yellow with age.
Words must be caressed and also thrive
to take on rhythms which come alive,
alive in the memory that through the ear
has taken it in and holds it dear.
And so in each poem I have my say.
And so in each poem my words do sway
back and forth like a front porch swing
giving my poem a magical ring.
I never allow dullness to come into play
for then my poem will be thrown away
into the piles of poems never read
because they're too hard to keep in the head.
So over and over it's become my style
to enchant the reader for a little while,
making them remember the lilting rhyme
that got into my head one word at a time.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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When you write.
When you write
You hunt for words
Capture them and put them where you
Want them to
Symbolize
An idea, words are symbols too
And these words can be more than that,
Like the word love
Symbolizing how you feel
About her
It can be more than that
Love as a word can go beyond
Its symbolism of
Affection
It can be demanding
About other words
Time
Money
Effort
And if you are true enough it
Can mean vulnerability
And nudity
One by one you remove every
Cover of yourself
From shirt to pants to brief
And there is more to that still
What you write
Any word for that matter
May demand that you remove
Your mind
Your eyes
Your soul even
So that in the end what you write demands
That you become completely
Nothing. Try it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You (Septolet Poem)
You
cover me
like Dawn's
misty dew.
I'm refreshed
at the sight
of you.
cynthiabuhainbaello
11 .25.12
*Septolet poem has 14 words and two stanzas
of 7 words each, centered on one main theme.
It creates a poetic picture.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Delve Into The Depths Of Self
I take my pen
to the blank page
words amazingly
aching to be told
When I write
I undress myself
show myself
for who I am
I've inked my entity
I get multiple spasms on
universal concepts when I
Para-verse
I found a compound universe
at my letters core
I hold tight to
every syllable
created
Free verse
Lyric
Idiom
Meiosis
I see
poetry
endlessly
Ink we're carving mysterious shapes
like language landscapes
Twelve Gauge Pen
Ski Mask
Lyrical Assassination
Femme Font Fatale
Words push
and serge
forward
passion
silences
self control
while wild minds
whip matters
into submission
I spit metaphors
second language
lyrical correlation
rebel in my own right
artistic personification
I dream about lines
my world is dictionary
Expressing
myself
this way
on line therapy
session after session
even in my writes
I make my confession
I learned early to delve
into the depths
of self
the sultry
rhythm
of the space
in between
each pulse
where the ink
becomes reason
to be
when words
become breaths
to take steps
into wreck-less
abandon
See I wanna
spark weakness
in your being
when I speak
I wanna
create
a way to
salute
your every
sensory receptor
with poetic nectar
Let me
penetrate you
with my hard
prose
let my
tongue
speak
the language
of passion
to you
Thru
starved
lips
love is
emitted
thru its
depth
poem by Samantha Campbell
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Kafka
Short of ending up like Kafka
Who toiled in obscurity
And died peniless
I work myself up
Not to allow myself down
Becoming one voice
For the community of
Published writers
Storming through the
Clutter of red tape
And desks covered in
Layers of dust
I dig my fingers into
Manuscripts
Of old
And allow my eyes
To file away alphbetically
The words
Words of virtue
Of nature
Of life
Of love
Written in free form
Or rhyme
Oh to wax poetic
With some unique prose
Nothing compares to
The poetic Rose
Got to raise myself up
From the words of before
Recapture their essence
In a more elegant form
Brainstorming creative
Issues is not all what it seems
Musn't end up like kafka
Lost in obscurity's
Almost famous dreams
poem by Theodora Onken
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Who stands with me?
True poets write in meter.
Not because they think it’s neater
but because the flow is sweeter
When their words are read aloud
as they perform before the crowd.
Their poems pass the acid test.
Prose writers do not choose to rhyme.
They see it as a waste of time.
Although their word choice is sublime.
Without meter it is prose,
not poetry as they suppose.
Their definition I contest.
Poetic prose it’s plain to see.
Can not be classed as poetry.
I can accept you disagree.
I know I have a biased view
I think I am entitled to
Decide which one I like the best.
I choose meter every time
Preferably with lines that rhyme.
I find such poetry sublime.
Though I enjoy well written prose.
Each to his own I must suppose
So write the way that suits you best.
I am old fashioned I admit
and not one whit ashamed of it.
I do not find rules inhibit.
Free expression of my views
They merely mean I have to choose
the words that will express them best
Free form, free verse, poetic prose.
Are methods other writers chose
as being fit for their purpose.
To rebel against fixed form.
Which was regarded as the norm.
Just to be different from the rest.
But fashions change and now free form
Must be regarded as the norm.
I see no reason to conform.
I choose to write my poetry
In the old way that pleases me.
A lonely voice raised in protest.
The wheel of fate will slowly turn
Metered poetry will return
and well deserved plaudits earn.
I hope I live to see the day.
when classic poets can display.
That fixed forms can outshine the rest.
Monday,06 December 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I Can Sense It Coming
I can sense it coming
I hear it from within
The words are here
A poem-
But whether what I feel as a poem
Is a poem
Is another question-
Words come
Perhaps they are only prose -
Not every sound which comes from within is beautiful
And not every word I wait to hear is a poem-
Should I stop here
Or is this already enough for now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My poems is not Poetry
My Poems are not Poetry
Poetry rhythm is essential part
Communicative act of rhythms
Where words created music
An effect on the reader’s and listener
Words beginning with the same letter
And achieve a poetically effect.
My Poems has no rhythms
For the first time I don’t know
What to say and how to show.
Many words is not my style
Let me say, I like your smile
I don’t think I should like you,
Unfortunately I do.
I'm not sure now how to write
I lost my idea how, where words
Are used in away similar
Creating Music, where you find
Languages of rhymes
I write Prose but not Poetry
Using a regular rhythm
Where vast majority
Of languages spoken and written.
I try to be a barn, the muses were believed and inspire
I try to hard without success,
you already know, I guess.
Anyhow, it doesn’t matter
Usually I do not write
Things like this, I never tried,
for the first time I don’t know
what these lines should say or show.
Allegory, metaphor equated
Meaning lie outside the narrative
Acrostic phase when read together
Alliteration words same letter for poetical effect
Satire is a form of humour
Limerick is a short humorous poem.
And Honestly, I don’t regret
Things I did and words I said.
7. January 2008
poem by Mary Wismer
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A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just A Poet
I am just a poet
Poems are my life
Words are the soul
The pen is my might.
Versus are the cup
From which that I drink
And knowledge is the bread
From which my mind is fed.
I live if just to write
The words that I cant speak,
For locked away in my mind
Are the versus to be rhymed.
I am but a simple writer
With a pen and pad in hand
Gazing at the sky and trees
To write what man should read.
I have walked many trodden paths
And down many mournful road,
Now I write about their tears and fears
For now they have became my soul.
I cant cure a mans health
Nor can I stop a war
As I am not much as I see myself
A poor man who loves the Lord.
And when I walk my last mile
And then I'll write my last smile
And on my pad it will show it
That I was but, a simple poet.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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I Wrote A Poem I Could Not Write
I wrote a poem I could not write-
And then when I tried to write it again
Could not write it again -
Poems written and not written
Words and more words
What do they mean?
Paradoxes and games with words
What do they mean?
If there is Beauty in the language
It is one thing
But words just to hear themselves think,
Why should they mean ‘Remembrance'?
Oh Words oh Questions oh Darkness oh Life-
Let me write myself to the grave
Believing at least
That poems too even when they can be written
Have their small unhidden meanings.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Critical Readers
Critical emptiness I perceive
From some readers
They have no idea of entertainment
Only masters of displaying envious resentment
My words give you no right to talk
And make unnecessary comments that suck
Why such negativity
When all I share with all is my creativity
Critical readers
Before you key in words of condemnation
Into my commentary space
Be sure to be an established Poetic Leader
For if I look into your poetic page
And see only an empty hopeless space
Or a few pieces of poems hanging loosely
All over the place
I will only say, you are an ultimate disgrace!
When I write, I do so to entertain, not to get advise from wannabe Train the Trainers. My poem What is music to you is a fantastic poem to me. If you don't like it, keep your fingers in your pocket.
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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