I Give Birth To A Poem!
I GIVE BIRTH TO A POEM!
I am about to give birth to
a Poem!
I totter, engulfed by the unbearable,
Yet sweet intoxicating pains
With razor-sharp edges,
Striking me blind
With brilliant flashes in quick succession!
The war-drums of pains thunder-dance on me,
Hissing furiously like venomous cobras,
And striking fast knifing their fangs at my waist!
Oh! that designated moment has just arrived!
The sharp jabs of its steely second-hand
Erupt in me massive pains of roaring waves;
I am immersed in the supreme brilliance of birth's brightness!
I struggle and wriggle at the boundaries of my intellect!
Everywhere in the skies of my heart
The simultaneous wing beats are heard
Of crowding and milling bird species
That shed tears of crystalline joy!
The Mother Nature sits beside me
With blessing looks and merciful hands!
Ha! haa!
I plunge deep down the depths of pain;
I give birth to my Poem Sun
At the heights of my fancies' peaks!
Hey! millions of winged souls!
Burst forth into rapturous songs
All in one voice to hit the skies in powerful waves!
I bathe my baby in soft drizzles of my silky dreams!
I mount the baby like a flower
On the soft wings of a gentle breeze!
Birds of every feather and every land!
Warble lullabies to my new-born!
Let your songs, as the first voice,
Bless my Poem-Baby
With showers of blossoms of songs!
S.CHANDRA KALAADHAR
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This is a poem....
This isn't a poem of one direction,
This is a poem about perfection.
This isn't a poem about who won the election,
This is a poem about correction.
This isn't a poem of getting it right,
This is a poem of standing up to fight.
This isn't a poem of being lost like a kite,
This is a poem about trying to find the light.
This isn't a poem of running tears,
This is a poem about chasing your fears.
This isn't a poem of love and hate,
This is a poem of destiny and fate.
This isn't a poem of the end,
This is a poem of a heart unable to mend.
This isn't a poem of cruilty and pain,
This is a poem of a thng i need to gain.
This isn't a poem of shame,
This is a poem of fame.
Thsi isn't a poem of the life i let loose,
THIS IS A POEM OF THE TRUTH.
poem by Tammie LilAimo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mary Of Magdala
Mary of Magdala came to bed;
There were no soft curtains round her head;
She had no mother to hold of worth
The little baby she brought to birth.
Mary of Magdala groaned and prayed:
'O God, I am very much afraid;
For out of my body, by sin defiled,
Thou biddest me make a little child.
'O God, I have turned my face from Thee
To that which the angels may not see;
How can I make, from my deep disgrace,
A child whose angel shall see Thy face?
'O God, I have sinned, and I know well
That the pains I bear are the pains of hell;
But the thought of the child that sin has given
Is like the thought of the airs of Heaven.'
Mary of Magdala held her breath
In the clutch of pain like the pains of Death,
And through her heart, like the mortal knife,
Went the pang of joy and the pang of life.
'We two are two alone,' said she,
'And we are two who should be three;
Now who will clothe my baby fair
In the little garments that babies wear?'
There came two angels with quiet wings
And hands that were full of baby things;
And the new-born child was bathed and dressed
And laid again on his mother's breast.
'Now who will sign on his brow the mark
To keep him safe from the Powers of the Dark?
Who will my baby's sponsor be?'
'I, the Lord God, who died for thee.'
'Now who will comfort him if he cry;
And who will suckle him by and bye?
For my hands are cold and my breasts are dry,
And I think that my time has come to die.'
'I will dandle thy son as a mother may;
And his lips shall lie where my own Son's lay.
Come, dear little one, come to me;
The Mother of God shall suckle thee.'
Mary of Magdala laughed and sighed;
'I never deserved a child,' she cried.
'Dear God, I am ready to go to hell,
Since with my little one all is well.'
Then the Son of Mary did o'er her lean.
'Poor mother, thy tears have washed thee clean.
Thy last poor pains, they will soon be done,
And My Mother shall give thee back thy son.'
Frozen grass for a bearing bed,
A halo of frost round a woman's head,
And pious folks who looked and said:
'A drab and her brat that are better dead.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He Walks Without A Poem
HE WALKS WITHOUT A POEM
He walks without a poem
There is no poem in his mind
No poem in his heart.
But the idea of a poem
The dream of a poem
The daily task of a poem
The justification given by a poem-
He stops and writes these words down.
All around him
the morning light sings songs
of the things
of this world.
A poem perhaps?
Perhaps not?
I
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He Was Born In Ussr
He was born in USSR
At the hospital there
At 5: 30 am
And that was the time that his mother gave birth to him
But I remember that she said that giving birth was very hard
And I can say to that
Thanks God that men don't give birth
Because I don't think they would want to go through with it
Knowing that there is pain in giving birth to a baby
But when he was 13 he moved from USSR to United States
So that he could get a god education
And a good job in his life
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Women And Poems
With as much pain as a human being becomes a woman,
That much pain makes a woman a poet.
A word takes a long year to be made,
a poem an entire life.
When woman becomes a poet, she is totally a woman.
Then she is mature enough to give birth from her suffering heart,
Then she knows how to care for a word.
You have to be a woman first if you want to give birth to a poem.
A word without any pain is fragile, breaks when touched.
Who knows more than a woman all the lanes and alleys of pain!
poem by Taslima Nasrin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everything Gets Reflected In Me
everything gets reflected in me-
the sky, the rolling clouds
the call of the birds and the sea,
the rustle of the leaves in whispering winds-
in the limpid lake of my mind
and their moods change its colours-
every fragrance wings into my heart
and every thought of mine soars into the space
to shine alongside brilliant stars and suns.
my laughter finds its colour in the brilliance of flowers
and my tears in the trembling pearls of the mist;
my deep fancies i dispatch to setting skies
my heaves of sighs to the billowy oceans
my anger is imaged in thunder and lightning
and my love in the songs of harmless birds!
-s.chandra kalaadhar
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life's Beginning
When does life begin?
Some say at conception
Others say at birth
For me, life began
The moment I met you
Before we met, I existed
Alive but not living
Then you changed all that
Simply by saying hello
Some animals are born blind
As I was to the beauty all around me Then you and your love opened my eyes and made me see
As in any birth, there was some pain
We both shared our pains with each other
Pains that would soon be replaced
By the joy of a new love being born
And where there is love, there is life
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Would Write A Quiet Poem
I WOULD WRITE A QUIET POEM
I would write a quiet poem.
There is so much noise in the world.
A poem to be read in silence
A poem to give comfort and rest
A poem of peace
Of mind and soul.
A quiet poem
Against all the furies and pains of this world
A poem of peace
Restful as the most bliss-filled sleep.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by David Carter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by Aisha Patterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Poem Has Feelings
This poem has feelings
This a poem of sorrow, hurt and pain
This is a poem of struggle, sufferation and poverty
This poem has feelings
Stabbing beats
kill my joy with a sad song
This poem will speak
This poem will fight
This poem is angry
This poem has feelings
Cruel thoughts run and rule my thinking
Uncognitive, unrational, jut cold and hardhearted
This poem has feelings
poem by Zanele Mavuso
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem Of All The Places I Have Never Been
THE POEM OF ALL THE PLACES I HAVE NEVER BEEN
The poem of all the places I have never been
The poem of all the dreams I have not seen
The poem of others poems written in lines I have never imagined
The poem of the infinite – what-is- not and ‘what- will- never- be
The poem of seas and suns and sounds and Shakespeare’s sonnets,
The poem of words and only words whose sounds do not mean what we feel
The poem of all I would not and cannot write
The poem that is not and never will be in me
The poem I do not write
The poem I am not
The poem lost
The poem which itself is not a poem
The poem of the last contradiction and the first
The poem beyond the poem hidden within the poem
The poem which will never be a poem
The poem which is not
The poem I cannot dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stay At Home Moms
To the stay at home moms (sahm) I must say
I honor you in every way.
I made my wife stop working when she got pregnant
Forty six years ago, and real love is what my daughter got to know.
She is there every step of the way and
my heart thanks her every day.
up in the morning at the crack of dawn
To change diapers, bathe the baby, change the clothes
And with the baby is where she belongs.
She is a woman with many hats, and for her
There is no turning back.
A mother, housekeeper, cook, and wife
Accepting all these struggles and strife.
You may not hear her complain
But when things go wrong, she is the first to blame.
We all may have a lot of food on our plates
And forget what they are going thru, but
Do you honestly think you could do her job too?
we may be the bread winners and struggle at work
But we did not have to go through the pains of giving birth.
Do any of you men think that you could hold
A child in your stomach for nine months
Of morning sickness, weird cravings, sleepless nights
And with your partner you would fight.
They could only sleep on their backs or on their sides
Would you like to give that a try?
They look at you in your sleep and thank GOD
For all that you do, but they need compensation too.
There is another hat that they may wear, when
They have to become the C.P.A. and balance
The check book so you don’t overdraft
And turn around and get on her ass.
So many hats and so little time, and when you ask
Them they say they are doing fine.
So to all the (sahm’s) out there with you this poem I share
You deserve not just a flower, a outside dinner
Or a movie, but the biggest THANK YOU
From our hearts, because in our lives
You are the greatest part.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Only Poem Is The Poem/ At The Moment Of Its Writing
THE ONLY POEM IS THE POEM
The only poem is the poem
At the moment of its writing
The poem being lived now
The poem I am trying to make
The poem of these lines.
The only poem now is this one-
And this poem is so small and so self- reflexive
That it is not much of a poem at all.
The only poem is not much of a poem at all
This one
And me now? .
But what about everything else I have not done?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Best Poem
when you plant a seed
in the ground, and
water it, work it, weed it
till it grows... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you make a baby,
waiting and planning for birth;
and you raise this child to adulthood
with respect... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you live your life
working honestly, giving
all that you are and can be,
never holding back... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
when you go to death openly
with no regrets, not clinging
to dreams that were not real,
owning no one... you've written
the best poem you'll ever write.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Winter Poem Is A Cold Poem
THE WINTER POEM IS A COLD POEM
The winter poem is a cold poem
It is a poem seeking warmth
It wants to feel a comfort
In being at home
But the cold is deep
And so dark
And the pain so rigid in its breaking
That no light can heat it
And no sun can thaw it
And nothing not even the bright blue skies of another time
Can make one forget it.
The winter poem is a hard poem and a cold poem
And the soul of that poem is as loveless as death.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is it a poem
Is it a poem
You are asking
And I am telling
If it is not poem
What is then.
Do you know
What poem means
The four letter
Poem stands
P- personal
o-optional
e-eternal
m-maternal .
Poem originate
From mother
And it never ends
Poem can be written
As per the will
As ordered
No grammer can
Give direction to poet
Poem is poet's personal
Property and its
Value is universal.
2
poem never dies
No water no fire
No air can destroy poem
No earth no sky
can entrap
Poem is above and beyond
Five elements of world
Poem is eternal.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Many Songs Have I Heard Today
HOW MANY SONGS HAVE I HEARD TODAY
How many songs have I heard today
While searching for a poem?
In a way the songs are greater
They lift me more easily in feeling -
But the poems however more difficult and mind-meant
Are my soul-
The songs belong to others
However happily I sing them-
I can make a poem of my own
And its thought will go beyond
What a song can do-
I am not singing this
I am writing it-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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