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The Poet of Legacy

the restless children run to the higher ground as the kites flying to an open sky
under the clouds, clouds which are so eager to shell shock them with a friendly
turbulence, which would make the kites, spin around haywire. the tall grass has covered
most of the old battlefield, which was once witnessed thousands of young lives perished during the World War 2, protecting the nearby port from enemies of the east. my father was one of the localities who fought the war not only for his country but for the ambitious imperialist from the west, as well. most of his comrades were killed during the battle and it was actually the beginning of the new era, a new ruler, under the ‘red sun’.
my father was captured and was sent to the infamous Changi Prison as a prisoner of war.
he survived the ordeals, which many could not have managed. today, i am the legacy, to continue the gallantry of a man who had lived throughout the manmade hell bravely, not with weaponry, but with brain and pens, writing poetry. i’ll be the poet; many poets would envy. i’ll be the poet; many readers would want to be. i’ll be the poet; many women would like to see. God gives lives to my father, to have me be born, and to continue the legacy.

poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Not The Poet's Poet But Perhaps The Would- Be- Poet's Would-Be Poet

I AM NOT THE POET’S POET BUT PERHAPS THE WOULD- BE- POETS WOULD – BE –POET

I am not the poet’s poet-
The one poets of name and fame admire-
But perhaps the would- be- poets would be – poet-
Who tries to be a poet
And tries to understand what it means
To love poetry and live by writing it
Even when the world does not recognize me..
.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bill's Son Joe

Bill wishes his son had been a well known Sportsman
My son's a poet you never hear him say
As if that is something to be ashamed of
'Tis a strange World that we live in today.

Young Joe has no interest in sports or football
He'd rather go to the park by the bay
And watch the seagulls by the park bench tables
Squabble for scraps of food the picknickers throw away.

Joe is nineteen he doesn't have sisters or brothers
A fine young poet with words he has a way
His Nature poems original and special
That's what the poetry critics of him say.

The other fathers talk of their sons sporting prowess
My son ran well, my son played a fine game
But Bill he never talks about his son Joe
As if writing poetry is a thing of shame.

As if writing poetry is for women only
The redneck father has a cultured son
He doesn't feel proud that his son is a good poet
And that a prestigious poetry prize he's won.

Bill son Joe is a poet of rare talent
With which the father he is not impressed at all
He'd much prefer that he were a good sportsman
Good at athletics, boxing or football

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Letter To A Young Poet Revised

Letter to a young Poet

Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent pass time it doesn’t
change anything, no one reads it, other than cranky people. Should
a poet writes something nationalistic that resonance with, a nation’s
pride, like: “my country is the best in the world.” He will get a medal.

So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the common man a poet is regarded as a figure of
fun who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make
sense of a world he doesn’t understand. As my father said, when my first
poem was published: “How much did they pay you? ” If my words have
not scared you off, you’re a poet. The only tool you’ll need is honesty.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not

The poet I am, and the poet I am not

‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Who Has No Readers

THE POET WHO HAS NO READERS

The poet who has no readers
Needs the writing of the poetry
Loves the writing of the poetry
More than any recognition or praise
He may receive for it-

The poet who has no readers
Writes nonetheless,
For he needs and loves to write
Though he not be read or listened to at all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Father O. S. A.

Written by dennis deyoung
Lead vocals by dennis deyoung
Father
Youre a sad old man
Your tawdry vest is gray
Memories
Of a former man
Are all your words convey
Father
Oh cant you see
The tarnished robe you wear
A crown
For fools
The people laugh
You never seem to hear
Father
Youre lifes a ship
Thats never been to sea
The bottle
That surrounds your life
Youll sail eternally
[keyboard solo]
Children
Please understand
A man must stand alone
And face a world
Hell never know
And never call his own
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
[continue echo]
Father
Father
Father
Father
Father
Father
[continue echo]

song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet Becomes The Poetry

THE POET BECOMES THE POETRY

After years of striving to write Poetry
The Poet becomes the Poetry
No word is not poetry in him
And no silence is not the sound
his own writing makes

Wherever he is
Whatever he does
is Poetry
Mediocre or not
Real or not
Loved or not
Understood or not
The Poet is Poetry
Unable forever to escape
what he Lives.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Young Poets Society

to all the young poets in this worlds society.
as a father and grand father as well.
you have made me as proud as can be.
you take the depths of the ocean-and set peoples lives in motion.
for when someone as young as you -can see what we've
gone through.
and feel the elders aches and pains, it will never be the same.
so i stand here proud as can be
through your poetry you have been set free
and i thank you for those memories.
(pain and love have no boundaries)
so continue to write and tell what you see and feel-
and let others know that this is real.

poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Before a Poetry Reading

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Letter To A Young Poet

Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent’ it never starts a war
nor finished it. Should a poet write something that resonance with,
the sentiment of a nation, you can be sure it will be used by politicians
and interpreted for their dubious plans.

So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the people a poet is regarded as a figure of fun
who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make sense
of a world they don’t understand. As my father said when I published
my first poem: “How much did they pay you? ” So if my words have not
scared you off you’re a poet. All you need is intellectual honesty.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Truth Can Be A Boring Neccessity For Poets

The aim of the poet, this frivolous
Foggy drip morn...
Is not to in-line 'untruths' in poems...
Not 'lies' like we know,
Rather, knowledge of where/what
We've been, seen, heard...in poetry.

For the Raven beomes white,
Which well may be.
But, we must 'see' this
Raven shading new color...
Wonder, mystical.

The Great Father knows poet-shamans
Well...the Tricksters, Shapechangers...
The Great Father smiles...
Poets laugh lines...
True!

poem by Elysabeth Faslund
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crown Of A Poet

When my pens are all dried up
And my writing on Earth is done
I will then take off my tarnished crown
And I will hand it off to my son.
To continue the writing that I have started
As from this world I have parted.

A poet my son he will become
To reflect his life in rhyme
To bring forth beauty and wonder of himself
Which will take a never ending life.
For the last poem is like a kiss,
For one is born whenever there is a wish.

A poets pencil is his best friend
And a piece of paper is his canvas of white
To paint the words that have been unpainted
And to stir the soul and open the mind.
To bring forth again the smiles and tears,
That has been locked away for so many years.

And when my pencils have all been broken
And my writing pads are burnt in fire
I will then loose my poetry crown
As I will seek a higher power.
Where my poems will be written upon the sky
Where tears again I will never cry.

My tarnished crown will become my sons
To write on Earth what he sees best
To write during the day and at night to pray
For a poet, as he knows no rest.
For sleep does seldom ever come.
To the one whose fingers are always numbed.

And when his hands are old and tired
The Lord then will give him his sleep
For a job isn't finished until the Lord says so
But then never again will He weep.
And then my crown I will give to my son,
So the dream of ours, will never be done.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am A Poet

Iam a poet
ı was born a poet
ı feel that frommy childhood
why the storks
chatter on the chimneys
and nest there
their young beak black
their eggs catch cold in winter
ı am a poet
but sometimes ı am misunderstood
that upsets me
very
sometimes people scold me
why the hell you look at me
strangely
they say
do ı resemble someone
do you recognise me
ı am just a poet
ı cannot say
ı s ı t my fault
to be born poet
ı wanna write a poem about you
so ı look and try to understand
your attitude
why does this bother you
ı was born so
ı watch a little child
leaving her mother
throwing herself to the water shower
in the pool in spring
then ı ask the child to return to mother
cause she is looking eagerly looking AFTER
does not like a stranger
she does not know what a poet is too
and lives plain and direct
ı am a poet
ı wish
ı were not born so
ı long for a humble and simple life
living may be in poverty
cause understands me nobody
even the closest around me

poem by Metin Sahin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thank You Father - Prayer For A Healing

Father, first of all know how much I love you and appreciate you
in my life. Father you never leave me, always there to see me
through. This week Father you were ever present in not only my
life but that of my daughter and I thank you for what you did for
her this week. She now understands what I’ve been telling her
for quite sometime. There you were Father showing her what she
needed to see, giving her the inspiration she needed and filling
her with positive energy enabling her to go after her dream with
the gifts that you gave her so long ago. Thank you Father God for
always being present in my life.

Father I ask you to touch the life of a sister poet and her husband.
I know you know who I’m speaking of Father, so I won’t mention
any names. I speak of a sister poet who lives a difficult life dealing with an alcoholic husband, but you know Father she is
standing by her husband, taking one day at a time.

Today Father I pray for a healing for this man, help him to give up this addiction in his life, help him to see the light, to realize
what is happening to his wife, to know that he is going down hill
and needs to fight his way back into the real world. This man
Father God is living as you know, in a haze, so I pray for a healing.
I pray that you step into their lives and show them your power.
I know there isn’t anything that you can’t do, you’ve showed me
that over and over Lord, now I ask that you do the same thing for
this couple. She is tired Lord, tired of looking at her husband,
asking herself-why-. I’m sure this man wants to give up this
habit, but he doesn’t know how Lord, but Father with your help, he can do it. Father God he needs a helping hand. He has the
support of his wife and with your divine power and the blood of
Jesus covering them, they will find the strength to move on and
leave this alcoholic addiction behind them.
Father I ask that you talk to him, show him the way, inspire him to
want Jesus to be the center of their lives and to have a wonderful
relationship with you Father God. Only you can help these people Father, only you can tear away the dark covering and shed a bright
light within their lives. Father God, I pray for all others that may be suffering from this addiction, I pray that you enter their lives and give them a healing as well. I know you know best Father and
I leave this with you for you are the all powerful, the all knowing
and the master of the universe.

Thank you Father for everything you do, I thank you in the name of your son Jesus-Amen

Written: Sept.21/2007

poem by Melvina Germain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Envy Of Other Poets Greater And More Honored Than Me

ENVY OF OTHER POETS GREATER AND MORE HONORED THAN ME

Envy of other poets greater and more honored than me
Only shows how petty and foolish and unwisely ambitious I am-

Each is what he or she is,
And each is only one-
And no one is anyone else-
And better are many, and worse are many-

A poet should write his own lines
And mind his own business-
And take pleasure in the poetry of others
When it gives that.

A poet need not compare and measure himself
But rather simply be what he is.

Write the poems
Leave the honors and the praises to someone else.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Who Has Few Readers

The poet who has few readers
Needs the writing of the poetry
Loves the writing of the poetry
More than any recognition or praise
He may receive for it-

The poet who has few readers
Writes nonetheless,
For he needs and loves to write
Though little read and listened to.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Retrieved Poetry

Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
          Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
          Some have said.
          But the inspiration keeps coming,
          But the memory keeps living.
          Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
          It dies only if it is not poetry
          And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
          Some have said.
          Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
          And nothing more, until that day,
          Until we start thinking he is inspired,
          Until we stop thinking for the poet;
          He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
          So goes the argument.
          Even as we cut from the same tree,
          Even as we speak same universal language,
          You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
          We can never speak from same mouth.
          You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
          So goes the argument,
          If poetry is dead killed by death,
          If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
          The corpse should be in our front.
          We should know how to bury it.
          We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
          If poetry is really dead,
          There is cause to weep bitterly,
          There is cause to think deeply
          For the world has been stripped naked.
          For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
          At the burial we must remain emotionless.

poem by Chime Justice Ndubuisi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Be An Anthology Poet

To be an anthology poet whose work
Children hate to read in school
And re-discover in later life as meaningful and beautiful-

To be an anthology poet
And have generations know one’s poems
As part of the eternal canon-

To be an anthology poet
One of the few names
That has survived
When thousands of one’s contemporaries’ have not-

To be an anthology poet
To have written a few of the great and the memorable poems-

To be an anthology poet
To be what I am not
And most likely never will be.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Who No Longer Believes In Himself

THE POET WHO NO LONGER BELIEVES IN HIMSELF

The poet who no longer believes in himself
And writes on anyway-
The poet who is too weak to stop writing-
The poet who has died as a poet,
Before he has as a person-
The poet who may never have lived as a poet-
The old old old schnook,
Still trying to write a poem
And believing he has done it once again.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet is free

Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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