Eternal Mind Mystic
I am exterior student
sunk
beneath exploited
excess
of inspired words
floundering
upon raw boned
critical analysis
dusty
dried dated
second-hand imagery.
I am interior poet
intoxicated
bubbling
heightened insight
ascending
drunk
upon dimensional planes
spun web symmetry
benediction enveloping
blessed mortal human
purification dedication misery.
The dualism of literary
dissection vivisection
as opposed to poetical
verse mystic elevation.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
A literary affair
A literary affair
~
We dance in metaphors
A familiar verse
Seducing through lines
We wrap up high imagery
Pleasing the eye of the mind
We flaunt and tease
Play wicked games with words
We do as we please
Upon the pages of books
Where we throw ourselves
Into a casual comfort
We lie, play pretence
Say words were afraid to
All in a secret place
Found at the end of a pen
There written between each line
We are revealed, lovers
Fully entwined together
In a rich dance of verse
We are guilty of a literary affair
poem by Matthew Holloway
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On A Famed Poet
Forgive me if his greatness I cannot seem to note
His poems never rhyme but he is a famed poet
By literary experts considered to be knowledgeable and wise
And for his poems he has won many a prize.
Though poetry is not very popular today
The poet of the poetry lovers the experts do say
In University literary magazines students his verses read
And they all agree he's a fine poet indeed.
Of poets and poetry I must confess so little I know
My favourites old rhymers from ages ago
On the poetry I do not like most experts agree
That it is well written and quite good poetry.
Forgive me if the worth in his verse I can't see
His non rhyming poetry does nothing for me
Of reading blank verse I do quickly grow tired
My truth is by such stuff I do not feel inspired.
The experts on his poetry great interest show
And his stature as a poet only seems to grow
Of him great things are written and great things we hear
And good luck to him on his literary career.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sonnet: Thanks, Dear Poet Francis Duggan!
When sincere, honest words come from a peer,
Acknowledging a fellow poet’s work,
What joy afills the latter’s heart, Oh dear!
Would not the ecstasy turn him berserk?
The accreditation is charming too;
As words revered come from a heart of love,
And everything mentioned is very true,
I’m sure they’re inspired by God above!
The dedication seems indeed superb;
With foresight that a few poets possess,
The verse appears green like a magic herb!
I pray that God must Francis Duggan bless.
Oh, what a way to laud a poet’s verse!
So, thank you Francis for your poem terse.
Dedicated fondly to Poet Francis Duggan,
As a token of appreciation for his
‘John Celes’ at Web Poetry Corner
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-10-2006
poem by John Celes
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Poetical Injustice,
Poetical Injustice,
They say poetry is all the feign verses,
It's a lie,
A big lie,
Poetry liers and false prophets,
To write false feigned verses,
Maybe like poetic injustice,
The vices I hate,
Hate poems,
Never knew anything about optimism,
Poetical blasphemies,
The false samaritan,
The Jezebel,
I saw her here,
Telling me,
Poet is the lie,
This is a Blasphemy,
Poet came from the true prophets,
The Saint's of these verses,
Words are life,
To speak Poetry in parables solved the mystery,
Poetry in parables, ?
What was it's meaning, ?
It was written,
All about truths and lies,
Eventually written,
Now I see,
Poetry is the Euphony,
The enigma,
The Spirit of Realism,
Nihilism, all the diction,
Poetical Justice,
Taste's like a web on all hall that never fade or fake,
But increase with depth,
Depth of realness, Poetical analysis,
Lyrical genius,
Poetical liers got to end,
Tell the Stars all about these,
For my message will go everwhere.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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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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I Am No Poet
A poet... oh i am? , says I,
Perhaps it's what you think
Just mixed up words of life I cry
Like someone on the brink
Mere words assembled in a row
From thoughts a few of many
labelled then a poet so
Though none worth but a penny
I speak as though my mind should find
My head in quite a spin
With rhymes and verse a peace I find
That life could ne'er begin
That label sticks and holds me back
A form I have to follow
A fear of literary attack
Can leave my words quite hollow
So cast me not as just a poet
Sense that i am fighting
I'm more than that and you should know it
That's why i keep writing..
poem by Dave James
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A Writing Break
I sit and write
Literary expelling my mind
On thoughts and feelings
In words I sometimes reflect
Seeing my every image
My pretence of character
Both good and bad staring back
Between the lines of the page
There in stories made up
In verse I see captured
Broken up pieces of myself
That others may relate to
Its all a humane experience
Literary coming off the page
In poetic dedication
I sit here and I write
Feeding my obsessive addiction
Now back to writing
poem by Matthew Holloway
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A Poet Talks To Himself
A poet talks to himself
And hears his own praises
And does not believe them.
A poet talks to himself
And hears a critical word
And knows he is right.
A poet talks to himself
And imagines others are listening
And love his dreams as if they were their own –
A poet talks to himself
And in the talking plays
In many voices -
A poet talks to himself
And in talking to himself
Feels more and more alone -
Where are the holy listeners?
Where is the love which is not absurd?
A poet talks to himself
And prays he is secretly being overheard-
And wonders why God should want words
From a mortal so small.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Let No Colours Run
A poem for Skylar Kendall
young fresh poet radiant
light of future potential
shines through fine words
of your vision expanding
do not be afraid to rework
your vision in a moment
of sudden inspired inspiration
do not force rush your art
observe first two painted stanzas
are applied exceptionally strong
this attests your gift brush strokes
unique insight your own mind song
be patient mix relax words thoughts
will come control let no colours run
your gift is etched in eye imagery lines
real sketch your future potential radiant
poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Liking For Rhyme
My literary tastes have not changed with the passing of time
I have always been one with a liking for rhyme
To rhyme is so easy as some like to say
Though rhymers seem so out of fashion today
But I am a lover of ballad and song
And rhymes with a lilt that just jingle along
I loved reading the old rhyming verse as a boy
Something to this day I do thoroughly enjoy
Some literary dons refer to a rhymer as a doggerel poet
As not anyone worthy of literary note
From the Poets Club with their words rhymers they exclude
For educated people they seem rather rude
But I am a fan of good old rhyming stuff
And for many years now I have been a rhyme buff.
poem by Francis Duggan
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So that ideas of sort of relaxed symmetry have been something for years that I have been concerned with because I think that symmetry is a neutral shape as opposed to a form of design.
quote by Robert Rauschenberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The work of art, just like any fragment of human life considered in its deepest meaning, seems to me devoid of value if it does not offer the hardness, the rigidity, the regularity, the luster on every interior and exterior facet, of the crystal.
quote by Pope Paul VI
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daniel In The Diner's Den
Across our chasms we met
His arms covered with tattoos
My arms Anglo white - needle untouched,
As we warmed he told of early years in an institution
Where his words had moved all the girls to tears
He said it changed his life -
This realization that words could count.
I presumed to play the mentor.
He accepted the role as student.
'Who do you think is our greatest poet? '
He granted the grace for me to think.
After a while I reminded him Homer was a poet.
Then I sliced this Gordian Knot with the dated name
Of Louis Untermeyer's great anthology fame.
All of this as he played fuhrer to the menu
and jockeyed servings for four.
'Poets stick together! '
Skin and sex and a million other variables
Are best excluded from this formula.
poem by Bill Grace
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Free Verse
it amuses an
observant layman
to know
critical university
lecturers
opinionated
upon superficial
snippet examinations
using syntactical
grammatical dissection
methods analytical
could not cannot discern
discover key simple
poetic rules followed
free verse values paramount
theme impact over rigid rhyme
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The critical method which denies literary modernity would appear - and even, in certain respects, would be - the most modern of critical movements.
quote by Paul de Man
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Searching For A Verse
I am searching for a verse
that is somewhat different and unhindered,
of which the words are pure and without blemish,
that gives more light than a flaring candle
something monumental into which I do not press any words
but where it flows freely from its own accord,
where no political correctness hinders any ideas,
where I do not deviate when a great poet grind his teeth to me
a verse that pierces the heart of a reader,
that caries something of my humanity
and nowhere I can find it but to focus my eyes on You
and this searching is a funny thing,
a searching for a type of unique song
with an outer-worldly insight.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Speranza's Son
His poems and plays are literary gems his quotes popular today
A genius and a great poet with words he had a way
Incarcerated in Reading Jail he lived at a time
When for a man to love another man was looked on as a crime.
His mother was a great poet Speranza was her name
In the Dublin literary circles of her time she was one who knew fame
She gave to the World Oscar Wilde the truly enlightened one
What woman would not feel proud to give birth to such a son.
His father the antiquarian and gifted writer became famed far and wide
And as an expert on human diseases his worth could not be denied
But nowadays he is better known as Oscar's father the wit and literary great
A legend for the ages and one to celebrate.
The Importance of Being Earnest, The Ballad of Reading Jail
and Lady Windermere's Fan
From the pen of Speranza's son the renowned literary man
And though he died as a pauper in Paris from Dublin far away
Through his humorous quotes and insightful writings his legend lives today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Song Of A Rhyming Man
I love the sound of rhyming words like Dan will rhyme with Ann
And I could never be a poet just call me rhyming man
This modern verse too much for me it's way above my head
Though modern poets are now the rage and Rhyme is with the dead.
I love the sound of rhyming words, I love the verse that rhyme
To blank or free or non rhyme verse prefer it every time
And there's many who will disagree and most will say I'm wrong
But give me ballad or rhyme verse or good old rhyming song.
You may say I am limited and with you most will agree
That I'm not into modern verse of twenty first century
But I've been an old style rhyming man since nineteen seventy three
And I am in my sixties now and there's no changing me.
I love the sound of rhyming words like Dan will rhyme with Ann
And I could never be a poet just call me rhyming man
And I am guilty of no sin and I can't see no crime
In liking sound of rhyming verse and loving words that rhyme
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Woman Of Rhyme
She is not what you'd call beautiful though still in her prime
And to those who know her she is known as The Woman of Rhyme
In Local Literary circles not even one of note
As she does not fit the bill of the Modern Poet.
But the rhyme from her gushes and it races along
And in five minutes flat she can pen you a song
And though not classified as a poet her verse is not doggerel
And with her gift of rhyme one might say she does well.
Some fifty years ago she would have known fame
And her's would have been a great Literary name
But rhyme it would seem has passed it's use by date
And what's now seen as old fashioned was once seen as great.
Even the best of the Local modern poets seem strangers to renown
But then such is life in a football mad Town
In the pubs the names of famed poets and artists they never recall
Their small talk mostly of sports, footballers and football.
For what she is good at she is not recognized
But having said that I am not really surprised
since rhyme verse has long passed it's glorious time
And none to applaud the young Woman of Rhyme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Poetry Student
Wonder
is a philosopher
is a poet
looks with awe
upon all things
sees one in many
praises one,
delights in many
loves
reasons
wonder is a poet
Barely a year ago now
what was he?
an adult student whom I scarcely knew,
self-contained (and what
an epithet that is…) ,
a human being with a warmth,
a keen mind for profounder things, but
not burdened with over-education,
still an innocent guarding wonder with a hidden strength;
who turned up one day
for the occasional poetry session
not much to start with
but he kept at it
and then it seems that the Muse,
so much wiser than poetry teachers,
casting around for messengers
as she must, to tell her glory to the world,
decided that he just might fit the bill
and now he’s hers. Love,
and the knowledge of love
pour unpretentiously from him, with
a depth of insight expressed with simple clarity;
the choice of words seems to come from purest instinct;
beauty, goodness, truth flow through him unimpeded
very soon he’ll wonder just who wrote these poems;
the answer, as the Muse must know
is in the wonder. Yes, she chose right.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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