En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Ponytail Poet

I’ve written many poems
Following the variously scattered and tattered
Paths of my life and thoughts.

I’ve tried to chronicle
Hopeful afternoon smiles
And lonely midnight tears;
I’ve tried to confront lingering ghosts
And banish fears.

I’ve written of childhood friends
And reciting prayers for little cats;
I’ve put together words
From conversations I’ve heard
About love affairs and simple cares
Like the current price for apples.

I’ve tried to find phrases
That instill bakery smells
And the joy of a summery day.

But if I could refine my skills
To describe more precisely
The fleeting moment of delicate beauty,
If I was immensely a greater poet,

I would write of nothing more
Than once having seen your hair
In the most exquisitely adorable ponytail
That has ever existed,

And everybody would call me
The ponytail poet.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Poet To Be

A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.

I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.

I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.

I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.

But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.

I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.

I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.

I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.

A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.

I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.

I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.

It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.

A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.

But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.

How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.

As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.

poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Ponytail Girl

Ponytail girl, twirl your hair
So that all may know
Your shiny flair.

Ponytail girl, you don't care
That people always question
How you wear that hair.

Ponytail girl, may I ask?
If your hair were any other way,
Would it be like a mask?

Ponytail girl,
I'd just like to say,
I hope you wear that hair
Just as proudly each day.

poem by Amelia Patterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Just A Poet

I am just a poet
Poems are my life
Words are the soul
The pen is my might.
Versus are the cup
From which that I drink
And knowledge is the bread
From which my mind is fed.
I live if just to write
The words that I cant speak,
For locked away in my mind
Are the versus to be rhymed.
I am but a simple writer
With a pen and pad in hand
Gazing at the sky and trees
To write what man should read.
I have walked many trodden paths
And down many mournful road,
Now I write about their tears and fears
For now they have became my soul.
I cant cure a mans health
Nor can I stop a war
As I am not much as I see myself
A poor man who loves the Lord.
And when I walk my last mile
And then I'll write my last smile
And on my pad it will show it
That I was but, a simple poet.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Wrote A Poem I Could Not Write

I wrote a poem I could not write-
And then when I tried to write it again
Could not write it again -

Poems written and not written
Words and more words
What do they mean?

Paradoxes and games with words
What do they mean?

If there is Beauty in the language
It is one thing
But words just to hear themselves think,
Why should they mean ‘Remembrance'?

Oh Words oh Questions oh Darkness oh Life-
Let me write myself to the grave
Believing at least
That poems too even when they can be written
Have their small unhidden meanings.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Your Poneytail

I really like your ponytail
Does that mean you're a horse's ass?
Did you have to cut it, when in jail?
I really like your ponytail
Do you wash it without fail?
It really adds so much class
I really like your ponytail
Does that mean you're a horse's ass?

Triolet Structured Poem

poem by J.B. LeBuert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

This Poem Should Have Been Written Long Ago By Someone Else

This poem should have been written long ago by someone else
They should have said what needs to be said
Clearly and yet beautifully
They should have known what to do with their words and their intimations -
But instead I old I tired old I I with the I I I always I’ing
Have to write it again-
This poem should have been written by someone else
The way I was when I was young
But even then probably it should have been written by someone else
Younger happier stronger wiser more courageous able to give and inspire others to love life more and make it more good and more beautiful
A real poet a great poet should have written this poem
And then it would be one
Even I would try not to forget.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Poem I Cannot Write/ Is The Poem Beyond My Own Poetry

THE POEM I CANNOT WRITE/ IS THE POEM BEYOND MY OWN POETRY

The poem I cannot write
Is the poem beyond my own poetry -
It is greater than what I am capable of -
It surprises in ways my awkward phrases cannot
It is complex beyond my simple simplicity
It has an infectious beauty
That demands to be recited again and again -
It lingers in the mind and memory
As a strange new beauty beyond anything done by anyone else before.

The poem I cannot write
Has been written will be written
By those greater than myself-
I have the great blessing
Of being able to read them
But I cannot join them
Despite a lifetime of trying.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I read another poet I could not understand

I READ ANOTHER POET I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND

I read another poet I could not understand
The metaphors racing one after the other
The eternal thoughts taking on a new particular dress
Words and more words
Lines and more lines
Rushing toward meaning and beauty.

And in it all my simple not understanding,
My waiting to hear words that would return to me-
My understanding
That only by my own effort
By my reading again and again
By my willing to believe
Could I make another poet real.

But do I want another poet to be real
When I am a question,
And when there are already others real for me also?

Oh selfish little man oh poor poor reader-

Write your poem alone again
As if no one but you will ever be able to write
The poems which are real.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Poet's Song

~♥ ♥ ♥ ~

I have read
Works of great men and women
Simple poems and stories
I also have written
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I love poetries
So too are stories
They are simple daisies
Filling my fantasies
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

It is my refuge
When in sorrow
My hopes and dreams
In my unknown tomorrow
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I am a poetess
With the dream of sharing
And with my knowledge and skills
Tomorrow, my dreams I will be fulfilling
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I and my works
May never be great
But I will never lose hope
In God, I place my faith
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

I will never surrender to failure
I shall never retire until I reach my goal
I will read and write literature
I will hear the cry of my hoping soul
This is the song of a poet
The song of my soul

~♥ ♥ ♥ ~

poem by Belleza Edella Marian SwanCullen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

All The Poems Remain Written Where They Once Never Were

ALL THE POEMS REMAIN WRITTEN WHERE THEY ONCE NEVER WERE

All the poems remain written where they once never were
The grass and the skies of Whitman form lines in the mind of Baudelaire
The trees and dark cities of the distance form single sounds in the heart of the poet who cares
Night is more than darkness and day more than an early setting out
Each thing influences the other and calls back its own origins and end
We are going somewhere we will never know whether we write eternal lines or not
Over everywhere can be heard in the morning light the selfsame sound that through the heart of Ruth burned the alien corn
Keats is not dead, and Borges is not dead and Kafka is not dead and Wordsworth and all those who wrote great lines are not dead
Poetry is the last first eternity of the living word
And those who can hear the sounds of others greater than themselves in their own lines know
We are all writing down this last poem for ourselves and no one else
Though as we go to pray each morning the minyan tells us secretly
All our prayers together are more than any single poem can be alone
In the grey long distance where no one hears any poem at all
God writes and rewrites for us all the book of the stars in which dread is no longer a name
And beauty bright bright beauty is heard and reechoed as more than we will ever be
God is the only Poetry in the End
God is the Only One who never will be dead..

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Journey Of A Poet

A journey begins with
A thought in our mind
Words are chosen and formed.

Lines of poem
Well Written with meanings
With words of emotions and expressions

A poet starts with
An inspiration of mind,
An aspiration in soul mind

With reflection
On our life experience
We start to
Compose some
Wonderful poetry

Expressing our innermost thoughts
With deep contemplation
To put them in poetry words

A journey begins when
A poet takes his imagination
To a place where
No one ever dream or imagine before.

A poet's journey ends by
Writing another lovely poem
And deep reflection

A poet remains
As a poet
When he or she
Continue to
Write and Share
lovely poems with the world.

poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

World of beauty

Before I meet you I believe that there’s a limit for the beauty

But when I see you I know that I was wrong

Because your beauty don’t have a limit your undescribable beauty

When I see you I see the real beauty a sea of beauty
So I try to write about it to descript it and I do write and write and write
And I look to your eyes and start remember what I write about this beauty
So I find out that all what I write don’t equal a dot in your beauty sea
And I ask the poet’s to help in describe this beauty and the all try but we all know that what we write and what the poet’s will write is just a dot
A dot in your beauty sea…

By Walid T Salame

poem by Walid Salame
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

To Be An Anthology Poet

To be an anthology poet whose work
Children hate to read in school
And re-discover in later life as meaningful and beautiful-

To be an anthology poet
And have generations know one’s poems
As part of the eternal canon-

To be an anthology poet
One of the few names
That has survived
When thousands of one’s contemporaries’ have not-

To be an anthology poet
To have written a few of the great and the memorable poems-

To be an anthology poet
To be what I am not
And most likely never will be.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Oh The Beauty Of The Poems I Would Have Written

OH THE BEAUTY OF THE POEMS I WOULD HAVE WRITTEN

Oh the Beauty of the Poems I would have written
The poignancy the pain the perception-

What Life gave in other more meaningful moments
Of love of loss of grief of understanding-

Oh the Life in certain times and ways
So much greater than anything I could say about it-

Oh the Poetry too at its best
Beyond what I could have written

Oh the poetry of the great233 poets- not mine.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Same Lovely Misery

Poetry is not my friend,
It is only sad images of disappointment,
A desolate history
I don’t want to believe.

But still, I have more tears
For a lingering obsession
That has already left
A thousand handkerchiefs wet
With prayers and regrets.

Through scattered verse,
I have called you perfect
And invited the world
To fall in love with you.

I have tried to describe
Your shimmering brown hair
Caressing your Goddess-like shoulders,
A mythical tall girl
Towering in my dreams.

I have swum in the tranquil pools
Of your seductively sad eyes,
And I have not lied
About what they did to me,
I was spellbound and mesmerized.

You inspired a desperate search
For poetic words;
I wanted lines of thought and rhyme
To offer sacrificial compliments
At the altar of the beautiful one
Swirling through my imagination.

You breathe in my poetry
Like a Mediterranean breeze,
I cried and called you Aphrodite,
Now I’m certain that you’re Daphne,
Forever running away from me.

Other women are minutely alive in memories,
Vague footnotes to my poetry,
I can’t remember what they mean to me,
I’m not sure they exist,
But you remain, even in the silence
Of the long months of disappearance.

I hope the man holding your hand
Comprehends what he is doing,
That his mind is racing desperately
With feverish thoughts for your happiness,
That he is forever in floral shops
Seeking out enchanting and exotic bouquets for you,
Bargaining with a chorus of angels
To sing your name in a mystical mantra.

If he fails and loses you,
He may become a lonely poet, too,
Describing every meticulous movement of his desire,
Seeing you in every feminine shadow
Dancing in his grieving mind.

Erica, I will not write of you again,
I’ll let my thoughts all blend into the universal,
Write my praises to returning spring birds,
Find flowery words for summery parks,
Protect my despairing heart
For the loneliness of hurting children.

But if you ever speak a word to me,
The same flood waters of this poetry
Will drown my soul again
With the same lovely misery.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

For Ammonis, who died at 29, in 610

Raphael, they're asking you to write a few lines
as an epitaph for the poet Ammonis:
something very tasteful and polished. You can do it,
you're the one to write something suitable
for the poet Ammonis, our Ammonis.

Of course you'll speak about his poems-
but say something too about his beauty,
about that subtle beauty we loved.

Your Greek is always elegant and musical.
But we want all your craftsmanship now.
Our sorrow and our love move into a foreign language.
Pour your Egyptian feeling into the Greek you use.

Raphael, your verses, you know, should be written
so they contain something of our life within them,
so the rhythm, so every phrase clearly shows
that an Alexandrian is writing about an Alexandrian.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

There Are Days No Poem Can Be Written

THERE ARE DAYS NO POEM CAN BE WRITTEN

There are days no poem can be written
Grief and worry frighten the poem away
Yet the poem lives hidden
For our darkest moments our loneliest fears
Too need their poetry.

Poetry is a way of saying all we need to say
It is our deepest feeling most deeply expressed
It is all we are
The whole of our being
In words.

When a poet dies
Words die
When I will die
All I am will no longer be able to write
One more poem.

How afraid I am in the night
And how dark in the early morning before I rise
But now that I am here
Writing this
A bit of hope begins in me
And I can dream that
When I walk out the door
a few minutes from now
A new day will begin.

How many days I have left
How many poems to write
I do not know.

It is not light yet
And the darkness is still here
But I will feel the morning again
This morning
Thank G-d
You have given me so many poems.
A few small words
help me believe
I truly am alive.
.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Have Written Too Many Poems Of Despair

I HAVE WRITTEN TOO MANY POEMS OF DESPAIR

I have written too many poems of despair-
Too much complaint-
Too much sorrow grief sadness difficulty pain-
I should have written more of hope of youth of love-
I should have sung of happiness
I should have been been a poet
Who helps others love life more

I can try now-

But can words of ‘will’ really be poetry?

It is when the lines come to the mind and heart
On their own
Naturally
That the poem begins to live.

Does this sound like a ‘happy poem’?
Or yet another lament for what I am
And have not been?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Write To Write To Write

I WANT TO WRITE TO WRITE TO WRITE

I write to write to write-
A poem must be more than a straining against Emptiness-
A poem must be more than making a name.
A poem should be food for the heart and soul and mind
It should make us feel the world with new love
It should make us want to live more and more
A poem should make us love life
It should be written for its readers
And not for its poet alone
A poem should make us want to be in this world
In greater beauty and greater love.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!