Poet look for a word
To describe his lady fair
Wrote epic instead
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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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One Critical Word
The poet must write a sonnet
In praise of a grand and just man.
To meet a deadline at the end of July,
He must begin as soon as he can.
He starts to compose - it's May.
We'll see this is none too soon,
For the lack of one critical word,
The poet has stalled - It's June.
He still lacks the critical word (in July)
To describe the man grand - and just.
The word comes to him now, but too late.
Worse yet, it's a pun - it's au`gust.
poem by Richard von Geldern
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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Honour The Womenfolk
King Ravana stole Sita from the jungle
to take revenge for the insult
brought about to his sister;
but in molesting her he did bungle.
And Valmiki had a story for an epic.
The invaders on India for her gold,
had a kick towards the wives of kings
who were defeated or killed in the wars.
They coveted and drove them to their harem.
No Muslim poet wrote any epic to adore them.
Ravana is worshipped as a god
still in some rural parts of North India.
The Muslim men in Ladakh and elsewhere
love the girls of other cults, convert,
marry them to add to their list of wives.
They could not be heroes of even ditties.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today... 'The Word
Word of love and the Word made flesh
Word incarnate forever blessed
Word of life and the Word of light
Word of power and Word of might.
Word that was spoken, Word of the Lord
Word of the Law and the Word of God
Word of peace and Word eternal
Word of truth and last Word of all.
Word of wisdom and the Word of healing
Word from heaven, a Word so appealing
Word fulfilling the Word of prophecy
Word of the Spirit and Word of destiny.
Word of exhortation and Word of grace
Word of encouragement and Word of faith
Word of promise and a Word of insight
Word from the beginning and Word of delight.
Word of knowledge and a Word of boldness
Word of peace and the Word of righteousness
Word of the covenant and Word of love
Word of the Father from heaven above.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
The Poet
The poet can only utter the word fine
The poet has to bear the sorrow and the sin.
The poet can only say I am happy
The poet can only say I feel no aches no pain
The poet can only say I am not in loss
The poet can only say I am in the side of only gain.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Speechless.....
it is blank, i do not see anything
but here is everything
spread before me, all, all of it,
tiny little things, with all the colors
in broad daylight,
i simply have not chosen any word yet for it
i am confused, there is so much
abundance, profuse,
opulent
light and dancing leaves
wind, and breeze and colored clothes
hanging there
boats with their rainbow sails,
i am speechless
there is so much and i have no word for all
these beauty,
perhaps, there is no fair word to describe
what beauty is, or
what could i be to them.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem about poetry - the poetic space
i love you
the amateur poet
wrote on the site
without revealing himself
i love you
the world known poet
wrote on the site
without revealing himself
and i read both
the second somehow
has a larger resonance
destined to be great?
the greater poet
has even carved
for himself a space
that recognises all his words
that space in me and you
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Reading Blake's 'Little Black Boy
Two centuries or even more gone by
Since William Blake wrote 'The little black boy'
He told in verse how black skin equalled white
And in what he wrote of course the poet was right.
He wrote the famous verses at a time
When to be black was looked on as a crime
A lesson in human love perhaps one day
That others might learn from what he had to say.
His verses put him in a higher place
When he wrote of the equality of race
And in history the great poet made his mark
When he preached that white was no greater than dark.
But even in the twenty first century
Some with the Poet's views still do not agree
Some still say black is not as good as white
But of course these people live in darker light.
A lesson here for all humanity
From bard who lived in eighteenth century
That racial discrimination is unwise
As all different races equal in God's eyes.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fair and Fair
Oenone:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
The fairest shepherd on our green,
A love for any lady.
Paris:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
Thy love is fair for thee alone
And for no other lady.
Oenone:
My love is fair, my love is gay,
As fresh as bin the flowers in May
And of my love my roundelay,
My merry, merry, merry roundelay,
Concludes with Cupid's curse,--
'They that do change old love for new
Pray gods they change for worse!'
Ambo Simul:
They that do change old love for new,
Pray gods they change for worse!
Oenone:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
The fairest shepherd on our green,
A love for any lady.
Paris:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
Thy love is fair for thee alone
And for no other lady.
Oenone:
My love can pipe, my love can sing,
My love can many a pretty thing,
And of his lovely praises ring
My merry, merry, merry roundelays
Amen to Cupid's curse.
poem by George Peele
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I like playing around with the words; I love it when I feel like I've picked the exact right word to describe whatever it is I'm trying to describe.
quote by Margaret Haddix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ronsard To His Mistress
'Quand vous serez bien vielle, le soir a la chandelle
Assise aupres du feu devisant et filant,
Direz, chantant mes vers en vous esmerveillant,
Ronsard m'a celebre du temps que j'etois belle.'
Some winter night, shut snugly in
Beside the fagot in the hall,
I think I see you sit and spin,
Surrounded by your maidens all.
Old tales are told, old songs are sung,
Old days come back to memory;
You say, 'When I was fair and young,
A poet sang of me!'
There's not a maiden in your hall,
Though tired and sleepy ever so,
But wakes, as you my name recall,
And longs the history to know.
And, as the piteous tale is said,
Of lady cold and lover true,
Each, musing, carries it to bed,
And sighs and envies you!
'Our lady's old and feeble now,'
They'll say; 'she once was fresh and fair,
And yet she spurn'd her lover's vow,
And heartless left him to despair:
The lover lies in silent earth,
No kindly mate the lady cheers;
She sits beside a lonely hearth,
With threescore and ten years!'
Ah! dreary thoughts and dreams are those,
But wherefore yield me to despair,
While yet the poet's bosom glows,
While yet the dame is peerless fair!
Sweet lady mine! while yet 'tis time
Requite my passion and my truth,
And gather in their blushing prime
The roses of your youth!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Body is word
Body is word
You poet say
What to do with this word.
This wordelastic
Puss and pull used
To measure sky with word.
Try to understand
This bodyword
That is redy to go
Beyond this world.
You poet here just to
Cross and act as guard.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sun Down The Stars
On a August afternoon
written becomes
a fairly sad tale
of a certain lady
Lost from a dilemma
of a shocking experience
she has gone the distant
to create an epic fable
but not forgotten
for a sad lady
poem by Shai Cherry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Epitaph For A Poet
His poems in millions sold
The poet lies here dead and cold!
Here lies the poet
Who through toil and sweat
Played word games,
Wrote many poems.
From his heart deep thoughts
Poured out in lots
Creations of his mind
Made his readers blind.
How was he as a person?
It’s mostly unknown
His own comforts he did embrace
Little he cared for others’ happiness
With mortal temptations he was bewitched
Never followed the values he preached.
Small lapses (or are they?) for a poet so great
Aloof in life, he lies solitary in death!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Ulysses hears his own story sung by an epic poet and then he reveals his identity and the poet wants to continue singing, Ulysses isn't interested any longer. That's very astonishing.
quote by Raymond Queneau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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