Delve Into The Depths Of Self
I take my pen
to the blank page
words amazingly
aching to be told
When I write
I undress myself
show myself
for who I am
I've inked my entity
I get multiple spasms on
universal concepts when I
Para-verse
I found a compound universe
at my letters core
I hold tight to
every syllable
created
Free verse
Lyric
Idiom
Meiosis
I see
poetry
endlessly
Ink we're carving mysterious shapes
like language landscapes
Twelve Gauge Pen
Ski Mask
Lyrical Assassination
Femme Font Fatale
Words push
and serge
forward
passion
silences
self control
while wild minds
whip matters
into submission
I spit metaphors
second language
lyrical correlation
rebel in my own right
artistic personification
I dream about lines
my world is dictionary
Expressing
myself
this way
on line therapy
session after session
even in my writes
I make my confession
I learned early to delve
into the depths
of self
the sultry
rhythm
of the space
in between
each pulse
where the ink
becomes reason
to be
when words
become breaths
to take steps
into wreck-less
abandon
See I wanna
spark weakness
in your being
when I speak
I wanna
create
a way to
salute
your every
sensory receptor
with poetic nectar
Let me
penetrate you
with my hard
prose
let my
tongue
speak
the language
of passion
to you
Thru
starved
lips
love is
emitted
thru its
depth
poem by Samantha Campbell
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Related quotes
English Language
The English language it contains thousands of words
Which includes nouns, adjectives, constants and verbs
Structuring them together to create novels or speeches
So we can speak or read or listen while a teacher teaches
And of those thousands words that we have at our command
Some are the few words that decent people have banned
Sadly those few words most people use to swear and to curse
They are crude, coarse and obscene which are used alone or in a verse.
The English language contains thousands of words
Which equals to the stars in the sky or the multitude of birds
They are used in conversation and to define who we are
Words are the building blocks from a vast reservoir
But then we have those few words that are very crude
People use them to hurt or to insult and also to be lewd
Judge a book by its cover and the people by the words they use
When we speak, speak with caution and ponder and then be a muse.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Ramdas, Start Talking With New Language!
Ramdas, start Talking with New Language,
Talk with people and every life,
That language which can take world to new dimension,
Or world shine with beauty and freshness,
Be the one among builders of new world!
Language of love and acceptance,
language that comes from the
depth of the heart,
affectionate and humble,
language that is full of gratitude,
Free of doubts and fear, Language of smile and presence
of mind,
Mindfulness which uses silence
and words well balanced,
the world to new dimensions,
Make world Look like a new world in the light of wisdom!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Young Poets
You speak for the lakes, the trees and the birds
You say what they'd say if they had the words.
Make PEACE and be proud, choose well every choice
Speak HOPE and speak loud, you are Nature's voice.
Speak with respect now, for jungles and streams,
Speak for all wildlife and dream giant dreams.
Speak with great courage, speak up and speak out,
Write with a whisper or write with a SHOUT!
Stand up young poets for clean air and rivers,
Free verse or lyric; your message delivers...
Truth to the future citizens of earth,
Speak of your freedom your friends and self worth.
Speak for tomorrow and though you're still young,
Speak for the Forest, your pen is her tongue.
The world waits to hear your songs still unsung
Words posses power, you can write the wrongs
Teach us and lead us with Poems and with songs.
Speak now for nature, for trees and for birds,
Defenders of Earth choose carefullly your words!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
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Poetic licence
Poetic licence
I use my poetic licence a lot
Its a vital piece of ID
Border control won't let me cross
They'd stop me being as free
Its dog eared now beyond repair
And if it falls to bits
I'll order me another
For all language's misfits
I use it so much when I jiggle my words
Ought to get it laminated
Cover my back when the words don't quite fit
In the stanza I've created
The poem police are out there you know
In search of a dodgy poet
Always carry it in your head
In case you have to show it!
If you are so daring
That you'd use a word like orange....
Some would get a nervous twitch
I get a nervous twinge!
A few words, they just cant be rhymed
No matter if you're smart
So write in prose
And prosper in this slightly different art.
poem by Stevie Taite
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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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My Own Language
it is not as sweet as English
neither romantic as French
neither lyrical like Spanish
nor authoritative as Greek
nor mystical as Latin
nor progressive as Chinese
nor deep as German nor
friendly as Thai and
neighborly as Bahasa
but my own language
lies inside my heart and so
lovely still that i speak it
as musical as the language of my soul
as lyrical as the movement of my body
as heavenly as my God that speaks to me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Un Anyone?
Careful
there are Nouns here
which innocently
can
contain your life.
Were it not for 'Un'
all would be lost.
So many of our utterances
not only restrain the brain
but prevent
emphatically
new things being said.
Language is a universe
in which you cannot be understood
unless you already agree
with its assumptions and premises
of right, wrong or the good;
A universe in which you cannot conceive
anything really new
because you do not have the language
to express the idea;
a language which does not yet exist.
So the problem is
how to say something new
when you lack a vocabulary
or utterances?
I don't have a final solution
but I do have a start:
dismantle the current language first
starting with the Noun.
To see the new
we must first Unsee the old-
here my friends lies salvation-
in the utterance Un.
Un-love
Un-done
Un-believe
are an excellent start
because they get us to begin
the unraveling
of that which is wound so tight
that new meaning can't get in.
To continue:
Un isn' t simply the opposite-
it is a pronouncement
a nullification-
a cleaning out-
of that which occupies that noun space
so something new can get in.
Now let's take Un-love.
To Un-love is not to hate
for here
we simply state
we are not in the state of love.
Not so strange,
it happens to all of us.
We simply
one day
fall into Un-love
meaning love has gone away.
Doing this has caused so much misery
yet we have no word or meaning
for what Un-love means.
You see the problem
or should I say the unclarity
that Un-love brings.
If I
one day
suddenly
Un-love you
what does this mean?
Not I suppose
just that love
has gone
but where has it gone to?
In Un-love Land
there is no hate
not even perhaps
indifference
but, perhaps
to an empty space
prompting a need to find new
words, nouns or even vocabularies.
Now you see the problem;
the conundrum here-
no such words currently yet exist-
unless we pause now
to invent new words
to fill that void
and in doing so
create a whole new language
or description of what is meant
by Un-love.
Here my point exactly.
we don't know
what Un-Love means
or its vocabulary
until
some poet
creates the vision
and the new words to
that go with it.
Pointedly:
how do
I now
un-write this poem?
See what I mean?
Can't be done
unless I create
somehow
a vision
and words
to capture it.
Humm,
Consider this the Un-Write.
Maybe it will catch on.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Totally Biased
I do not often write free form
to me it is not poetry.
Freely admit my prejudice
I think it’s just a passing phase
Although I can appreciate
poetic and well written prose
This does not make it poetry
When I consult my dictionary
it makes it very clear to me.
All writing must be one of those
It can’t be both at he same time.
Prose poetry cannot exist
an obvious oxymoron
Though modern writer still insist
that what they write is poetry
.It may be really beautiful
and well presented on the page
but definitely not poetry.
Why can they not be satisfied
with their well written thoughts in prose.
Why do they call it poetry
a dandelions not a rose.
Its meter defines poetry
it doesn’t even need to rhyme.
Even free verse had its rules
but writers seem to think today
There are no rules anything goes.
I nail my colours to the mast
Not afraid to let my bias show.
31-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Write, Write, Write
Write in the language you dream in.
But this had never made sense
as far as I remember, I’ve never dreamt in nouns and verbs,
but always in huge boxes,
or dark abandoned malls,
or long flights
where my slippers are lost and my baggage,
missing.
Perhaps i should write in the language
that wakes me
That keeps me restless,
that feeds my hunger,
that reminds me that
i am alive.
it’s a matter of hearing
the heartbeat of one’s words
I can’t wait for more writers to write
Perhaps if the work of critics and teachers
will eventually bear fruit,
it will not be too far off that the streets of my town
will one day be filled again
with the lyrical lilt of my own language
I also can’t blame those
who continue to write in English
and live
in English
which is easy to dismiss as snooty
and elitist,
and alien—
even if it is the same village street,
the same home
that is being woven into words.
A tongue only becomes alien
when we keep it at the gate,
at the door.
The stranger is only as strange
as when we do not know his name,
and he does not know ours.
the job of the writer is not really
to master his language,
but to make it his own.
Not just to study its syntax
and shape but
to invite it into his home.
To kidnap bored English from the court offices
and banks
and schools,
and bring it to our beautiful messy rooms.
To tell it our stories,
whisper into its ear
our dreams,
and if the timing is right,
and the intention is clear,
then to show it our hearts
and we’ll begin to write.
Really really write.
Without guilt.
* reflections by L.L. YPIL
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Is Written In Red
I am written in red,
I am sliding across the page of life.
I am racing across the lines of language.
I am red.
I write words,
I create lines and sentences,
I am kept in solitude
I am red.
I create paragraphs.
I create signatures.
I know what you're thinking before you speak,
I am red.
I cannot breath because I am enclosed in a capsule.
A capsule that covers the knowledge inside.
All I do is stare at pages,
All I know is pages,
I become apart of the pages,
And the pages become apart of me.
I become apart of english,
I become apart of words,
I am RED.
BY: Takisha Fields
poem by Kiesha fields
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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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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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A Big Or Brief Poetry......!
Big or brief, what is poetry?
Poetry is......
Creating beauty out of blemish,
Making order out of disorder,
Producing meaning out of musical words,
Creating Universal truth out of trivialities,
Arranging points out of less known facts!
Is poetry just making rhythm and rhyme
Without meaning, life, force and taste,
Without free flowing musical words,
Without words of music, beauty, fun?
Poetry is free flowing river of words
With full of images, lively and lovely,
Transporting from this world to that world
Forgetting himself and readers here!
Just end rhyme is not enough to make it so;
Internal rhymes make music in rhythm
Making all enjoy music, meaning and ideas!
Poetry is the medium to say complex things
Not possible to say in other forms of language,
Saying unknown things using known things;
It is sound, substance, message and meaning!
And many more matters to many men in the world!
poem by Ramesh T A
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A Word
If I make a word
it is first sculpted from letters
on the page
a canvass across which
letters skate
from margin to margin transforming
into meanings and sentences
which give us art, science, poetry
and civilization.
This is created from an arbitrary entity,
the scratchings we call letters
which in turn form yet another
mysterious entity we call the alphabet.
What manner of miracle is this?
All of civilization is born from
these scribbly scratchings?
So if each letter is an imaginary entity,
an arbitrary symbol we made up
which has no meaning by itself
and lives inside another arbitrary entity
we call the alphabet
we may properly ask
what is going on here?
Meaning here is deriving from an arbitrary nothingness
arbitrarily created from arbitrary letters
by virtue of common agreement around
what words will mean?
Ponder this:
we too, as individuals are letter unique
and, in our variety, form a kind of human alphabet.
What we all mean and can mean to each other
therefore depends upon the words we form
in our families and communities; our human alphabets.
So, one word letters such as 'I' are too self-regarding
and are narcissistic anomalies
not true words at all.
Better words have more syllables than that
and have enabled us to form social sentences
more complex
which we can use for good or ill
peace or war, love or hate.
So watch your words and sentences
don't swing them recklessly in a crowded room
you'll put somebody's mind out
or create genius.
Big responsibility this
especially for us poets.
So in the end
in mass society
you and I are a single letter
but combined create all there is.
You can take that
as the first
and last
Word
And by the way
arbitrary letters
are electrons at the sub-atomic level
and combine to make molecules
and the greatest meaning of all
All of the Universe.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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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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You Took My Hand
You took my hand and spoke in verse
and then too soon came the curse.
Your labored breathing became our foe
and all too soon you had to go.
And I was left without your hand
and our enemy walked upon the land.
Said to me, 'you must be brave.'
And all your letters I did save.
When they were written by your love
money was not what we were of.
But later after the ignorant ones
gave up being simpletons
your verse was praised by all that read
every lyrical word you said.
And so in death your claim to fame
was seen by me for I saw your name
wherever I roamed, wherever I went
and no one but I knew what they meant.
For your words were a tribute to passion and love
for that's what we two were always made of.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Words of liberation for my nation
Chains of slavery are still over my people.
Notorious minds still over power innocent minds.
What can free the black child, what can free my nation?
I ask in pain and suffering in the dark jail cells,
What can free me from mental slavery?
How to know right from wrong?
How to think free and build a free society?
The solution is in the words of liberation, the words of wisdom.
I write and recite a revolution, my revolution my poetry.
I do n’t need praises or worship but only recognition and understanding of the people to words of liberation, understanding of poetry.
I stand before you to present poetry,
I stand before you to present the words of liberation to my nation.
Poetry that builds, poetry that destroys.
Poetry that destroyed the impious minds of colonists in Rhodesia.
I speak of poetry that built freedom in South Africa.
When I speak of poetry I mean the true meaning of words.
Words of wisdom,
Words of freedom,
Words of liberation,
Words to free my nation.
The words of liberation to my nation
Words of liberation to free my generation
Poetry-poetry-poetry-poetry-poetry.
poem by zimi Nakeni
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Poet's Thirst
Why do I thirst to pen a verse?
Would prose not do as well?
The rhyme is music to my ears
and the lyrical swell
can never be found in prose
and so I say to those.
'Write your story in novel form
or fictionalize your book.
I will pen my verse instead
and capture you with my hook.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Touched By You
Touched by words not witholding passion
Caressing sweet thoughts, where the light of passion flickers in the recess
of a mind once doused dorment feelings
embers ignite a language that heightens senses
Steaming up views with articulating prose
Enchantment growing with each line
They say what lies behind us, and what lies before us are tiny matters
compared to what lies within us.
The glowing passion is but a reflection of our inner fire stoked by excitement of the new.
--------------------
poem by Allie Lusha
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Recipe Me
A thousand years of prose and verse,
A thousand more to settle down;
Diced and served mixed metaphors;
With metonymy and adnoun.
Catch the lovely imagery,
These stanzas are isochronous;
Let loose thy savagery;
Free verse from resulting succuss.
Attune meter and the rhyme,
Laugh off the hyperbole;
Move your hand and head in time;
Eat my words; swallow me whole.
Caress these couplet with thine eyes;
Follow the words that run-on line;
The enjambement is the prize;
Then revel in thy condign.
Dance with words in Petrarchan style;
Dress them in the right octave;
Mixed with rhythm and some guile,
Tercet I doth twice enslave.
Served with humor and litotes;
The elegy, lyric and epic.
Cavort around them as you please;
Though they may be monostich.
My poetry is quite concrete;
‘Tis marinated in prosody.
Even if they’re offbeat,
Recipe me for any malady!
08th May 2009
Copyright © SC
poem by Subroto Chatterjee
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