Am I a Mirror
Tin men poets
Write without heart
Create rhyming irrelevance
Pretending it's art
Average Joe
With ode to the mundane
Blinkered to all insight
Never knowing pain
Great listeners
Have little to say
Clumsy with their words
They just bore you away
Ego eccentrics
Pleading, look at me
Delusions of talent
Nothing there to see
Hypocritical poetasters
Preaching to save your soul
Vanity’s a sin
Yet self promotions still their goal
Robotic writers
Empty inside
Invisible to the real world
Within their words they hide
poem by by unknown author
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On My Worth As A Writer
On my worth as a writer I do cast great doubt
Though one could never run out of things to write about
And poetasters are many and poets they are rare
Yet so much to write on of the big World out there
One can say I've written a whole heap of stuff
Yet out of millions of writers few are good enough
To make a success out of the wordsmith trade
So many there are and so few make the grade
Not many writers the literary critics impress
And so few out of writing become a success
For every literary success of which we do read
So many are destined to never succeed
And only a tiny minority do make writing pay
But then such is life as some are known to say.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Speak the Words
I had enough words to say that I was sorry
I had enough ways to make it go away
But foolish pride has ruined the path before me
I guess the sun can only shine here once a day
I drowned myself in a wave of lost ambition
I filled your world with my hate and disbelief
I trapped my soul in an awkward disposition
And deep inside I hope that no one sees me
Can you feel the pain I hide
I laugh out loud but cry inside
No one's there to save me from my doubt
Cause I don't dare to speak the words out loud
Try to find me in my sorrow
Time won't take away the truth
Can't change the way that we are changing
I hope that we will finally learn to
Can you feel the pain I hide
I laugh out loud but cry inside
No one's there to save me from my doubt
Cause I'm too scared to speak the words out loud
I walk the dessert all alone
No place to rest my mind
The sun is burning in my soul
song performed by by Green Lizard from Identity
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I wrote a verse and thought no more
(to the Afrikaans poet Louis Esterhuyzen)
I wrote a verse and thought no more,
will I write, not another thought to paper put,
and I will be free from petty critics, who with words do cut,
be free from elitist poets who my work deplore,
who claim that I write faster than they can type,
that no real expertise is found in my art,
that I have sold my soul to every reader in parcel and part
that I am the stereotype
of the rubble that are trying to become something
and when I put my pen down
while my thoughts were wandering,
You reminded me that I am Your very own,
that my talent, the words I do impart,
flow freely from my heart.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Mundane
The definition
Normal
Just a rendition
Of average life, boring enough to lull
You into a sleep of mediocrity
Settling for second or third best, because it's easy
Not having an opinion just being unstable and breezy
And silent like the wind... that's me
The kid that's just there and then
Then just gone, no more
Not something to abhor, but worse- unknown
Talent not shown
Intelligence, not shown
Character, not shown
Promise not shown
And stuck with mundane
Stuck without a chance to prove
Just who
I am, because of silence, because of pain
But one day I'll show them, who I am one day
In a world less fey
They'll see when silence doesn't suppress
The person inside
In that day when there's no reason to hide
But for now mundane
All my efforts in vain
But hoping for something more
Even for
Eternity
poem by David Knox
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The Great Pretender
Words and music by buck ram
Oh yes Im the great pretender (ooh ooh)
Pretending Im doing well (ooh ooh)
My need is such I pretend too much
Im lonely but no one can tell
Oh yes Im the great pretender (ooh ooh)
Adrift in a world of my own (ooh ooh)
I play the game but to my real shame
Youve left me to dream all alone
Too real is this feeling of make believe
Too real when I feel what my heart cant conceal
Ooh ooh yes Im the great pretender (ooh ooh)
Just laughing and gay like a clown (ooh ooh)
I seem to be what Im not (you see)
Im wearing my heart like a crown
Pretending that youre still around
Yeah ooh hoo
Too real when I feel what my heart cant conceal
Oh yes Im the great pretender
Just laughing and gay like a clown (ooh ooh)
I seem to be what Im not you see
Im wearing my heart like a crown
Pretending that youre
Pretending that youre still around
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Once Again I Write...
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
I write to save my sanity.
I write to ease my heart.
I write to cleanse my soul.
I write to feel alive.
I write to keep my mind strong and my thoughts clear.
I write my words of sorrow, despair, pain, and love, as well as words of wisdom.
I write so that one day someone will truly know me.
This paper, this pen is once again my inspiration.
It is the inspiration to what I see.
It is the inspiration to what I hear.
It is the inspiration to what I feel.
It is the inspiration to the art I create.
It is the inspiration to what I draw.
It is the inspiration to the love for my daughter.
It is the inspiration to the love for my husband.
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
Once again I write to say thank you my timeless friends.
Thank you for saving me time and time again.
poem by Sara Jo Andrews
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I want to write
I want to write, something nice, but nothing comes to mind. Today words are unkind and will not come out from where they normally hide.
Today I want to write, write something nice, and make someone smile, to look forward to a lovely day and an even more an exciting night.
Words of the powerful mind, tell me where you hide, where in the world can I find, find you to create a masterpiece, burn paper with ink, write till I no more blink, as you take me to a place of so many tears, peaceful sleeps, sorrow, happiness, and enchanted dreams…
I want to write, something nice, but nothing comes to mind. Words have deserted me, why are they so unkind and will not come out from where they normally hide…
poem by Thato Maluleka
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The Real Poets
THE REAL POETS
The real poets are few in number and largely known by name
The rest of us are endless frustration in aspiration
Words upon words upon words
Dreams upon dreams upon dreams
Getting and going nowhere forever unheard
The real poets find their anthologized place
And we know them over and over and over again
The rest of us just appear this only once
If we appear at all
And our words and our hearts and our minds
Do not encompass and inspire the endless rereadings
Time and Time’s Wounds make again and again and again
We are once only always forever losts
Nothing will save us
These words too coming in the wake of a long night’s reading
Of the poems of others
Cannot sustain and redeem
Cannot be what they would be
Cannot help and cannot save
Me or you or anyone we love
Even as poetry.
God Who Knows All
And in the End Decides on Everything
Has made us smaller even than the Angels
And our place in the Divine Song
Is not as far as we know
Anywhere heard at all.
Goodbye world
We are going
We have done what we could
We have written and written and written
Oxymandias’ poet will remain
And we will not
The lone and desert sands will stretch away
When we are not even a single grain.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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Invisible Kid
Invisible kid
Never see what he did
Got stuck where he hid
Fallen through the grid
Invisible kid
Got a place of his own
Where he'll never be known
Inward he's grown
Invisible kid
Locked away in his brain
From the shame ant the pain
World down the drain
Invisible kid
Suspicious of your touch
Don't want no crutch
But it's all too much
I hide inside
I hurt inside
I hide inside, but I'll show you
I'm OK, just go away
Into distance let me fade
I'm OK, just go away
I'm OK, but please don't stray too far
Open your heart
I'm beating right here
Open your mind
I'm being right here, right now
Open your heart
I'm beating right here
Open your mind
I'm being right here, right now
Ooh, what a good boy you are
Out of the way and you're kept to yourself
Ooh, can't you see that he's not here
He doesn't want the attention you give
Ooh, Unplugging from it all
Invisible kid floats alone in his room
Ooh, what a quiet boy you are
He looks so calm floating 'round and around in himself
song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poems Went Away
THE POEMS WENT AWAY
The poems went away.
Nothing inside.
An empty will for poetry
Forcing words on the page,
Words without music
Without resonance
Without great implication
Meaning.
Write, write, write
Lest you die.
And the words themselves
A kind of desperate uphill catching of breath
On the page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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World Wide Poets- Where Do We Go
where do we go when we have so much to say
and on deaf ears, my words do play.
where do we go when we are hurting inside
and the pain you can't relieve, no matter how you try.
where do you go when the words scream to be free
and no one to touch except you or me.
you know there are worldwide poetry sites
and at each one you must be strong
and willing to fight.
these words and feelings that you have locked up inside
are tired of crying and wanting to hide.
so write your words and see who will respond
and have them break your chains, your bonds.
poem by Louis Rams
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Words Of Tears..: '(
tears speak
what words can't speak
tears tell
what words can't tell
tears express
what words can't express
tears create the magic
what words can't create
pain tears heart
pain tears the life
pain has teared my heart
pain has teared my life
the pain he gave me
i can't forget
i still remember
his breath
his voice still rings in my ear
his presence is still felt
i seem to see his face in the crowd
why? why?
his soul lives on in me
yet it is the physical frame
why can i feel his pain
is it that thread of love
that binds us till restrain..
poem by Shania Bhayana
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Who to blame for writers block?
Risen up from his cold dark tomb
the malevolent poet is alive again
his evil master has given him power
to confuse poets and bring them pain.
He's invisible to the poets eye
and he doesn't make a sound
his mission is to bring writers block
to all poets everywhere around.
The unaware poet stares at a blank screen
unable to create one single verse
the satanic force takes over his mind
his thoughts go from bad to worse.
The romantic poet thinks about death
his thoughts no longer on love and light
he wants to write about misery and war
and things that go bump in the night.
So the next time you can't write a poem
and your sitting there full of despair
you now know it's not you who's at fault
but it's the evil poet and he's over there!
poem by Kevin Halls
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The Invisible Raven
The words i put on paper is what i live with every day;
Even though i write them down the feelings always seem to stay;
The more and more i write them down the more and more i cry;
I wish my pain had wings so i could make it all just fly;
If it flew away i wouldnt have to hide it anymore;
My life is like the raven and soon it will be never-more;
Tears always stream down my face and yet u never see;
Well i guess its because im invisible no one ever see's me;
I am the invisible raven, u just look right through;
But dont u worry about it im still looking at u;
poem by Melissa Broomhead
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To Look At The World Again
TO LOOK AT THE WORLD AGAIN
To look at the world again
To see and name
Each kind of different thing
To surround it with words
And try to capture it
As it slips away
To paint in words
To write music
To make one vast description of ‘what is’ in words.
All these are unreal dreams
Someone else must realize-
I have my own small world of feelings
I return to again and again
My little universe of fears and loves.
Outside great and far beyond any nearness I can seem
The world goes on
While I can only
Write
Inside.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dawn Of Reasoning Interconnected Mind
At the traditional age of consent,
I found a great undeniable love
for poetry as I strove to make sense
of this world with its nightmare,
of ignored unresolved problems.
I never had the chance to write,
most of my thoughts, down in
poetry. To reflect my reactions
to the events of my era. Life did
not allow time for contemplation.
It is my ardent hope that economic
circumstances or perhaps a more
focused determination; will allow
you to succeed in writing out more
poems of vital importance than I did.
I wrote when time allowed maybe
one in ten of my poems and often
the easiest. While years passed by
sometimes with nothing but work.
The gap in thought record haunts.
Ignore constant discouraging critic.
Your success now is mine your failure
mine. Therefore keep focused and let
at least some of your poetry, address
real issues. And write write write now!
You are in a time and place that requires
strong young poets from within. Past great
American poets would be devastating with
words writ in this era. I am not American,
you must be our voice from within, voice
proclaim and publish your insight! Pray or
meditate as you will and write that which
I lacking your knowledge cannot. The words
will come because the age topics demands it.
We are united in poetry and desire to express
difficult thoughts and concepts, hopefully to
be a voice of positive change! Tools are at
your finger tips, I never had contact with other
poets, in an electronic interconnected web of
minds, at the dawn of righteous determination.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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My Poet Time Travelers
I thought of it all day and well into the night
That for you a poem I would write.
What words can you use to describe a person
You’ve never seen.
Then a realization came into my mind
I’ve been writing them for a very long time.
Every time we write about GOD and his begotten son
The words flow freely and never left undone.
So it matters not if it is sight unseen
We write about everything- it’s a poets dream.
Poets go into worlds never traveled before
Seeking all that GOD has made
And come back with knowledge that they’ve gained.
Into the realms of mystery, love, excitement and fear
So that with you these words they could share.
They see the realities of today
The dreams of yesterdays
The future of tomorrows
And the pains and sorrows.
They are the time travelers of the mind
Their eyes are open - they are not blind.
So when you read what they write
It’s because of this time travelers insight.
So to my time traveling co-poets, this I must say
I am proud to have traveled this road with you
Into the minds of man, and writing
The stories that they all understand.
poem by Louis Rams
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