A Definitive Epoch
been silently reading,
a few of the top 500
poems ever written,
established over decades of time,
and the work of classical poets,
some centuries separated in time,
defining an unprecedented age now,
seems a task now, in thought to entwine,
this age is a definitive, epoch a period,
with implications stretching
throughout dimensions enshrined
an age to banish past tyrannies blind
poem by Terence George Craddock
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0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Moments Of Writing Poetry
Draft poems sometimes like
loose ripped off pieces of paper
to be drafted out roughly upon.
Draft poems hang around
in the strangest places waiting
to be written out one day.
Draft poems wait for a poet
to wake at the beginning of day
to be written out, in any
seized moments, sacrificed.
This is now time, shower time, eating time,
reflective time, conversation time, work time;
t.v. time, driving time, riding motorcycle time,
going to sleep time, cooking time, or any time.
Draft poems can only be written
in spared moments of seized time.
Draft poems can only be written today,
they will not wait for fair weather like hay,
which lays around waiting to be harvested.
Draft poems will not wait for a clear sunny day to dawn,
and then mature slowly, over a perfect golden summer.
Draft poems are ever now or never
if they are ever to be swiftly written.
A draft may possibly be perfected
upon any future day of favoured writing;
but a draft never written is a poem
never written, never completed, never known.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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An Apology To The Reader Who Has Written Me A Message I Have Not Answered
AN APOLOGY TO THE READER WHO HAS WRITTEN A MESSAGE TO ME I HAVE NOT ANSWERED
The real apology is not this poem
It is one by one
Reader by reader
Answering each one
Who has ever written me.
It is reading all the poems of others
I do not want to say
A ‘real no’ or a ‘false yes’ to.
It is opening myself
To perhaps a true friend
To perhaps one whose writing
I see better than my own.
The real apology
Is in opening up to the poems of the many unknown others.
Will I do this
Will I give it the time
When I already am guilty
Of not using my limited time
To correct my past work?
Dear Reader,
I apologize, I do not know.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In 1969, at the age of 19, I was lucky enough to work with George C. Scott in the definitive portrayal of his career over a period of many months and several countries on the definitive film version of Patton's WWII career.
quote by Edward Albert
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Me Far Too Much Foofaraw
For me far too much foofaraw
Your own conclusions on them and their work draw
Though modern poets and their poems in poetry the in thing
And their praises the literary critics sing.
I am not an up with the times man
And of them and their work I am not a fan
For I do love old fashioned rhyme
And my love for it goes back some time.
It gives me joy to sing along
With the singer of the old ballad or song
The sort the travellers at the horse fairs sung
Decades ago when I was young.
A beautiful memory I recall
Of the Millstreet Town horse fair in the Fall
An ageing Irish Traveller sung Burns 'Afton water' what a joy
For a nine year old country boy.
In the poems of modern poets too much foofaraw for me
Though with that many would disagree
I love the music in the rhyme
The poetry of another time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poems from heaven
poems from heaven come to me in my sleep
i awake in the morning and i start to weep.
for in my dreams i see the loved ones who had past
they give me these words which will forever last
you are my child which i gave to the world at birth
i did not know at the time- if and what
your life would be worth.
but i knew in my heart that there was a purpose in your life
now i am in a better existence looking down upon you
and the lord has shown me what you have to do..
you are here to spread the word to all the other poets.
that they could reach more people than they
could ever dare to imagine.
open up your hearts and minds, and let
your loved ones souls with yours entwine.
listen to what they have to say
for with their words, this world
will be a better place.
.these are the poems from heaven of which
i talk about.
and of this i have no doubt.
to all the poets of the world, continue
to spread the words that come into your hearts and minds
for they will be here way beyond our time.
.
.
poem by Louis Rams
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A Fate of Top Poems!
Past poets were remarkable by their poems only;
But present poets are made remarkable by others!
Poetry of the past are no doubt top poems ever;
But poetry of the top are not listed in top poems!
Becoming top poets how can theirs have no place
Among the top poems of the poetry list? I wonder!
Touch stone of the top poems depends on merit
But not by the supports of friends for fun ever!
Poems of lasting value only can become classic;
But poems of no merit also have become classic!
Poetry of the past are romantic and also classic
But poetry of the present are neither but modern!
What is the yardstick to select poems as top ones -
Just support of some but not merit and meaning?
poem by Ramesh T A
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The Real Poets
THE REAL POETS
The real poets are few in number and largely known by name
The rest of us are endless frustration in aspiration
Words upon words upon words
Dreams upon dreams upon dreams
Getting and going nowhere forever unheard
The real poets find their anthologized place
And we know them over and over and over again
The rest of us just appear this only once
If we appear at all
And our words and our hearts and our minds
Do not encompass and inspire the endless rereadings
Time and Time’s Wounds make again and again and again
We are once only always forever losts
Nothing will save us
These words too coming in the wake of a long night’s reading
Of the poems of others
Cannot sustain and redeem
Cannot be what they would be
Cannot help and cannot save
Me or you or anyone we love
Even as poetry.
God Who Knows All
And in the End Decides on Everything
Has made us smaller even than the Angels
And our place in the Divine Song
Is not as far as we know
Anywhere heard at all.
Goodbye world
We are going
We have done what we could
We have written and written and written
Oxymandias’ poet will remain
And we will not
The lone and desert sands will stretch away
When we are not even a single grain.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What Is The Next Step?
told my cousin Chris
i was going to out write
every past classical poet
this year (that was in 2011)
put an average of 100 poems
a month on line...
Chris replied with one word BS
that was April 16th 2011
needed to write 600 new poems
that year alone...
in truth i had already out written
almost all past classical poets
these great artists had often written
novels essays plays short stories
i write none of these marvels
i was merely writing my poems
next to catch on my shrinking list
final last magnificent seven
were on 534 Aussie Henry Lawson
master of plays on 550 William Shakespeare
master of lyric on 561 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
popular poetess on 571 Ella Wheeler Wilcox
all sing lines of fascinating allure siren calls
Nobel Prize Literature on 593 Rudyard Kipling
then months long lonely haul to cloud heights
Bard of the Yukon on 832 Robert William Service
crafted persona on then 1123 Emily Dickinson
all i esteemed in awe delight their literary heights
i kept my rare masterpiece best posted the worst the rest
ah sheer delight to think in verse to write to write at last
crazy never worked so hard later often worked all night
i had a focus a standard a bar a goal a philosophy of poetry
i never said what i would write would be good or what
i thought of what i wrote i wasted little time on interaction
comment was all locked self contained in verse writ
race was on half run those who can do love every bit
of creation imagination muse who calls cannot be caught
awesome to have time for that kind of inspiration
"but you did it? " "yes i did it, i believed"
although before i started it was impossible to believe?
Emily Dickinson published less than a dozen of her nearly eighteen hundred poems during her lifetime.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Deceased Poets Of Nature
Such beautiful poems to Nature they did write
The poetry we love for to read and recite
May they rest in peace now where-ever they lay
The deceased poets of Nature their poems live today
They glorified Nature and her praises they sung
And though they may be long dead their poems remain young
the poets of the land and the poets of the sea
In their beautiful poetry their greatness we do see
Their poems and their songs I loved as a boy
And their poems and their songs I will always enjoy
The beauty of Nature they did celebrate
And beauty in their words they loved to create.
Great insights of Nature from them we did gain
The beauty of their words with us does remain
We loved them for their poems in decades long gone
The deceased poets of Nature their poems living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Past Artists Build Build Build On
remember a previous American Literature professor
who believed contemporary poets could experience not
original thoughts had to build on classical established
literary works of past artists build build build on all
that recognized has come before bullocks pull carts
no no rage against such views conceited ripe parodies
be a desert in isolation
become an oasis of startling
thought manifestations
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Of All The Poems I Have Written And Forgotten
OF ALL THE POEMS I HAVE WRITTEN AND FORGOTTEN
Of all the poems written and forgotten
Are there any worthy of remembrance?
I go on losing my poems as I make more of them-
The same old story
The future calls
And the past is forgotten
And all futures
Become past.
When will I learn to remember
My own work?
To cherish it
As I do that of others?
Line after line
Racing into the distance
Of a never- to- be – known
And forever forgotten
Unreality.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This Is A Poem Written To Escape Doing Something Else
THIS IS A POEM WRITTEN TO ESCAPE DOING SOMETHING ELSE
This is a poem written to escape doing something else
Perhaps in a way all my poems have been written to escape doing something else
Some lifetime work I never wanted to do?
Some hard business task?
Some duty of life I felt myself not up to yet?
Some meeting some personal confrontation?
But this poem
A small poem indeed
Is written because I fear the longer work I have to do
Will not be alright-
But then don't I also fear this poem too and all the poems
Will not be alright?
All my life I have been escaping into poetry-
Why in my old age how in my old age
Should I
Change this now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Past Written Poems I Confess I Dislike
I have past written poems
which I confess I dislike
occasionally intensely dislike
when publishing most poets
will not include bad poems
but contrast can be interesting
juxtaposition of poems
arranged in selection volume
major poems great poems
will vary from reader to reader
who likes simple who craves deep
artistry from all forms may creep
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Zip of Zilch
He has great appraisal for poets
Neruda, Pushkin, Eliots’
Kalidasa, Tagore, Keki…
List is on and on
Reads on and on
Keeps a heap at store
Displays and describes with silky talk
I wrote a few small poems
Gave him for a read
Reader read and silently left
I waited for days together
Then someone said –
‘Silence speaks louder than words, sometimes
But not everybody listens’
Lightning struck
I gave ear to that silence
Tagore has written –
‘Man has in him the silence of the sea’
Learnt to respect the silence
Today I am happy
Writing and reading my work.
-vidi-
28/05/2009
poem by Vidi Writes
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Stifle not the reader
Reading is an art,
reading is a tool.
Those who think it dumb,
must be such a fool.
Reading is enjoyment,
reading is a blast.
Reading is a separate entity
from the future and the past.
Reading is done in present,
though written in a tense.
Reading is about life,
in surprise or suspense.
Reading is a place of joy,
full of hope and song,
Reading is a place I feel
that I truly do belong.
A trapdoor to a fantasy,
A world thought lost to us,
Reading is a place of wonder,
a place that we can trust.
Why read about reality,
when I can delve into magic.
Why stifle my own happiness,
with scenarios so tragic.
Stifle not the reader,
for it is their choice alone.
Reading is an outlet,
for hearts that turned to stone.
Lost Poems
When I was a child about the age of 5,
I wrote a ton of poems late at night,
I gave them to my school teacher
who thought they were great,
but I never did see them again to this date.
My mom tells me I became despairingly mad,
then I became really sad,
which then made me cry and cry,
so to make up for lost time,
and also before I lose my mind,
I write Purple Poems that really do rhyme.
That my friend is what you will find,
when reading Purple Poems from Christina Sunrise.
Written by Christina Sunrise on Feb.6,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Poetry
Reading poetry is my afternoon tea
It's my crossword puzzle when my time is free
It's my game of football, where I scream and shout
Reading, reading, reading; what's it all about
Nothing think I delights me so
A new poetress has a show
Or when a young poet man
In words takes he a stand
It's good to know, as the world's poets go
Tis strong and has force to show
That moments come, and they pass
Poets rise up, assume their tasks
poem by Midnights Voice
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Changing Dimensions Seen
Changing dimensions seen.
No retracting to step back.
Changing dimensions seen.
The past is gone and that's a fact.
Changing dimensions seen.
Changing dimensions seen.
A consciousness has been uplifted.
Changing dimensions seen.
And gone are all those flaws abhorred.
Changing dimensions seen.
Those bigoted with prejudice...
Find they've been dismissed.
And...
Changing dimensions seen.
Changing dimensions seen.
People sharing with a caring.
Changing dimensions seen.
And racists are considered sick.
Changing dimensions seen.
Changing dimensions seen.
A consciousness has been uplifted.
Changing dimensions seen.
And gone are all those flaws abhorred.
Changing dimensions seen.
Those bigoted with prejudice...
Find they've been dismissed and quick!
Changing dimensions seen.
Changing dimensions seen.
And...
No retracting to step back.
Changing dimensions seen.
The past is gone and that's a fact.
Changing dimensions seen.
That peace resisted over-rules,
And those who cling to hate are fools.
Changing dimensions seen.
And...
Changing dimensions seen.
And...
Changing dimensions seen.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Here now John Keats, I salute you
Some of your poems
were met with contempt
and yet above most
English poets your work rise.
Your words are deep and wise
and sweep past time
in eloquence,
breaking right through history
with magic and imagery
and only after death
your true honour comes.
Now famous are your name
and on first reading
“Chapman’s Homer”
I was convinced
to read Homer’s Iliad and the Odyssey.
Your “La Belle Dame sans Merci”
and “Lamia” are reflected
in my own verse
and here now
John Keats, I salute you
while your words
are immortal to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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