Literary Hypocrisy
Truly I say unto you if Keats,
Shelley, William Shakespeare,
William Wordsworth, Walt
Whitman and Edgar Allan Poe;
were having this very day a poetry
reading down at your local Walmart;
you would be running running racing
to hear every precious precise poetic word
with your tongue hanging out in an orgy
of localized literary
emotive appreciative
expectation yet great
rare contemporary
poets of future recognized statute
walk unseen unappreciated ignored
among you while you thumb
your nose failing to understand
all ages have artists transcendent
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
Great Poets Missed Never Met
Great poets missed
never met
never engaged
artistic in conversation
we missed William Shakespeare
John Milton, Edmund Spenser
who wrote 'The Faerie Queene';
John Done long gone but not forgotten
we missed Francois Marie Arouet
better known as pen name Voltaire
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
and macabre master Edgar Allan Poe
we missed the romantic poets
Shelley, Keats, Lord Byron
all dead within three years
of each others tragic deaths
we missed William Blake
“Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye”
we missed the lake poets
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
William Wordsworth who
quarrelled irrevocably parted
we missed Robert Browning
wife Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Henry Wadsworth-Longfellow
Italian Dante Gabriel Rossetti
sister Christina Georgina Rossetti
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Walt Whitman
Lewis Carroll who took us in concepts
‘Through the Looking-Glass’ allusions
we also missed Wilfred Owen pacifist
T.S. Eliot walking ‘The Waste Land’
Siegfried Sassoon slaughter survived
Wystan Hugh Auden a man of a lit wit
William Carlos Williams upon ‘a red
wheel barrow’ so much depends spins
Sylvia Plath into ‘The Bell Jar’ while
Allen Ginsberg stalks Walt Whitman
through ‘A Supermarket in California’
as he asks ‘Who killed the pork chops?
What price bananas? Are You my Angel? ’
‘We strode down the open corridors in
our solitary fancy tasting artichokes,
possessing every frozen delicacy, and
never passing the cashier. Where are
we going, ’ Terence Craddock they asked
me, but already I have passed on into
future flights of fancy, as I blaze past
Space Shuttle Challenger 73 seconds
into its flight; before NASA knew it needed
another seven astronauts, as silver molten
teardrops fall gravity defeated earth bound
while I stealth fly Iraqi skies dropping golden
phoenix liquid fire searching out peace signs.
Great poets missed
never met
never engaged
artistic in conversation
you missed William Shakespeare
you missed Edgar Allan Poe
you missed Allen Ginsberg
don’t miss Terence Craddock
smile on the face of the Tyger
disappears entirely leaving only
wide grin suspended in air memory
leaves stir whisper passing words
Camera Obscura vaulted dark room
collecting plate of poems bright sunlight
travelling through pinhole wickerwork
interlaced fingers creates circular patches
light cast upon the ground captures images
inner eye views Pyramidal rays thought
forms while Charon poles our poet friends
past black waters of death to alight in dreams.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Allen Ginsberg quotations are from his poem ‘A Supermarket in California’.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Of Your Knowledge On Poetry
Of your knowledge on poetry you wish me to know
Your three favourites poets Eliot, Whitman and Poe
Though great they may be I regret for to say
That on reading them you won't be laughing all day
It is good of you to honour their renown
But this evening I must say I feel a bit down
And though the poetry of Eliot, Whitman and Poe I even read as a boy
Their meaningful words never filled me with joy
If you wish to talk of poetry talk of something that's happy and light
Like the poems of Pam Ayres they are breezy and bright
Though she is one who is not seen as a poetic great
In her poetry the joy of laughter she create
Why talk to me of serious poets and their poetry today
When the tears from my eyes are not that far away
This evening I do need a good laugh or two
Something I cannot have whilst I'm talking to you.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Literary Envy
LITERARY ENVY
Not Shakespeare
Not Tolstoy
Not Kafka Joyce Proust
Not Keats Yeats Wordsworth
Not Hopkins Dickinson
Not Whitman
Not I.B. Singer
Not Hemingway
Not Bellow
Not even Philip Roth
Updike or Salinger.
Not any of the writers
Whose work I love and admire.
Not even the living names now
Who will cease to be
Names In Time.
Like the great mass of mankind
When I die
I will not be in the Consciousness
Of future generations.
I will not be.
I will be ‘not’.
I
poem by Shalom Freedman
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quotes From Poets On Poetry
** QUOTES FROM POETS ON
POETRY
The great Shakespeare in his ‘A Midsummer
Night’s Dream’,
Speaks of poetry as ‘forms of things unknown,
The poet’s pen turns them to shape,
And gives to airy nothing a local habitation
and a name’!
John Ashbery had always felt, that ‘poetry
all the time goes on in his head’, -
And ‘occasionally he snips off a length’!
For Coleridge, ‘prose is arrangement of words
in their best order’,
But ‘poetry is the best words in their best order’!
For Paul Engle, poetry is ‘ordinary language
raised to the N-th power’,
While for William Wordsworth it is a continuous
shower, -
And ‘a spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings,
Of emotions recollected in tranquility’, - is fairly
healing!
Shelley in his ‘Defense of Poetry’ sincerely felt,
That ‘poetry lifts the veil, from the hidden beauty
of the world’,
Making ‘the familiar objects be as if they were
not familiar’!
While Carl Sandburg speaks of poetry as, -
‘The journal of a sea animal living on land,
Wanting to fly in the air’, - as high as it possibly
can!
Robert Graves declared rather candidly, -
That ‘if there’s no money in poetry’, one need
not feel sorry,
Since there is ‘neither any poetry in money’!
I conclude with Robert Frost, who always felt,
That writing a ‘poem is discovering as he
progressed’,
Since for him, ‘poetry never had a pre-meditated
end’!
-Raj Nandy
New Delhi
26 Feb 09
(** The words of our famous poets/authors, have
been placed in ‘inverted commas’.)
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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The Lake Poets
You have heard of William Wordsworth he was bard of Cockermouth
And he truly was a great poet if that ever was in doubt
And with Southey and With Coleridge they became known as the lake poets
And they made the Lake District famous and some famous poems they wrote.
Robert Southey was a fine poet he was slave to poetry
And he was for awhile Poet Laureate proves the great poet he must be
And though he is not well known as Coleridge and Wordsworth's is a greater name
He tends to be under rated and deserve a better fame.
And as for Samuel Taylor Coleridge a name verse critics celebrate
His works were born of genius a poetic all time great
The Rhyme Of The Ancient Mariner his masterpiece and some say
Is even greater than the famous elegy of Gray
And as for himself Will Wordsworth his fame seem to grow and grow
He has fifty times as many readers nowadays as he had one hundred years ago
When one talks of poets and poetry Wordsworth's name can't be left out
A testimony to the greatness of the Bard of Cockermouth.
Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth geniuses all three
Their names inscribed in glory and poetic history
They lived in the Lake District that beautiful English country side
And due to the fame of these men the Lake District is known World wide.
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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Cant Stop Running
Time marches on
I learn to crawl, I learn to walk
You couldnt stop me from running
Stop me from running
Before I heard my name
Before I learned to talk
I knew I was running to something
Running to something
Into the arms of my god
Time marches on
And I awaken to the world
And Im still running to something
Running to something far away
Unseen by the others in the herd
Im only running to something
Running to something
Into the arms of my dream
I cant stop running
I cant stop running
I have a vision of myself breaking the finish line string
I still can hear it
This dream is calling
So Ill keep running
Time marches on
I start to trip, I start to fall
And now Im running from something
Running from something on my tail
Cant turn to look, cant hear the call
Im only running from something
Running from something
Running in fear I will fail
Meanwhile
Time marches on and on
And the strength to run may soon be gone
Now I watch the young ones coming
And its on their legs Im running
Into the arms of my god
Can you hear it? can you hear it?
Feet dont fail me now
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Lost The Music Of My Poetry
I LOST THE MUSIC OF MY POETRY
I lost the music of my poetry
I tried to hear it again
In old lines of my own,
Or in the lines of more musical poets-
Tehillim and Kohleth
Stevens and Keats, Hopkins Wordsworth and Dickinson-
Shakespeare-
But I heard no music of my own
Perhaps I have never really had
A music of my own.
Perhaps all I have had
Is what I have here-
Short lines of prose
Which also have their rhythm-
But are not true poems
And certainly do not sing together
As my soul would.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poets of Great Renown
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
and William Wordsworth were
eighteenth-nineteenth Century
British Poets of renown...
they collaborated in fine
lyrical ballad style, both
loving the rhythm and rhyme
of Shakespeare, his sonnets
and his plays.
In seventeen ninety six
Wordsworth and Coleridge met,
becoming 'poetry' friends,
but sadly with time their
friendship ended.
I quote just four lines from their
lengthy poem of imagination..
The Ancient Mariner.
'He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small
For the dear God who loveth us
He made ~ and loveth all'
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Our Poetry Critics
Our poetry critics ageing males on saturday evenings from six to nine
Meet at the literary room of the Lions Club to do what suits them fine
To talk of poetry and poets each to their point of view
Though they agree on one thing that good poets only few.
Well educated gents of course and they could not be rude
But contemporary rhyme poets only poetasters and them they exclude
From their talk of poets and poetry and in their literary knowledge they take pride
And who is or who is not a poet seems their right to decide.
They never talk about bush poets such verse they see as slipshod
And they see them as the children of the lesser poetry god
And for their years in Uni they have their degrees to show
And of poets and of poetry so much they think they know.
To them a poem is not a poem unless it reads like prose
And a ballad different from true verse as a weed is from a rose
And true poets only write for the privileged few that's what they do imply
And never for the ordinary, people like you and I.
Our poetry critics at the Lions they meet on saturday
And who is a good poet and what is a good poem each like to have their say
And if you wish to become a member of their club you must have your Uni Degrees
For if not to them you are not qualified for to talk about poetry.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Breathe Happy
optimism is not rare
it just has rare causes
sometimes we choose to wake up happy in the morning
sometimes it feels so good not to look for reasons
so what if you won't have him?
smile and let the Sun know you're inlove..
it doesn't matter, all the sadness is behind
life is beautiful enough just for looking up
and running in the street for no reason
running fast and enjoying the cold air racing against your face
and if you still dream of him running with you
think that he breathes the same air...
poem by Cristina Geanta
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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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Who Is Now Reading This?
count yourself blessed
if you are reading this?
you are the rare few
who actually read others' poetry
nobody is serious about other people's life anyway
poetry reading is being noosy
an orphan in an alleyway
tries to look for a
home sweet home
count yourself doubled blessed
if you fully understand any poem
for poets write for themselves
if a poet says he writes for others
he is probably a liar
after money probably
count yourself blessed for having learnt this
for among the millions of poets
there are poets in lost alleys
trying to find a piece of themselves
the lane that runs to treasures of heart and mind
verses springing from the sanctity of the soul
many slip on the make belief lane
throwing words, phrases helter skelter
a child that tries to plant fiction in non fiction
offering honorable readers
a half baked cake nobody would take
the heaven sounds out the genius though
each of his word gets you revved up
each of the words offers a
a spectacle into real sights, sounds, tastes
and smells
the honorable readers know the fakes
from the real - just so instinctively
real words never lie
the diamond detector never fails
inspired by
Who Is Now Reading This?
May-be one is now reading this who knows some wrong-doing of my past
life,
Or may-be a stranger is reading this who has secretly loved me,
Or may-be one who meets all my grand assumptions and egotisms with
derision,
Or may-be one who is puzzled at me.
As if I were not puzzled at myself!
Or as if I never deride myself! (O conscience-struck! O self-
convicted!)
Or as if I do not secretly love strangers! (O tenderly, a long time,
and never avow it ;)
Or as if I did not see, perfectly well, interior in myself, the stuff
of wrong-doing,
Or as if it could cease transpiring from me until it must cease.10
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Amazing Joyce
On such rare and marvellous talent how can one put a price
She surely is amazing the one and only Joyce
She has tried every form of poetry one must say with success
And to lovers of poetry Worldwide she brings great happiness.
The marvellous Joyce Hemsley a poetic legend of our time
The internet queen of haiku and senryu and the internet queen of rhyme
Six thousand poems to her name she just goes on and on
One cannot say about her that her better days are gone.
In every one of her poems one can detect her poetic voice
The poet for all Seasons is the amazing Joyce
What can be said about her that has not been said before
Six thousand poems to her name and from her expect many more.
She waves the literary banner for England a true poetic great
The amazing poet from Sunderland we ought to celebrate
A legendary online poet by example she leads the way
And surely a great mentor to all young poets of today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Town Poets
They have the ticket draw for the football club
But never a poets hour at the local pub
'Twould seem that cricket and football are the in thing
And horse racing at the back end of the Spring
But of course the Town poets have their own poetry night
On saturday evenings at the bowling club rooms their poems they recite
The local lovers of poetry their night out enjoy
To watch local favourite poets such as Rina, Kate and Roy
Reciting their poetry and strutting their stuff
It cannot be said of them not quite good enough
Quite talented poets the tops of the Town
Young poets in their thirties who dream of renown
And recite their poems in the rooms of the bowling club
Whilst it's a different scene at the Town's biggest pub.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Pig's-Eye View Of Literature
The Lives and Times of John Keats,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, and
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron
Byron and Shelley and Keats
Were a trio of Lyrical treats.
The forehead of Shelley was cluttered with curls,
And Keats never was a descendant of earls,
And Byron walked out with a number of girls,
But it didn't impair the poetical feats
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley and Keats.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Running...
Running4Christ.
Running to race.
Running to live.
Running to stay fit.
Running to find myself.
Running to save lives.
Running to heaven.
Running for Christ.
Running for faith.
Running for Love.
Running for God.
Running for Life.
Running for Records
Running for Russia.
Running Till The End..
poem by Joseph Fuller
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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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Prior to Wordsworth, humor was an essential part of poetry. I mean, they don't call them Shakespeare comedies for nothing.
quote by William Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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