Above the Poets Station
You’re a poet, as they say
All you write is poetically full of art
Wince when you read your stuff
As from literacy you stand apart
Such great depiction, fiction
wordplay and poet structures
Diction, contradiction, dead
good words and writing such as
Ballads, salads and other kinds
of verses with great meaning
Acrostic, Agnostic and all other
words that see you preening
Rhyming, timing and all the stuff
that makes you look artistic
Hard to read and nothing
really makes your stuff simplistic
Excreta, meter, rhyming
All about your brother Peter
Verses with great timing
all with just a single rhyme repeater
Arty words but never farty
Dressed up in a dictionary ‘bonnet’
Time for wordsmith party
Can you find a rhyme for this – yes Sonnet!
Who was it that wandered
all around as lonely as a cloud?
Are clouds lonely? Verily it’s pondered
Do they seek your friendship in a crowd?
I.Q, Haiku, do your readers even like you?
Tanka w****er, you’re so on the ball
So pretentious’ does that saying ever strike you
Jack of all trades master of sod all
You’re a poet, as they say
and all you say is poetically full ofshit
Read up or down, I’m pretty sure
you’ll never find much sense in it
Though some was meant!
poem by Stephen Stirk
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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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Most Of The So Called Literary Experts
Most of the so called literary experts are dismissive of rhyme
They say 'tis the poetry of a long gone time
Yet the poets that they laud the poems they do write
Cannot be put to music and are hard to read and recite
The rhymer of today is not looked on as a poet
Or is not seen as one worthy of literary note
By the so called literary experts with literary degrees
Though their judgement on what is or is not poetry not everyone does please
They never will convince the old style rhyme buff
To him or her well written rhyme is not throw away stuff
In well written rhyme are the words to a song
And good rhyming poetry to music belong
Yet the degreed literary experts who on poetry like to have their say
Dismiss rhyming poets and their poetry as of yesterday.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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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
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A Poet Of Our Time
He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Poet Of Our
He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Old Rhyming Poet
In his early eighties his best days long gone
But the gray haired old poet he keeps penning on
Though many see him as of another time
Sixty years as a poet and still writing in rhyme.
Though not seen as a mentor to the young poets of the town
He once was the Regional Poet Laureate and he knew of renown
When rhyme it was popular a long time ago
And his hair was as dark as the wing of a crow.
Not hard to tell he's known a far better day
The old rhyming poet that the years have left gray
It has been more than five decades since he was in his prime
Eventually we all become victims of time.
In time as in life few things do seem to last
And verses that rhyme are now seen as of the past
But to him to stop writing would be living a lie
And he will be a poet till the day that he die.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Diary of a Nine Day Poet
Today (Day 1) I writed stuff I thort was pritty neet
I wanna do this poet shit, so that I can complete
Today (Day 2) I wroted tings I thawt was really neat
I one ta do these poem stuff just so I can compete
Today (Day 3) I wroted down some things I thawt was neat
I want to do some poet stuff just so I can compete
Today (Day 4) I wrote some things I thought was pretty neat
I want to do some poetry just so as I’ll compete
Today (Day 5) I’ve written things I think are fairly neat
I want to write poetically so that I can compete
Today (Day 6) I’m writing verse that is a poets treat
Expressing so poetically; you really can’t compete
Today (Day 7) One is just the best that one can be
I’m thinking other lesser folk should focus just on me
Today (Day 8) I give critique whilst looking down my nose
“One shouldn’t stand illiteracy – Does really one suppose”
Today (Day 9) Ones course is done, one writes on this and that
One’s still unread but now one wears a cloak and silk cravat
poem by Stephen Stirk
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I Like The Rhymes
I like the rhymes of the old fashioned rhymers the men and women of ballad and song
One can sense the rhythm and music in their verses to the bardic tradition they belong
Though in the twenty first century seen by many as out of fashion reading the rhyming stuff I still enjoy
Easy to understand not esoteric I've loved them since I was a school going boy
I cannot claim to be a judge of poetry since I'm not one with literary degrees
I just like rhyming stuff with lots of rhythm perhaps I am an easy one to please
The stuff quite popular in the nineteen fifties now seen as doggerel since the death of rhyme
What's fashionable now in ten years may seem outdated suppose that everything does have it's time
I loved the rhyming poems of my schooldays though that was years ago and far away
Perhaps I'm behind the times in my thinking since I enjoy reading old rhymes today
But then 'tis our different ways that makes us more interesting if we all thought the same how boring we would be
For it surely would be the death of discussion if everyone on all things did agree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The literary life
We went to the house
of Afrikaans poetry together
on weekends and spent hours there
and listened to the master lecture
and met some poet friends
around a table
with a drink or two.
Sometimes the poetry was Afrikaans,
English, Dutch or even German
and we learnt form poets
around the globe.
We discussed what we had
just learned,
asked about his views
of certain things,
or what people in the group think,
discussed poetry, life,
sometimes even politics
and philosophy
as individuals of a group.
We read our poems,
listened to other poets,
reading their own,
analysed every word, every line
comprehending meaning, impact
and sharpened our art.
Your poetry was really great,
from when I read the very first line,
but mine had still to grow
from rhyme into free verse.
At times I hated comments
that forced me to move,
but realized that it was meant
with great goodwill
and even though I was in pain
I sharpened my verse
and free verse brought
a clearer ear, making it
much easier to write
great rhyme.
Now that I had to leave Pretoria,
weekends I really miss
that great writing school,
new poems from great poets,
learning something there,
experiencing poetry at its core,
lectures from that great master
and verses of his own,
but much more
your poems.
poem by Gert Strydom
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0007: 2007 - Year Of Revolting Poets
2007, he said, was a memorable year for poetry.
A world conference of poets held
somewhere NewMex way, came to the view
that the rhyming dictionary put altogether too
great a stricture on the structure
of verse, and worse;
it was time, for rhyme
(which came back into fashion
that year with a passion)
to be more relevant,
less of a white elephant;
so
all poets who
wrote in English
(including Strine)
were asked to define
what words should be allowed appropriately to rhyme.
It took a little time;
since they couldn’t agree about basic words
(some felt that ‘ words’ shouldn’t even rhyme with ‘turds’,
they thought that any such ditty
would be shitty;
some thought that such a possibility of rhyme was crap,
and would lead to poetic mishap)
So, first things first, what would be appropriate
to rhyme with love?
(which of course some pronounced luv,
others, lurve) :
some felt that rhyming it with ‘above’
had just a smidgen
of politically inappropriate reference to religion…
* * *
The whole idea was well meant
but you can see just how it went –
it took until 3006
even just to fix
after long debate upon it,
fourteen rhyming words to cover one suitable sonnet
by which time
those celebrated poets who did or didn’t rhyme,
while English tended to vanish,
were writing in Spanish
or Chinese;
bringing American-language poetry to its knees.
then vowelless txt
became the nxt
style
for a while
(which left poetry weakened,
bcs t cdnt b spknd) …
* * *
But I’ll have to cease this sorry tale;
I’ve a Hallmark card I need to mail.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Shadows
the poet in Rumi says
with a hint of regrets,
'it is against nature.
my work is private stuff,
shadows the sun
its precusor's never
meant to penetrate.
my poetry is to be read
when I am dead, when
readers could sprinkle
some lights onto shadows
that trail along the verses.'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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If You Are a Poet
If you are a poet it means so much
as others souls you often touch.
Your own soul you cruelly cut
petting the others with your blood.
To be a poet means to sing of beauty
and it’s the main poet’s duty.
Rhyming the words to tell the truth
and it has to be quite smooth.
To be a poet means to burn with passion,
to treat the others grief with a compassion,
to love the others as yourself,
to hear the voice of kind elf.
To be a poet means to dream,
to tell the world a touching theme,
to speak sincerely and frankly
but not just rhyming poems blankly.
Rhyming words is not the main,
there’s no need to strain your brain.
If your heart has nothing to tell
rhymed words will look like hell.
To be a poet means to write
as if your blood gushes from vein,
to write the rhythm of living breath,
the rhythm of life that seethe.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
30/9 2010
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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A Message Here For All You Poets
The love poet writes of lovely things like true love and flowers in bloom
And the roses in the poet's garden scent of a sweet perfume
And the gentle hearted applaud him saying what a marvellous poet
He surely is a child of God and one worthy of note.
The love poet writes of love of God and the God fearing say
He's a fine poet one of the best love and respect to God he pay
He hear no evil speak no evil only write of God and love
And there's a place reserved for him in God's Kingdom up above.
The social issues poet writes of the poor and few his verses read
They say he writes such morbid stuff sob stories we do not need
He keeps highlighting the downtrodden and those in poverty
He ought to put more trust in God and in Humanity.
A message here for all you poets don't write of the downtrod
But write of affairs of your heart and write of your love of God
And some will say how great you are and your praises they will sing
And they will pay respect to you and call you their Poetic Queen or King.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Poet Tried To Shackle My Words
A poet tried to shackle my words,
as if from every poem
the message was stripped,
as if nowhere there was any mastery
of rhythm and sound to be found
as if I had sold my soul
to masses of people reading my verses,
as if I live in disrespect
to the expertise that a great poet
displays in his work
as if every line of mine
was just a wild cacophony
that I had flung together
in a utter hurry
to shower down on crowds of people.
Yet I while I swam against a tempest sea,
sticking to the truth and integrity,
trying to find answers to life’s mysteries
and problems
trying to expose injustice and oppression
there was boasting about a elitis clique
that totally excludes me
but they were going along the path
of political correctness and maybe indifference,
being far too scared to ruffle some feathers,
writing verses sixty times over and over
before they were becoming poems somehow,
before their words were catching some magic
believing that a great poem,
is like a jigsaw puzzle,
that you have got to unravel
with a dictionary,
where simple words can fuse together
with a own type of magic,
lacking in the ability
to find poetry in ordinary things,
to create poetry in lines
that by themselves fuses together
to create something great
but my words kept on coming,
falling into lines,
as if designed by a divine presence
and by themselves fused
into much deeper meaning
than I could find with my own abilities.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Words
Yeats so simply stated
' Words alone are certain good. '
And to the great poet
So highly rated
I try to listen, as I should; Yet
Being an untrained novice
Such as me
With verdant hopes of much improvement
- oh that I would -
I beg to slightly differ with W. B.
And offer here my humble opinion
- if I could -
Good certainly is not words alone,
For without humanity
To read and to write
How would they ever become known?
- For without the good of people
Who of these words would care
Ever to be heard, or even shared?
No, the good does not alone from words arise,
Rather from human beings
Whose entire story
Such words do attempt to comprise.......
- Words written in this time
May even the way
To a distant future find,
But not on their own
And never alone.
For it takes people's
- hand's to write
- eye's to read
- heart and soul to understand
The purpose, and the need.
Let it here be shown
Words alone
Are not the only good,
They need human beings
To give goodness and life
To their reason and meaning
For they are merely the vehicle
By which man's true good
Is found and understood.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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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
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Where the flute lets out its song
a real poet means
even the mistakes
between the verses
will not douse the
eagerness to read you
even when you do not
write out full sentences
and place dashes, moon
and stars between your words
because between the lines
are jewels to dazzle the readers' mind
notches and keyholes the
smart flute lets out its song
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The First Poem
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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