Hope Sonnet
I write all my songs, all my poetry,
Hoping I may be able to escape
Reality by means of symmetry,
In rhythmic schemes and with metrical shape.
I distort my surroundings in the glass—
Convex and past, covering my iris
Where the amorphous images amass,
Contaminating thoughts like a virus.
My dirtied spectacles, a petri dish,
Hold onto diseased cultures of fancy:
Glowing germs—cell stars made to take a wish
And transpose it where I might blindly see.
Then beautiful things coalesce and transcend
Beyond my imagined world of pretend.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Those' Images Made
People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made.
People love to treasure those images made.
The ones flowered to sugar without a bitter taste.
Those images glammed up to spotlight,
On a public stage.
But behind the scenes indignities can be mean.
Yet...
People love to treasure those images made.
And their minds are affixed to them to defend...
Every blemish that is openly seen.
Since people who love their images made...
Have not been conditioned on reality to feast.
People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made,
With an excusing of detrimental flaws and pain shown.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In Search Of Metaphors And Images To Express Yourself In A Poem
it is the expression that matters most.
it is the relational flow from the writer to the reader
the bond that is created anew, just like an ordinary conversation
one fine day.
why can't poetry be simple and direct? that is the question that poetry
asks
to itself, in itself.
the poet in us can be lost because of so much demands for the absurd,
this metaphor fits, this imagery is perfect, what is it?
you do not accept the sun and the moon and the stars.
cliches of their poetry. You do not show compassion for his feelings
of being abandoned
simply because there are no images that tickle your senses.
even if he jumps with joy, you do not relate to his joys
simply because the images are bland like
burger without the black pepper.
it is enough that one bleeds, one wants a listener, one wants to open
up to the world
Like a bud turning into a flower
(oh forgive this lousy metaphor
i am not a good poet somehow at imaging
at imagining.
Am not a camera.
My eyes are clumsy at details.
And my ears are not sensitive to sound of
beautiful words. They even hide behind my head under my hair.
And there is no compulsion for high highfalutin
Ivory towers of similes from the gods and goddesses of
Literature)
Why can't poetry be just an expression? Just that. A dialogue.
This one, this monologue.
It is enough that you write from the heart.
It is enough that you are true
(oh forgive me, can i be really
true to you? Do i have to be naked and tell you that i am beautiful?
Do i have to master the art of metaphorisms
to be your poet
for the night?)
Or is it that poetry is simply our hiding place
From this world of pain?
Or our chapel for our prayers
Or our playground where we can be children again?
I am tired of squeezing my brain in the quest of the perfect metaphor.
I have read what they have written.
I pretend i like them. They sound so well.
They must be poetry. Real poetry
Those that garner plaques.
Prizes from the jury.
Honestly, I do not understand a thing. Those poems of my idols.
But I read them just the same.
Hoping that I am in and be counted as one of the stars in those
Metaphoric Heavens.I watch every meteor that drops
to the ground. Their tails.
I am not a star. I am just a pebble.
And it is enough for me.
The poem says, just write me.
Don't squeeze your brain to have metaphors
To draw the images.
Just be yourself, and for God's sake if you have something to say
Just say it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry Means
Poetry means....
Universal power, which guides
the location of commensalisms to
the planets and stars
Poetry means.......
Traveling light-beam in the dark
To bright every field;
and light every - fold
Poetry means......
Correlated heart-beating waves
with the pulsation of the absolute
Abstract feelings
Poetry means......
Refined melting golden -sheath
In the crucible of universal -truth
Poetry means...
Percolating saliva by emollient lips
in the innocent-laugh of infant buds
Poetry means....
A dropp of happiness to the ocean of pain
Entered the cell as twinkling pearl
poem by Kulkarni Puttu
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Blinded By Shades Of Gray
Sometimes I feel confused and like my heart is broke.
Sometimes I think I'll find inner peace with smoke-
As I inhale the poisons and then exhale them away…
Sometimes I don't know why I think that way-
I guess because I'm blinded by shades of gray-
As I blindly try to find my way...
Sometimes I fly so high-
But the problems are still there, I cant deny-
Because eventually, I have to come back down to reality,
And that's one thing, From which drugs can never permanently set you free...
Sometimes I don't know why
I think that way-
I guess because I'm blinded by shades of gray-
As I blindly try to find my way...
Sometimes I think I'll find my answers,
At the bottom of a glass and I'll try to drink my problems away-
As the world around me blurs-
With bitter-sweet intoxication...
Sometimes I don't know why I think that way-
I guess its just my sometimes foolish imagination-
As I blindly try to find my way...
Sometimes I like to feel pain on the outside-
To mask the pain on the inside…
Sometimes I'll cut my wrists-
Sometimes longing just to end the pain and darkness-
With all this suffering inside-
Thinking that suicide,
Would be okay-
Hoping to bleed to death and fade into oblivion…
Sometimes I don't know why I think that way-
I guess because I'm blinded by shades of gray-
While I feel like the world is a place, Not worth living in-
In which I blindly try to find my way...
I hope its not to late,
To escape
This dark fate-
But for now, I guess I'll just have to wait-
As I long to escape the pain-
To never have to face it again...
But for now, I'll just take my medicine-
To help me forget this dark world, I'm living in...
poem by Philip Alarie
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A Muse for Me
My poetry doesn’t rhyme or flow
My poetry has no meaning and no feeling
My poetry has sex and violence written into it
My poetry cares for no one
My poetry is lost without you in it
Save me from my angry thoughts and schemes
I don’t want to be lost in a void where all write is uninspired
Become a muse for me, my poetry
poem by Double A P SS
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Woman To Child
You who were darkness warmed my flesh
where out of darkness rose the seed.
Then all a world I made in me;
all the world you hear and see
hung upon my dreaming blood.
There moved the multitudinous stars,
and coloured birds and fishes moved.
There swam the sliding continents.
All time lay rolled in me, and sense,
and love that knew not its beloved.
O node and focus of the world;
I hold you deep within that well
you shall escape and not escape-
that mirrors still your sleeping shape;
that nurtures still your crescent cell.
I wither and you break from me;
yet though you dance in living light
I am the earth, I am the root,
I am the stem that fed the fruit,
the link that joins you to the night.
poem by Judith Wright
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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Images of Time
The images in my mind is like my thoughts.
Expressing my thoughts is like expressing my feelings.
Words are spoken.All my images are broken.
Broken down into pieces, which can never be made into new dishes.
Those images of past.It takes time to last.
It will last forever for met to take over.
All those images wore my past life.
But it has nothing to do with my past life.
Those images can be forgotten.But not those people.
Those people who are in your images.Can be in a real image.
When you see those people in front of you.
You like to say 'How are you'?
If they say I am fine.Then you will think of those time.
poem by Yash Pradhan
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I never set out to write songs about the world around me... it just kind of came about as a result of paying more attention to things.
quote by Iris DeMent
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Are Here
You are here on Earth to
feel and transcend
transcend your emotions
to the end.
We are not here to pretend
pretend to escape
through pot, alcohol
and drugs like date rape.
You are at your core
a fact that you can't ignore.
You are energy, love and light—
why put up a fight?
Love on Earth is what you bring
so people can joyfully receive—
in this world of duality and density.
Look to heaven for love in plentitude
thank heaven for everything with gratitude.
Written by Christina Sunrise on July 4,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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A Poet in His Own Time
Who am I to criticize others,
I'm a poet in my own time,
my own place and my own world.
I just write what I see feel,
and hear.
My poetry may be different,
I don't follow the path
of other poets, but that's
ok, let them write what
they must write in their
own way.
All poetry is beautiful,
some takes longer to
understand.
We're all in this together
we write the poetry that
fulfills our needs.
(4-11-07)
I always feel more comfortable in chaotic surroundings. I don't know why that is. I think order is dull. There is something about this kind of desire for order, particularly in Anglo Saxon cultures, that drive out this ability for the streets to become a really exotic, amorphous, chaotic, organic place where ideas can, basically, develop.
quote by Malcolm Mclaren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: And This Is How a Poet Great Is Made!
This is the way a poet great is made,
From fire to the frying pan of men-
By sufferings! His name can never fade!
His glory reaches earth, also Heaven.
Without their knowledge, men help him to write;
Their provocations goad him do better;
All through his life, he struggles for things right;
And in the end, God frees him from fetter.
He blames no man for things that happen fast;
But everything is predestined by God;
He thanks his foes and friends and stars all past;
His gift of poetry is from the Lord!
And when a Bard he’s made, the world is dumb!
None can believe- his siblings, dad nor mom!
poem by John Celes
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A Dream of Us
I came to her house
On Mulberry Street
Hoping just to say hello
And gaze into her eyes
Of infinite realms of tenderness.
I wanted to share
The poetry of her soul
And the rhythmic music of her body
As well as the melody of her voice.
She invited me in for tea
Where we lit candles
In the living room
And breathed in the perfume
Of a sacred incense.
Every thought consumed me
To escape reality by mingling
All of my existence into her wondrous essence,
To exchange my individual aura
For a dream of us.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Fearsome Storm
to release the poet in you
get to the person you are
unleash the spirits in you
tear down the fence yoiu
have locked yourself in
commit all the mistakes
you want to - crimes are not
allowed but mistakes
yes you can
and the funny thing is
they do a heaven of good
to you
remember
edward Jenner's
misplaced petri dish
that turned out a
weakened virus
to save a million
million lives
it had started out small
and weak like a msitake
mistakes make
you stronger as you accept its
challenge to seek the
knowledge hidden
behind each of them
once corrected the
new findings sticks
so much easier
and stronger like
a weakened virus
that could take on
the stronger ones
for immunity to work
in the sky of every
lesson learnt from mistakes
is that luminuous light that
streaks across the mind to
hold us in delight
there is always so much to gain
from a fearsome storm
the crisp, cool and appetising air
that cleanses the lungs
and removes the jadeness
of the mind after all is over
there is always a light at the end of
each tunnel of a mistake made
and a misty mirror waiting to
be wiped clean to accommodate
the person you have been
seeking - you
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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I Wanted To Write The Most Beautiful Poem
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
The one beyond any music I had known-
The one which would reveal the changes
in yellows and greens
spring sunlight whispered to the trees
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
The one which would tell the stories of all those I have loved and cared for-
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
As a poem of Kindness-
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem
Of sublime and overpowering distance
Of stars when stars were dreams -
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem-
But I knew many other poems already written
Would always be far more beautiful than mine-
So I tried to write the most beautiful poem I could-
But the light outside
The world and its colors
The beauties we see and hear everyday
Said to me again and again,
'Walk more humbly with your God and do Justice and love Mercy also'.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Imagined
Imagined the world described as heaven
Imagined the world all is even
Imagined everywhere without evil
Imagined the absence of soldier only civil
Imagined a quest between good nature existence
Imagined people, place and body with no cause for defence
Imagined air, love, soul and all virtues show their face
Imagined the extinction of all the different race
Imagined we always praise him who live above
Imagined nature ruffs all calm like pure dove
Imagined that you are not imagining
But all this is happening
poem by Kemurl Fofanah
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Because You Were Beautiful
Because you were beautiful
The frost formed fingerprints, on window glass
As if to touch your shoulder, when you pass;
Or write in code, your name upon the leaves
So that it shows, whenever something breathes,
Because you were beautiful
Because you were beautiful
The storm left grayish teardrops on the sill,
A keepsake of the stillness it must feel
After angry clouds have left the sky,
And the birds and wildlife breathe a sigh:
Because you were beautiful
Because you were beautiful
This heart has felt the shadow of your grace,
Wherever loveliness has left its trace;
And songs I heard beside you, on the earth
Became the stars above us, giving birth-
Because you were beautiful
poem by Patti Masterman
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Dream World
We're not the stars of a Hollywood movie
So what's the use to pretend
I'm not so charming and you're not so groovy
You've gotta face it my friend
Chorus
Dream world You've been living in a dream world
Trust me You just can't escape from reality
Boy meets girl
Doesn't mean they're in a dream world
Here I am
song performed by by Abba
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Humanity In Harmony
so tiring numb
casting mind back
into decades past
to conform
to previous
liquid life lived
thoughts ideas
words emotions
past thought
to live
form thought
confined
in spectral images
ghost life
echo of who
we were lived with
seize power energy
potent in today
life opportunities
are waiting
for creation
dreams be born
shape better word
now tomorrow
future children
future reality
create a new world
a better world
humanity in harmony
poem by Terence George Craddock
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