For Poets
For poets
Honesty is not
Only the greater
Parent of all
The other virtues
It is the best
Of the lot
So let your pen
Not rot of falsehood.
Well do I know
That we are born to toll
The weight that
Gives man hope
And beauty wrote
In the measure
Of a poem
We ask of you
Nothing but your best
In telling the truth
To any that may come
To be by your poems wooed.
poem by David E. Patton
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Related quotes
Poem about poetry - The poet's life is a poem
the conceited wrote only
one or two decent or
even great poems
and branded themselves
greater poets than the others
the greatest poets are those
whose life is itself a delicate poem
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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In the spirit of Rumi - 25
I said to My Beloved
Tell me the measure of truth
My Beloved said
Tell me first what you know of truth
‘One and one make two,
- as You and I’
My Beloved said
Tell me more of truth
‘Love draws me to You
as the white moth to the candle’s flame’
My Beloved said
Tell me more of truth
‘Love makes You and me
into one single perfect love’
My Beloved said
This is the measure of truth
which is immeasurable:
the greater the truth
the less it can be measured;
the greater the truth
the deeper it may be experienced;
this is its measure: its experience.
Truth has no other measure,
for only love can measure truth.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The honest liar
1. I have to tell you that
In the last conversation we had
All I told you were lies
And with all honesty now
I am telling you
That I am a liar.
2. When you asked me
Whether I am dying
I told you I am not
But I have only
A month to live
That is the truth
But look
I am not responsible for you
I am the one
That is dying here.
It is not you.
3. When we speak
I do not demand that
You tell me the truth
We are talking
Because we are here
What you say to me
Is none of my business
To require that you tell
Me the truth
Is in fact, an overburden
Our agreement is
Simple enough
That we just talk
It is nothing more
But a contract of presence
a conversation.
4. In fact what you say
Is the bonus
And it does not matter
Truth or falsehood
We just talk
For a while
While I am here
I am going somewhere
I am leaving
You will be left
And you still have
All the time to contrive
The choice is yours
I have none anymore
5. so that is it
Keep on talking
As I pretend I am listening
I keep on talking too
But my mind
Forgive me
Is somewhere else
You may not understand
It at first
But you will soon
Understand
This world is not simply meant
For one, for one like me.
Or for us.
6. at this stage
Truth and falsehood
Are irrelevant,
Out there
Is beyond truth and falsehood
It is our place.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poem I Wrote Yesterday/ The Poem I Write Today
THE POEM I WROTE YESTERDAY/THE POEM I WRITE TODAY
The poem I wrote yesterday
The poem I write today
The poem I will write tomorrow
What do they all mean?
Life goes on
Even my life will go on for a time
Without them.
True they give me hope now
But hope is another kind of delusion-
Creature of hopes and dreams delusions and poems
I go on now writing another poem hoping that you somewhere
Will want to know and read and remember it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wrote A Poem I Loved
I WROTE A POEM I LOVED
I wrote a poem I loved
But I could not rest content with it.
I had to write another poem,
And another poem.
And in the writing of other poems,
Some of which I also loved.
I lost the poem I loved.
Essentially I am a writer of poems
And not their possessor.
I possess many poems of others,
But somehow mine, I cannot.
However I love them
Perhaps I really believe
None of them good enough
To be worthy of such love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Lost The Poem I Wrote In My Mind
I LOST THE POEM I WROTE IN MIND
I lost the poem I wrote in my mind
When walking to Shul this morning-
I can only try to recall its thoughts;
‘Walk too fast and the mind cannot hear itself
Walk slowly and listen to the poem inside yourself.
The road ahead the trees the sky
Has a beauty too great for you to write
Thank God for your sight.”
The best lines are forever gone-
A poem to replace a poem
Is not as good as the original-
I wish I had the words for all the beauty God gives me in my life
How wonderful it is to be alive- sometimes
And to be able to write poems – even if somewhat poorly.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Envy Of Other Poets Greater And More Honored Than Me
ENVY OF OTHER POETS GREATER AND MORE HONORED THAN ME
Envy of other poets greater and more honored than me
Only shows how petty and foolish and unwisely ambitious I am-
Each is what he or she is,
And each is only one-
And no one is anyone else-
And better are many, and worse are many-
A poet should write his own lines
And mind his own business-
And take pleasure in the poetry of others
When it gives that.
A poet need not compare and measure himself
But rather simply be what he is.
Write the poems
Leave the honors and the praises to someone else.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Lost The Poem In Its Complexity
I lost the poem in its complexity
There was too much of it-
And in too great disorder
The purity of its feeling lost
In my changes of mood-
I lost the poem
And could not make it right-
And regretted losing
What I wanted to say in it.
I lost the poem,
A minor loss
There are and will be other poems-
Life has far greater losses than a poem-
A poem can be replaced by other poems,
Greater losses have no replacement at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Deceased Poets Of Nature
Such beautiful poems to Nature they did write
The poetry we love for to read and recite
May they rest in peace now where-ever they lay
The deceased poets of Nature their poems live today
They glorified Nature and her praises they sung
And though they may be long dead their poems remain young
the poets of the land and the poets of the sea
In their beautiful poetry their greatness we do see
Their poems and their songs I loved as a boy
And their poems and their songs I will always enjoy
The beauty of Nature they did celebrate
And beauty in their words they loved to create.
Great insights of Nature from them we did gain
The beauty of their words with us does remain
We loved them for their poems in decades long gone
The deceased poets of Nature their poems living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Was It You Who Wrote Some Poems?
it happens in a crowd
or a party or a reunion
to be exact and short of
any dialogue
you ask,
was it you
who wrote some
poems?
and i say
yes
and i ask why?
and you say
oh i like every poem
there
and i ask
which ones?
the one about love
or passion
or compassion
or was it the poem
that hurts
and makes
one feel the
urge to kill oneself?
and you say
i like the
sad ones
those that
make me cry
and think
of my broken heart
and i say
i never wrote
sad poems
and you say
you swear
i have read
the sad ones
and i really cried
alone
and i say,
i never wrote
them
they write themselves
and i do not really cry anymore
and you say
really?
and i say: i am numb.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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God's Poets, Love & A Good Poem
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
EVERY OTHER NIGHT
If it was left to me and my desire
I would seek satisfaction every other night.
I would enjoy your divine, God given love
And hold you forever close and tight.
Every other night would be Heavenly for me
Though I must respect and honor what you do and say.
My need for you is far greater than your need for me
As I patiently wait for our time of play.
I will always remain watchful, loving and caring
Not to hurt, destroy, mistrust, dissatisfy or offend.
Out of all God's blessings from Heaven to Earth
You're my greatest treasure, passion and friend.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
Tom's 465 Poems Are Free To Share!
By God's Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!
Tom Zart www.internetvoicesradio.com/t_zart/
I Write Poems For Poets
I WRITE POEMS FOR POETS
I write poems for poets
Our situation as poets-
The longings the feelings
We so need to express-
The love of language-
The hunger for recognition-
The frequent rejection-
The kind word of a reader that moves-
Poems for poets
We as we each are
All so different-
And we as we share
Words and worlds
We hope to have read.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Forgot The Poem I Wrote Today
I FORGOT THE POEM I WROTE TODAY
I forgot the poem I wrote today
I forgot the poem I wrote yesterday
I have forgotten all my poems-
No one rereads my poems
I do not reread them-
They will all be forgotten-
O Poems O World-
Will we ever know
What God Remembers?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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George Crabbe Wrote Of
George Crabbe wrote of hardship and poverty and woe
In the England he lived in a long time ago
But perhaps his poems might be more popular today
Had he looked at life in a less truthful way.
George Crabbe wrote of children in dire poverty
The poor sad victims of Human cruelty
And the poems full of pathos and the poems full of truth
Of a poet who was blessed with the great gift of ruth.
He wrote of human cruelty to their own kind
A God in the soul of such a person you'll find
He did not write of mythological figures or monarch or squire
He wrote for the poor his type I do admire.
Of the poverty around him he was all too aware
But poets like George Crabbe they have always been rare
Though if you feel a bit down and a good laugh you do need
His poems lacking in Humor are not for you to read.
Of the poor souls of England George Crabbe did write
His poems not hard to understand or to read or recite
And though as a person and poet he was great
Such poets the masses never do celebrate.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Mouse in the night
As a mouse creeps silently through the house
It hardly makes any noise
It seems like that little creature
Holds the night in it's poise.
I wrote this poem myself because I like mice, and because it makes sense to write about a mouse in the night. This type of poem is a Ballad Poem. O, ya, just to let you guys know, all the poems you will see here are not copied from somewhere else, and I didn't even get any of my ideas from other poems. Just for a heads up! Well, I hope you enjoyed this poem.
poem by Isabella Badger
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God's Poets A Good Poem & Love
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
A Tribute To My Great Poets (Revised)
I forget who it was that invented the first electrode.
Let me praise the guy who invented the commode.
Love is all that matters in the solar system and universe
Some poets and writers like to compose using free verse.
I like to write my poems using ending rhymes.
Some poems I like to read over one hundred times.
The inspiration for some of my poems are from the divine.
The writings and poems of Jane Austen can make me pine.
A moving poem by Robert Frost can inspire my mind.
Let me mention another great poet name Edgar Allan Poe.
He wrote a poem called ‘The Raven’ about someone in woe.
So ode to the electrode, commode, the solar system, and the universe.
Hooray for poems that rhyme, things that are divine, and even free verse.
Bravo to poets who make me pine and all those who inspire my mind.
Let me pay a final tribute to the poets; Austen, Frost, and Poe.
I love to read a moving poem about loss and great human woe?
My favorite Frost poem is Road Less Taken; My favorite Poe poem is The Raven; And my favorite Austen poem is Ode to Pity.
*Definitions of pine: noun: have a desire for something or someone who is not present
Definitions of woe: noun: intense mournfulness, or misery resulting from affliction.
poem by Nichole Kaci McKnight
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For All The Poets
FOR ALL THE POETS
This is a poem for all the poets who have no name,
For all those who have written and failed,
And for those who have not written,
And failed.
This is a poem for all the poets who dreamed themselves poets,
And were never, and will be known as poets
To the world.
This a poem for all those
Who after years of effort
Still live in an oblivion
They will die in.
This is a poem for all those
Who whether they have poetry in them or not,
Will never be heard or read,
For what their hearts must tell
Someone else.
This is a poem for all the silent poets
Those who live in silence
And whose silence is eternal
For all those whose only poetry
is the poem they have lived within themselves.
This is a poem for all those who would- be poets
And a poem for those
Who despite their efforts
Did not make their poem known.
This is a poem which may be for you,
And I know is for me
A confession
To make us less alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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All These Poems About Poems
All these poems about poems
Where do they lead?
The world is so rich in so many other things
Write poems about them.
At twilight I look out
At strangers walking
To do their errands of preparation
for Sukkot.
A poem should have some Beauty in it
And not just be an effort at recording observations-
The scarlet bright flowers rage at me from the distance
I cannot translate their Beauty to words -
There is so much I have seen
And so much I will never write –
And so many Poems beyond my Imagination.
All these poems about my failing at poetry
And about translating the Beauty of the world to words-
This is a poem I not know how to properly finish.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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