En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Daniel In The Diner's Den

Across our chasms we met
His arms covered with tattoos
My arms Anglo white - needle untouched,
As we warmed he told of early years in an institution
Where his words had moved all the girls to tears
He said it changed his life -
This realization that words could count.
I presumed to play the mentor.
He accepted the role as student.
'Who do you think is our greatest poet? '
He granted the grace for me to think.
After a while I reminded him Homer was a poet.
Then I sliced this Gordian Knot with the dated name
Of Louis Untermeyer's great anthology fame.
All of this as he played fuhrer to the menu
and jockeyed servings for four.

'Poets stick together! '
Skin and sex and a million other variables
Are best excluded from this formula.

poem by Bill Grace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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I Am Not The Poet's Poet But Perhaps The Would- Be- Poet's Would-Be Poet

I AM NOT THE POET’S POET BUT PERHAPS THE WOULD- BE- POETS WOULD – BE –POET

I am not the poet’s poet-
The one poets of name and fame admire-
But perhaps the would- be- poets would be – poet-
Who tries to be a poet
And tries to understand what it means
To love poetry and live by writing it
Even when the world does not recognize me..
.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The poet's page

Like a band of beggars
Revealing to each other
Where to find the bread
Is the poets page
An open line
Where poets reveal what's
Inside their heads
A platform of
Artistic exchange
Where an accompany of poets
Express what should be said,
As the
Words seems to take on life
For they are poet read
Poets can feel one anothers pain
As well as relates to each
others shame
Emphasizing on a topic is
A poet's personal lane
Poets dvides the spoil
As they expand, due to
sharing their gain
This is partly my analogy
Of a poet's fame

poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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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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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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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not

The poet I am, and the poet I am not

‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Morning Sunshine

This poet is so seductive
This poet is now strange to me
This poet is so bold
This little girl doesn't want to see

The little girl has known this poet
ever since
But the little girl is already
tired of this poet
She just wants to play.
Not any passing minute
She hasn't have
any word of
allegory
metonymy and
simile
Take me away from this poet yet
the little girl must empty first
the words of this poet
Before she is free to play
in the morning sunshine
and go away from this busy poet

Do you think I'm too young to see?
Do you agree?

This poet won't let me
play out in the middle of the rain
This poet won't let me
see the afternoon sway
This poet won't let me
see the morning gay
Let me see the Morning Sunshine
Let me see!
But this poet
Won't let me

I'll just watch t.v
and sing
her poetry

poem by Mary Jesusa Villegas
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To Recapture That Innocence Of Loved Missed

To recapture that innocence of loved missed,
May be easier done by a poet doing it.

But when a poet isn't sitting to compose words of love...
The wish for it may be stronger than words can express.

Since words may touch emotions.
But to caress one's flesh...
In an anticipated mutual acceptance,
Is what the poet envisions as best.

For those who are poets,
In a loneliness desired to forget.
Or deny to mask in alibis.

And a poet can decide,
Whether to expose this or hide!

'So what have you chosen to do? '

Lie.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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First Meeting

It is truly a wonderous thing
To be a poet
To be able to bend words
In ways which thy heart yearns
To paint a scene
For all
to behold
And to wrap thy eyes
About its figures

Tis truly grand
To be gifted
with thy hands,
mind,
tongue.

But wonderous more
is the endeavour of
being
in the prescence
of a fellow poet.

When this happening
was bestowed
on me,
Twas truly magnificent
To know that one day
Thirty-five years from now
I could be
as grand as he

In mutual recognition
That both had talent
He as the mentor
Myself, the humble pupil
And as I took his book away with me
We exchanged a glance as only
two poets can.

And I could see
The words I wanted
to paint,
Pen used as artist's brush.
Expressing how it feels
to exchange a glance
as only two poets can.

poem by Courtney Beaudry
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Don't

Don't fall in love with a poet
for they will melt your heart
and there is no escape, you see
for romance is their art.

Don't try to vie with a poet
for words trip from their mouths
as easily as quick silver
that lines the darkest clouds.

Don't tell a poet your secrets
for very soon you'll see,
they'll write them as a metaphor
upon a paper sea.

Don't make a stance with a poet
for you don't stand a chance
they'll sway you with emotions
and words that sweetly dance.

Don't fall in love with a poet,
however they endear,
for strong romantic gestures
will conjure flowing tears.

Don't fall in love with a poet
for life will surely change
but oh how happy you will be
to have it rearranged.

poem by Ruth Walters
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A Valentine

For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure
Divine- a talisman- an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
The words- the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet's, too,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando-
Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.

poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Letter To A Young Poet

Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent’ it never starts a war
nor finished it. Should a poet write something that resonance with,
the sentiment of a nation, you can be sure it will be used by politicians
and interpreted for their dubious plans.

So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the people a poet is regarded as a figure of fun
who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make sense
of a world they don’t understand. As my father said when I published
my first poem: “How much did they pay you? ” So if my words have not
scared you off you’re a poet. All you need is intellectual honesty.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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This Poet Is Always Beside You

You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Before a Poetry Reading

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!

'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Children and lunatics cut the Gordian knot which the poet spends his life patiently trying to untie.

quote by Jean Cocteau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballad Of Langston Hughes

Great man of your time,
poet of verse and poet of rhyme
you let the white man know
how easy it is to let go
the built up resentment and woe
that's inflicted on skin darker than snow.

All you did was pick up the pen.
All you did over and again
was to relate to the entire world through word
all that needed to be heard.
Radical political action proposed in poetry
was an affront to the white man's psyche.

Your words were written for all to understand.
You words were written to take command
of the ones who heard them
spit out like phlegm.
But always your hope for equality
was written in your poetry.

Great seer and seeker your words still live,
live in the hearts of the forgotten ones
who still feel the frustrating horizons
that loom in the future.
And to those who've come a long way today
your challenge to them is to have their say.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Letter To A Young Poet Revised

Letter to a young Poet

Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent pass time it doesn’t
change anything, no one reads it, other than cranky people. Should
a poet writes something nationalistic that resonance with, a nation’s
pride, like: “my country is the best in the world.” He will get a medal.

So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the common man a poet is regarded as a figure of
fun who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make
sense of a world he doesn’t understand. As my father said, when my first
poem was published: “How much did they pay you? ” If my words have
not scared you off, you’re a poet. The only tool you’ll need is honesty.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saving Grace

Without direction I walk the night
I was alone in a single beam of light
One glance and you changed my blues
To a prism of light
A thousand hues
Now I must climb to the rainbows arc
Who knows I might find a halo for your heart
Whenever I'm lost for words
And my whole world is falling apart
You are my saving grace
You are the light of a love everlasting
I find hiding place
In your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
My saving grace
I fought the world with a restless heart
Kept my emotions locked away in the dark
Then you came to build me up
When this world could only tear me apart
You are my saving grace
You are the light of a love everlasting
And I find hiding place in your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
For the rest of your life
You can count on me
To never let you down
When you whisper to me
You give me strength to believe that I can hold on
Somehow
You are my saving grace
You are the light of a love everlasting
I find a hiding place
In your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
You are my light and my love everlasting
And I find a hiding place
In your arms
My one and only
Saving grace
My saving grace....
My saving grace

song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anglo-American Poet

Many great Masters have taken flight
To America, leaving this Island of green...
Satisfying life's ambition to capture
The International scene.
America may offer citizenship
With a place in the main A stream
But after a short while 'home' is calling
When many great men return to the fold
Then referred to as 'Anglo-American'
As was ordained in days of old.

One such poet from an English town
Wystan Hugh Auden,20th Century
Anglo-American Poet of much renown.

poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Fighter! ! !

they call me Angry Poet
I say, yes, and do a poem!
They said i am Ugly Poet
ok, i do my hair and turn my back
Maybe a stupid way
to lay my words?
Yes, i said, changed style
so many times...
Said i am unprepared, not education
But i am polite and love poets and poetry!
It is not enough, they continuous saying
Talk about men, about secrets?
Sex and misfits?
Yes, i say, so
Do you want to fight?
Better dont!
I am a Fighter!

poem by Mirna Morgan
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