Elegy Of Ages
poets of centuries,
their words ever so
-eloquent
whisper their lives
which
Result in catastrophe
but preserve them forever
-in elegy
poem by Sakura Tomoko
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I Love You
I must be crazy now
Maybe I dream too much
But when I think of you
I long to feel your touch
To whisper in your ear
Words that are old as time
Words only you would hear
If only you were mine
I wish I could go back to the very first day I saw you
Should've made my move when you looked in my eyes
'Cause by now I know that you'd feel the way that I do
And you'd whisper these words as you'd lie here by my side
I love you
Please say you love me too
These three words
They could change our lives forever
And I promise you that we will always be together
'Til the end of time
So today I finally find the courage deep inside
Just to walk right up to your door
But my body can't move when I finally get to it
Like a thousand times before
Then without a word you handed me this letter
Read I hope this finds the way into your heart
song performed by by Faith Hill from Faith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stones Whisper Tsunami Warnings
cool breeze soft whispers
wise carved sacred words
in ancient spirit tsunamis
marker warning stones
whisper in hot sunshine
heated days summer passing
whisper in ice cold breezes
winter snows seasons passing
whisper in ears of farmers
whisper in ears of artisans
whisper in ears of descendants
whisper in ears of samurai
earthquakes tsunamis
haunt over centuries
flee risk earthquakes
flee to safe mountains
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The First Poets
The First Poets hunted game in the forest and on the plains-
inventing signs and gestures; guttural sounds and mime-
and ultimately Words.
The First Poets wrote words and drew pictures
on the walls of caves
stamping their feet to drum-beats;
learning to dance.
The First Poets invented music for their words
religion, books and counting-conjuring up
in each instance-new things.
The First Poets imagined names for plants,
animals, birds and creatures of the sea;
sang songs about them-wrote poems and hymns.
creating sentiment, vows and promises-
marriage ceremonies.
Poets invented the idea of the Idea, of kindness, and visions.
Poets invented hope and the future, love of the past, community.
Poets invented the rhythm of our lives.
Poets re-invent themselves and civilization each generation.
They peer into the gauzy dream and dream what is not yet;
they peer inside themselves
reaching in
with-drawing something new
from that which had not been
there
before.
The First Poets invent and re-invent civilization each generation.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Nature mother
That may remain so
As the time may pass and go
Nothing worthwhile may come
No change may take place to welcome
No one can offer change
As we have nothing to manage
We want quick and instant result
Nature has lost its galore largely built
We need to nurture
For our habitat with nature
We are destroying its core
Some precaution is needed therefore
We may last so long nature is strong
Preserve her and you may never go wrong
Earth is fine refuge for all of us
Let us preserve her with full trust
Natural resources may dry up
We may have show as flop
There will be no stop
For our greed to stop
I wish green forests
Let them remain expanded as best
Nature is friendly for all
Let us respond positively to the call
We will flourish and prosper
Along with mother earth and whisper
Oh, god you are so merciful and kind
Give us courage not to go blind
We shall strive hard to preserve
What is necessary to observe
We shall vow no to deforest the land
As they have stood by us as true friend
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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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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Pavers Of Life
I must make a trip to London
and walk on the pavers of life.
I must feel the death of the poets
that endured the mental strife
of not enough time to ink the page,
for death came early during that age.
I must feel their messages in my mind
and experience the force of words
coursing through my body, my soul
and in my heart like a thousand birds.
For I feel the call to reconnect
and praise these poets with respect.
For poets live in the hearts of men
and paint pictures over and again
with eloquent phrases one by one
filling their pages until they're done.
I must make a trip to London
from whence my journey had begun.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Bargain
As I was going to St. Ives
I met a man with seven lives;
Seven lives,
In seven sacks,
Like seven beeves
On seven racks.
These seven lives
He offered to sell,
But which was best
He couldn't tell.
He swore with any
I'd be happy forever;
I bought all seven
And thought I was clever,
But his parting words
I can't forget:
Forever
Isn't over yet.
poem by Ogden Nash
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I Don't Want To Live Forever
Frank Sinatra died today
I came home and found my mama crying
The TV had so much to say
Somehow I was thinking about dying
I'm seventeen and thinking about dying
I don't want to live forever
Just want to know that I'm alive
Don't want to live forever
Just until the day I die
I see my daddy in his chair
He sits there night and day
The TV still looks good as new
Daddy's old and gray
And it's scaring me to death
I don't want to go that way
I don't want to live forever
Just want to know that I'm alive
Don't want to live forever
Just until the day I die
Just because your heart's still beating
It don't mean that you're alive
Don't want to live forever
Nobody lives forever
Gonna live while I'm alive
You can see the glass half-empty
You can see the glass half-full
But all I see are shattered dreams
Around this neighborhood
My brother's girlfriend's pregnant
And today she's moving in
My friends all play the lottery
And swear one day they'll win
I'm seventeen, I'm thinking about dying
I'm seventeen, no way I'm dying
Don't want to live forever
Just want to know that I'm alive
Don't want to live forever
Just until the day I die
Just because you're breathing
It don't mean that you're alive
Don't want to live forever
Nobody lives forever
I don't want to live forever
Nobody lives forever
Don't want to live forever
I don't want to live forever
Nobody lives forever
I don't want to live forever
Don't want to live forever
I don't want to live forever
Nobody lives forever
I don't want to live forever
Nobody lives forever
I don't want to live forever
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poets Are Liars
Poets are liars. They cannot be tamed.
They live on borrowed dreams, and have the gift
Of casting out a graceful, witty line,
And catching your heart or mind in their snare;
Reeling you in, helpless, with a deft couplet.
Poets are liars. Never believe them.
Don’t even listen to them if you can help.
They have spells in their tongues, and fire in their eyes.
They will give you suns and stars wrapped in words,
And you will follow them, rapt like a child.
Poets are liars. It’s how they survive.
They give you their lies in exchange for your truths,
And fashion a life of their own from the scraps.
They must have an audience; without it,
They fade and pale, and soon cease to exist.
Poets are liars, even in the womb;
They kick at their mothers, curious, restless,
And dream of wonders to fill the world outside:
Soft, formless lies, growing with each cell,
Chronicled in wordless sagas nine months long.
Poets are liars; and of all liars,
They are the most dangerous. They will tell you
Of love that lasts forever, of lives that changed,
Of happy endings and greater meanings.
They make you wish, and hope, and dream, and feel.
poem by Amy Sutton
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Words
Words are my weapon
words are my shield
Guns and knifes just ruin lives
so words I keep concealed
Words are all I have here
they help me struggle on
Words are here forever,
when all I have is gone
In my thoughts or in my poems
Words will help ease my brain
I write down what is on my mind
Expressing love or feeling pain
Not that many I can trust
But words I can depend
Words wont turn there back on you
Words are my only friend
poem by Nic Hillen
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Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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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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In Concession
Longing for a heart,
to throw a love poem at
caring not, the words used
staggering with thoughts
confounded bliss
swaying in the tallest grass
But I find nothing
no secret smiles
whispers escape me
sentences hung with clichés
crumpled despair
I am no Shakespeare
nor dreaming lover,
But arise!
I shall throw ink to paper
never mind it sticking
I'll pen a sonnet
a ballad
an elegy
a legend!
Indeed I concede
my words to scrolls
an honor for the dust
splashing words
for a never met romance
read once-upon-a-time
and captured,
a poets affair.
And mayhap
leaving you to the winds
I'll confide it to the gods.
Day After Day
She lives in a house
That reflects her state of mind,mind
Organised chaos
In this labyrinth she hides,hides
She got locked up years ago
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper
Whisper and whisper
And day after day
Marinated in wine and tobacco
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper and
Day after day
After day
Pink fluffy dinosaurs
Are almost back in town,town
Pulling all the strings
That will finally bring her down,down
She got locked up years ago
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper
Whisper and whisper
And day after day
Marinated in wine and tobacco
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper and
Day after day
After day
song performed by by Hooverphonic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Are A Few Poets
THERE ARE A FEW POETS
There are a few poets
Beyond the poetry you and I know
And are capable of –
There are a few poets
Who seem to write a poetry
Which is Poetry itself,
A Poetry which is everything Poetry should be-
Those poets are somewhere else
On a level far beyond any we can hope to reach-
They are Poetry –
And we we are the little listeners and readers
Who can in awe and praise worship
What we ourselves will forever be incapable of.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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To, for, or against an Irish Poet
When you re-ad alou-d your ow-n po-ems –
(prizewinners, dammit, every one) -
lingering on every no-un, ad-jective and ad-verb
as if they are simultaneously ancient jewels
that you’re touching, showing to us; and yet
new jewels you’re yourself in wonder at…
clothing e-ach w-ord with the sc-ent
of peat fire, soda bread, a glowing hearth;
a child asleep there in the corner;
a woman who’s grown rich, timeless in your love;
outside the cry of curlew, seagull,
the slap of wave on cliff;
but edged, sharp, like the sudden
intake of breath, with centuries on centuries
of uprisings cruelly downtrodden,
famine, allegiances,
leprechauns and muskets and the Armalite…
all these wrapped in baby’s or in widow’s shawl;
the shawl of memory that is a poem..
when you read you-r ow-n ver-se like this –
may-aking a tri-nity of vow-els from each Anglo-Saxon one –
then, I’m emerald green with envy,
reading my own verse in your imitated voice
as if it were those precious ancient new-found jewelled words…
and wishing that all poets – or no poets at all –
were, are, shall be, Irish-born…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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No validity
Hope lives till the result.
Hope to live lasts till death.
Belief lives till the result.
Belief in future lasts till death.
Faith lives till the result.
Faith in God stays till death.
So, their results inconclusive,
They bear no validity.
19.08.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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In Other Words
(bart howard)
Poets often use many words
To say a simple thing.
It takes thought and time amd rhyme
To make a poem sing.
With music and words i've been playing
For you, i have written a song.
To be sure that you'll know what i'm saying,
I'll translate as i go along...
Fly me to the moon,
And let me play among the stars.
Let me see what spring is like
On jupiter and mars.
In other words,
Hold my hand.
In other words,
Darling, kiss me.
Fill my heart with song,
And let me sing forever more.
You are all i long for,
All i worship and adore.
In other words,
Please be true.
In other words,
I love you.
~interlude~
Fill my heart with song,
And let sing forever more.
You are all i long for,
All i worship and adore.
In other words
Please be true.
In other words,
I love you.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As a result of the historic catastrophe in which Titus of Rome destroyed Jerusalem and Israel was exiled from its land, I was born in one of the cities of the Exile.
quote by Shmuel Y. Agnon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.
quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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