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Death of an Unknown Poet

An epic,
written by a brilliant mind
like Van Gogh,
underappreciated.
The poet dies in a squalid flat,
penniless and alone.
His lifes' work-
fantasmic verses of a visionary-
are all stuffed post-humously
into a box.
His genius,
mistaken for useless scribble,
is discarded like so much riff-raff.
It decays, forgotten.
Years pass.
The epic masterpiece alone survives
in that box filled with scraps of faded ink.
A single heart-wrenching poem,
now loved by millions,
by a now-mourned author
who's name evaporated, forgotten by time.
An epic
written by
Anonymous.

(15 minute poem challenge)

poem by Meggan McGuire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem.

I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,

I like the story.

poem by David Carter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem.

I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,

I like the story.

poem by Aisha Patterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Epic Smile

Time slows;
then stops.
You have an epic smile,
shining brightly to challenge the sun.

You laugh with your soul,
eyes sparkling in the light.
You have an epic smile,
one I will never forget.

My heart leaps at your voice,
a smile shattering the gloom of life.
You have an epic smile,
brighter than a thousand suns.

I will think of you often,
though truthfully I already do.
You have an epic smile, my muse,
one that will always be with me.

poem by Brian Hinckley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With several different kinds of poetry to choose from, a man would decide that he would like best to be an epic poet, and he would set out, in conscious determination, on an epic poem.

quote by Lascelles Abercrombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Epic Poem

This poem is epic
so I named it so
it's more epic than wind and snow
which are in there own respects quite epic
snow could be described as ghetto
and wind can take on epic forms
like a spinning tiger with legs made of iron bars
that would be pretty epic
infact I think that happened in outer mongolia
to a young girl how got hit by the iron bars
sadly she died
but the type of death was one we all wish for
over exposure to pure epicness
like viewing a snail with a lightsaber who flies over mountains made of cheese
that's bleedin' epic
imagine it if you can
can you?

I imagined it so according to the ontological arguement
it exists
im scared now
it may be coming to get me
and although I will suffer the best kind of death
it will be death still
and what is death without life
it is simply death
that was mock epic
those statements aren't as deep as you think they are
they are meerly the ramblings of a crazy man
you fell for it did you not
I know you did for I can see you
your PC moniter is actually a camera

If you're paranoid then you will be scared now
and for that reason I laugh
I can see your fear
I smell it
it is like raspberry ripple ice cream
your fear is wierd
I don't like you anymore
this poem is bleedin' epic!

poem by Torben Duncan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem About The Poem About The Poem

THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM

The poem about the poem about the poem
Written in dream
And forgotten in sleep
Comes back to me slowly now
As if it had been away on a long long journey
And is reluctant to come home-

I write it
But it really writes me
And when I try to make sense of what it means
It tells me its ambiguities
Are more important and interesting
Than my clarity-

The poem about the poem about the poem
Written now
May not be a poem about a poem about a poem at all
But may merely be my own playing with words
Which take the place in my life
Of really living-

A poem about a poem about a poem?
Surely this is a mysterious thing
If it exists at all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is A Poem Which Is Not A Poem

THERE IS A POEM WHICH IS NOT A POEM

There is a poem which is not a poem
Its mind breaks its music
Its heart is too much in thought.
It does not sing us to somewhere else.

There is a poem which is not a poem
Prosaic confessional flat,
Its says its single thing from the soul
And leaves the page without implication.

How many such poems have I written
As I write this one now?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Depictions May Solicit Unhealthy Images

Controversy and the raising of eyebrows,
Produces the same affect.
From those who prepare to protest,
The reading of an epic.
That depicts within its pages,
A newborn being breast fed.

And the author is neither married.
Or has children.
And the one who has written this epic,
May be a male who describes.
His own upbringing.

Upsetting those who believe,
His depictions may solicit unhealthy images.
To those who are children,
Already experienced at downloading pornography.
On their cellphones.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crafting Poems

'Yeah, it's a craft that you learn on the job,
don't you think? Like a carpenter learns
the ins and the outs of his trade.
It's not just puking up your guts,
spewing feelings left and right
like some demented jamoke! '
Mick said, holding the magazine
open so that Celia could read
what he was pointing to.

'Oates says here that writing
is a craft, it's not an experience
like an emotion, ' Celia said.
'You know, Mick, some folks
think that you're the author
of these poems that Malone
has been writing using you and me
as characters in an ongoing epic
poem. They identify you the character
with the same name as the author
as one and the same person -
Have you noticed, Mick? '

'That's my thought too, though we are
the very lifeblood of that narrowback's
epic poem in the making, as it were -
like a fancy cabinet handcrafted by
an expert woodworker in his shop!
Neat simile that, eh? ' Mick quipped.

poem by Michael Pruchnicki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is Not A Confessionam Poem

This is not a confessional poem
I confess that I have written this
Not a romantic poem
Under the watch of the archangel of Blake’s vision
A l=a=n=g=u=a=g=e= p=o=e=m=
A loaf Of poem a gallon Of words a pint Of letters
A so-so go for broke poem
So so son and so said
An acrostic poem
None near Aim to be called
Mindfully toward the Eternity of the thing
An epitaph poem
He lays David E. Patton
Never one to believe in heaven
So when he dies he did spy

A free verse poem
A sonnet poem
A know it all poem for the masses
This is not a minute poem
A didactic poem
A tongue poem
A villanelle poem
A sestina poem
An epic poem
A quinzaine poem
A rondelet poem
This is not a rondel poem
A cascade poem
A trijan refrain poem
A tanka poem
A taridet poem
A quatrain poem
If I lie this is not a list poem
To pin upon the sky
Set before the poet’s eye
I confess that I have written this
But this is not written to deceived anything but what is desired by the greediness of the eyes
This is not the growth of breath focused on the words with their mindful meaning stalled by the stack of sounds held in the syllables
This is not a sijo poem from the land of the morning calm
I confess that I know not what this is but all that it is not of what it would be forgot in the mispronounced want of the bony wants of the skin bag of my self
This is not the not of a poem trying to be born from the keyboard’s click and the memory of my hands
This is not an every man poem to understand it dose not caters to the common man
This is not a poem about Gods caught up in my mentioning of them they have taken their holy toys and gone home till the kingdom will come only the prelists priests are left to protest their secret order for getting into a heaven where nothing changes nothing like the rot of earth that feed upon the rotting of the living
This is not a this is not poem all that I have said can be washed away with the rain of your brain this poem can not save can not heal can not trill you into action
This is not a solitary crowed poem a cut-up poem feeding off itself
I have written it but it will not tell me what kind of poem it seem to be
This is not a poem to make you rough or pure or proud or increate your intellect to beguile the world with its new found wisdom
This is not a poem to set you free from the common drudgery of your day to day life it can not fend or feed you with the not of its substance can not set you to dance naked beneath the full moon can not fill you up with the pleasure of the pen
This is not a poem that seeks to befriend it has no mouth to consume you no hands to caress you no tongue to lick the words from your tears
This is not a haiku poem
A testimonial poem
A neither Ballard nor ballade
A limerick an ode nor sonnet
A terza rima
A villanelle a terzanelle or pantoum
This poem can not go on forever it finds its not end in your mind the time is spent and I believe that this is not the end of this poem

poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wedlock…

A solitary door of the mind,
The charming door of memories
Of the erstwhile life, obsessed
Always with grief, if closed;
Always with woes, even if opened.

It’s a poem, written by the heart;
Love’s nectar is its language.
If its meaning is misconceived
If no spelling mistakes, creep up
If omissions and errors, are avoided
It becomes an epic; Matrimony is a mega epic!

Is there a song sung without discord?
Any dances without a faulty step?
Inaccuracy, miscalculation, blunder.
Slip, oversight, delusion, all may occur.
Rhythm may falter, steps may alter,
But the swirl will continue, till the end
When the course is corrected at times,
In the current of the song of life!

Paint the faded pictures of wedlock, with
Ever fresh sparkling colours of endurance;
Like rains and spring seasons wash away
The sins of summer and its debris
As omnipresent Time by its omnipotence.

poem by Kunjubi Varghese
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Epic love story.

It was not meant to be,
its a chapter closed and finished.
An epic story of loves young dream,
has faded and diminished.
A fairy tail of happiness,
was not a mutual ending.
For i remember the chapter closing,
with bitterness and hatred.
It started of typically,
a once upon a dream.
page after page was wrote,
with all our history.
An unprofound tale of love,
nurtured with inquisitive minds.
Had run its course long ago,
I've said all my good byes,
The book is now forgotten,
and its shrouded all in dust.
An epic story of loves young dream,
best forgotten and lost.

poem by Jenna Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem That Perhaps Never Should Have Been Written

THE POEM THAT PERHAPS NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN

Not the poem of yesterday
Nor the poem of tomorrow
But the poem of today-
What gives life meaning now.
Not the poem as it is read
But the poem as it is written.
Not the certain poem
But the poem that does not know
If it truly is a poem.
The poem that gives hope only when it is written-
The lesser poem-
The poem that perhaps never should have been written.
The poem I am writing now,
Perhaps for myself alone
The lesser poem
The poem that perhaps should never have been at all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing..

This poem is not about love..
This poem is not about pain..
This poem is not about the things i have learned...

This poem is not for the broken hearted..
This poem is not for the ones seeking help..
This poem is not for the depressed...
This poem is for no one,
Because no one can contain nothing...

This poem is not filled with wisdom..
This poem was not written with love...
This poem was not written for a lover nor a brother...

This poem was nothing special...
Not quite remarkable....
But it is nothing because that what it was...
Nothing and it will never be anything...

poem by Jenna Marie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is it a poem

Is it a poem
You are asking
And I am telling
If it is not poem
What is then.

Do you know
What poem means
The four letter
Poem stands
P- personal
o-optional
e-eternal
m-maternal .

Poem originate
From mother
And it never ends
Poem can be written
As per the will
As ordered
No grammer can
Give direction to poet
Poem is poet's personal
Property and its
Value is universal.

2

poem never dies
No water no fire
No air can destroy poem
No earth no sky
can entrap
Poem is above and beyond
Five elements of world
Poem is eternal.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cat Poem - with discussion

I must not write a poem
because I want to write a poem.
I must try to write the poem
when the poem has to be written.
Yes but what if my cat dies?

Yes, what if my cat dies
and I know my cat lived a
good and honest life
I can write a poem?

I can can’t I
I can have a cat poem can’t I
Life of an honest cat and that

Yes I know, I said the cat was honest
but I didn’t say that I was, and
I lied about the cat

________________________________
Discussion:
The poem begins as a slightly
finger wagging exercise in telling
people not to write just because
they want to write a poem - it must
be DRIVEN by the poem's insistence
on being written. The poet is
unable to sustain this arrogance
hence the cat. Then, using the
cat as an excuse, writes the poem
but in the end has to admit that
the cat was just a device to break
the rule outlined in the 4 opening
lines. (Secretly of course the poet
believes or at least hopes that the
poem is good enough to excuse itself
and be allowed to break the rule.)
But of course it isn't

poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is My Poem

This is my poem of ______. (date)
This is my poem, written by myself.
This is my first poem never written.
This is my last poem now to be written.
This is the poem I would have written
if I had lived yesterday what I lived today.

This is my poem changing white light
into gold-leaf
and blue into violet.

This is my poem like a heaven twisting
and turning inside of me
all night long.

This is my poem of opening a window
to show what was always inside.

This is my poem encompassing everything
hope can bestow or chance agree with.

This is my poem of open-ended freedom.

This is my poem breathing life into motion.

This is my poem written as I wrote it
a living being.

And this is my poem ending;
but only for today..

poem by Patti Masterman
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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
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The epic poet has behind him a tradition of matter and a tradition of style; and that is what every other poet has behind him too; only, for the epic poet, tradition is rather narrower, rather more strictly compelling.

quote by Lascelles Abercrombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem The Poem And The Poem Again

THE POEM‘ THE POEM AND THE POEM AGAIN’

‘The poem the poem and the poem again’
Isn’t there any life without poetry?
Why is it always ‘The poem the poem the poem’?

Let it be some other dream
Or some other small facet of our endless realities
Why always ‘The poem the poem the poem? ’

The poet who lives and dies for the poem
Is only one kind of poet
And perhaps not even a good one.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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