A language least spoken...
Its not just a cast of words,
a play of rhymes,
an irony of thoughts,
dreamed up hyperboles,
or a medley of figures of speech.
Its a poet's heart,
his only companion,
his muses, his love,
grave pain, agony,
a written laughter.
Its a poets mirror,
in which he shows himself,
his vision,
a sight for the blind,
his thoughts,
touching your lives.
Poetry:
Its though a cast of words,
but uncannily placed in a language,
a language with the same grammar,
but still; least spoken.
poem by Chaitanya Dorwat
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Never You
Over my decades of sojourn on earth
There is but a lesson I've come to
learn;
Is that you never, never, never quarrel
with a poet
For he takes you up, puts you in a pot
Season you, and finally, he eats you up
with his words.
His tongue is cursed and poisoned
Like a warring deadly disease.
DO YOU.. DO YOU.. DO YOU really think
That poets are as friendly like you think,
Well, listen now friend, let me tell
You a little secret about poetry.
Like philosophy, it could be quite
contradictory.
My mentor Mr. Taban Lo Liyong
Would say: poetry is not a song
That a lover sings to a love of his
He only wishes for a bite or a kiss
But yet, let us sit and ponder on it
Taban was right about poetry;
It is a science, with rules like we
have in mathematics.
Thoughts arranged in lines are
called poetry,
Nobody writes poetry,
You only utter your thoughts
With much love for the world.
So we can now say poetry and
thoughts are one.
Never let a poet eat you up
With his thoughts or his words
For in his heart lies an abyss
And a void, like we have in Tartarus.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Poetry cannot be translated; and, therefore, it is the poets that preserve the languages; for we would not be at the trouble to learn a language if we could have all that is written in it just as well in a translation. But as the beauties of poetry cannot be preserved in any language except that in which it was originally written, we learn the language.
quote by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Infuse Life To Fly
The poet can take particle to the sky
And may infuse life in death to fly
Vicious verse will declare him a sly.
As long as there is glow in the sun
Poetry will keep the lives full of fun
Lovers of poetry exclaim “Well done! ”
Mind your words are lovely dark and deep
Welfare of the human beings do keep
Lofty thoughts of no use if sigh and weep
Mind over words as mirror of your thought
Vision, mission or poison have wrought
Let your readers never feel thoughts were bought
Vice or virtue boldly mark your verse
Metaphor or similes utter in terse
Grand style with cynicism is source of curse
Let not take the help of sacred poetry
To prove right injustice and bigotry
It is poet’s poetry to show gallantry
Who is in the world to protect poetry?
As we define it – is the voice of God
Time fears absence of essence calls it fraud.
Farce words, lewd thoughts seem shocking banality
Ribald passion eclipses its vitality
Need tempest to uproot urge of new gen with agility
Display your thoughts of a fragrant vase
That soothes the mind glare smile on the face
Such sorts of verve harbinger of grace.
poem by Shujaat Hussain
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The Language I Feel Most At Home In
THE LANGUAGE I FEEL MOST AT HOME IN
The language I feel most at home in
Is not my own.
My own sacred language
Is my second best.
English is too great for me
And I am not like Joyce
Able to contend with and transcend it –
I write my small lines in the language
Shakespeare is the glass of fashion and the mould of form of –
I one more minor actor in a cast of many millions
Play my words upon the page as best I can.
But why mind and remember me and mine
When there are so many and so so much far greater?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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Poetry and Poet
Poetry is poet's inner world,
Churnings of Self in distinct words;
Poetry is not black and white,
Grey, nuances of diverse hues
In kaleidoscopic word-networks
That capture all formless clouds
In the deep sky of the poet's world.
Poetry is poet's outer world,
His expressions in proper norms;
Bare thoughts, his rogue fights within
Dressed well for the popular nod;
Poet's world, a messy snake-pit,
A burrow of rats, snakes, insects,
Fighting to spring in riotous words,
Filter'd for world in elegant words.
Poetry is never a judgement,
Sheer whispers from heart to heart
Beyond what words do transport;
Words in lilt and dance, poetry,
Links they bond, cadence they ring,
Makes a poetry, a true poetry,
A mirror of poet's inner turmoils,
His hopes and strengths in right words,
Indecisions he suffer, his deeper Self.
Poetry is release from inner cauldron,
Steams from within in guise of words,
Quiet flames of the inner hearth
That flared for long finding a vent;
Poetry, a relief, a joy of sharing,
Sharing the Self with the world outside,
Back to the source from where all came;
Poet is the priest, poetry, his hymns,
Offered to the world for peace and grace.
Poetry sprouts from the morass of soul
And grows out of poet like pipal tree
And outstays him;
Fleeting is poet, but not his poems,
Poetry is the poet universalised;
It sucks his thoughts, sucks his force,
Spreads outwards to enrich the world
And leaves the poet richer and strong
Like fire and good deeds always are,
How much you share, so richer you are.
poem by Praveen Kumar
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Let The Pendulum Swing
Let the pendulum swing.
Let the old guard surrender
It is a new day, a new world,
A new language I wish to speak
The language of love
May I have the words I need to speak my truth,
To translate my heart and my vision
To my beloved and his children
To all who come to sit at our table
Or walk with us through the market place
Or pray with us by the water
May I have the plain poetry to tell them how I feel
Or why there is pain,
If the answers are mine to know.
And if they are, I ask the spirit to let me share them
With a light heart, with laughter,
Wth no expectation, with humility
But for the grace of thee, go i.
May I know my innocence
Every moment of every day
May I be a child forever
Intoxicated by hot sand, cool winds, by love
By my own communication to the spirit.
May my aliveness always be as loud
When I make love, as when I cry
May I see my own reflection in the mirror
And smile
My love,
You are my teacher
And I surrender to your heart
The purest heart Ive ever seen
Today I give you everything that is mine to give
My truth
All my innocence
And all my heart
I am yours
Let the dance begin.
- julia
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry is? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
What is poetry is like asking,
'Why is the sky blue? '
There is no answer to What or Why?
but, in any event,
I shall try.
Poetry flows from my heart through my pen,
down through
its neb,
Like a fly struggling in the web of a spider, waiting
to be free.
What is poetry-who knows-could be as simple as the
morning dew on a rose,
children’s laughter,
a baby’s cry,
a mother crooning a lullaby,
bells chiming loud and clear,
the voices
of those that we hold dear.
Poetry is the language of the soul
It gives us the courage to afford life’s many streams
It expands our horizons to realize our dreams.
To summarize the above
Poetry is the Language of Love
Poetry is the Language of the Soul
Poetry is the Language of Life
over which we have
no control.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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So Few Words
That so few words could cut so deeply
That words alone could so offend
Cast not aside my love so cheaply
For wounds of passion seldom mend
That so few words could cause such pain
That words alone could make a man cry
And doubt if he will ever love again
Or ever have the courage to even try
That so few words could tear us apart
That words alone could a love destroy
Cast a shadow of despair on my heart
And take away all my love's joy
That so few words could end a love
That words alone could cause such tears
Falling like the heaviest rains from above
Losing you was one of my greatest fears
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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0396 The Almost Unknown Language
I like to think that
there's a language
which is unspoken, unwritten
except
on rare occasions when a poet
puts two words together or
sometimes even
a whole line
which haunts the reader
beyond sense, even
beyond understanding and
beyond beauty as perceived and
beyond truth as previously revealed
but good beyond hope and yet
not beyond a shiver of delight and
the poet has heard it
in the space between the thoughts
in the space between the words
in the silence between the thoughts
in the silence between the words
and somewhere very wonderful
two beings we've never seen
look at each other
and smile
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Poet is free
Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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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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The language with largest vocabulary
It has only seven letters
And has the largest vocabulary
There is no dearth
Of expression
For any situation or emotion
One same thing
Can mean a million things
King Solomon deciphered
Ants’ impression using this language
Indian mythology has it that
A much revered teacher
Taught all his disciples
Using this language
Clearing their all doubts
On any subject
It is not written
It is not spoken
It is not heard
But has in-depth meaning
And a lot application
It is not formally taught
As it has no syllabus
People pick up this
In their life paths
Some do not just pick this up
But, make excellent use of it
And successfully overcome
Difficult and challenging maneuvers
This language came into being
Long before the creation of this universe
Yes, it is not a just a global language
It is a universal language
This is in use world over
This is a common language
But often not used
This language has no grammar
No problem of spelling words wrong
There are no present, future or past tenses
There is no subject, predicate or object
As there are no sentences framed with this language
When used the person can still keep smiling
Often understood as a consent granted
Even the just new born is
As much as much eloquent
With this language
As the person who is preparing for departure
There is none to teach
But the language is learnt
The language is quoted as golden
As it can hurt no one
Much learned people resort to this
When they are to negotiate
Challenging situations
Some great philosophers
Teach their students
Comprehensively with the use of this language
By using this language
You are sure to win
Great many things
Use this wonder language
Effectively and appropriately
The language of silence
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Only In My Mind
thoughts fire
mind blaze
run on wind
words sing mind melodies
words sing song new images
dance in heart veins flow
words shape shift
into new thoughts
concepts poems
several are written
in time heart beats
wonder stirs anew
but only in my mind
where the beauty sings
sung sight meditation
no words given unto paper
no words processed on light screen
no words kept mind record
dart of honeybird flight
bats fly sonar night vision
wing beats of wonder
words released born free
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Poet Writes Of Poems And Poets And Poetry
THE POET WRITES OF POEMS AND POETS AND POETRY
The poet writes of poems and poets and poetry,
And the world goes by
And nothing is done.
And the sky- the sky.
Is it still above?
And Love and Kindness
Are they still deep in us,
Words or not?
Without Poetry the world does not exist for the poet-
But for others,
Dreams have other names,
And Music plays on,
And singing and laughter
Go on as the Beauty of Light.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Young Poet
Poetry was something else
written by others
somewhere else
and came from
somewhere else
but the poetry
which he did not know
called one day
in a language he did not know
so he put down words on paper
and threw the paper away
but the words did not go away
and he did not know what poetry should do
until he wrote the words
which told him
what poetry could do
for only poetry can teach you poetry
*
Gertrude Stein stood behind me while I wrote this.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ode To Poetry
Poetry is the best thing since coming out of the womb
Because if I didn't come out of the womb
I wouldn't know about poetry
Poetry's in motion like a freight train
Moving it's words through interpretation
By what we see from what one has written
It can be raw or it can have finesse
Either way it is art
The art of thought
And the art of language
Words speaking of twisted pains
And unraveling beauties
Forgotten love
Or someones duty
I must proclaim my love for poetry
And for the love of everyone else's
Because poetry is much better
Than almost anything else
poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
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Potential Poetry!
Love has no fear whatsoever in the world;
Poet does all by his love of all matters here;
Poetry is inspiring words of poet for all!
What's not possible by poetry is nothing!
Impossible is expressed in possible words
Making unknown known by poetry only!
Forms and style are poets own creations;
Poetry is ever new in expression of ideas
Inspiring all to be enthusiastic, enlightened!
Love of Nature, life, beauty and love poetry
Explores always deep to express truth new!
Poets are gods of Earth to men to new realm!
Poetry briefly converges all in a nutshell
As powerful as atomic energy in control!
poem by Ramesh T A
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In the spirit of Rumi - 43 - The Poet
And they often said,
‘O poet, as you call yourself –
why are all your verses
to your divine Beloved, full
of ‘as’ and ‘like’? ’ –
‘Her lips are like red rubies, or as strawberries’…
‘Her neck, as slender as that of a running young gazelle’…
‘Her smile is like sun after rain’…
‘Why do you tempt us with these earthly things? ’
The poet said
‘Like’ and ‘as’ are the keys to heaven, no less:
there is no language spoken yet by men
equal to the language of Her presence –
my truest poetry is spoken in the moment when
I look upon her beauty, but stunned to silence –
but how then to praise her, tell of her
to those who never saw her beauty yet? …
and so, I take those things most familiar,
most dear to the senses of all mortal men,
saying, is this not beautiful? And yet, beyond all this
her beauty, which yet comprehends all sense,
all mind, all spirit, all love, all lovers, is her love…
and even when I do not say those words,
but, silent, let an image come of her:
‘A gazelle ran wide-eyed through my dream; and I awoke
with the taste of strawberries on my lips…’
then, I know myself to be blest by her,
and yet, the image but a teasing veil;
this is her immortal gift to poets –
to know their mortal failure, yet
to sing to men: I saw her but in passing…yet…
now, I am possessed of her, and sworn
the Beloved’s servant all my loving life…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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What Is Poetry?
A language of the heart
Its touch of words immense!
The emotions it imparts
Bears truth, or some pretense.
However read, it connects
With a message there to show.
Of myriad thoughts or objects,
In poetic lines they flow.
I have no vain expertise
I just love Poetry with passion,
And my words may be amiss
But purpose there finds fruition.
Yes, anyone can dance
To the tune of Poetry!
Inspired, find there romance
Or friendship and harmony.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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