Len Webster's 'On Reading Lorca in Thailand
We go on writing, beating ourselves up,
Shredding experience into words, fragments
To be re-shaped for a future self to read,
Or (ideally) some real other to replace the imaginary.
Like seeds set free from plant-heads,
Words drift in the air, less permanent
Than real seeds that at least have a chance
To perpetuate their own kind.
Powerless without people united in common language and sensibility,
Words become nature's drifters,
To be transformed through the intervention of others
Or dispersed onto rocks that will not welcome them.
Our myth is to be discovered, to survive, a remnant of an age,
An epoch, a race, a family, a simple self.
Symbolised by a name that is as much an invention
As our very identity, art and narrative carry us through,
Clinging to the low-lying islands
In the face of dreaded certainties.
poem by Len Webster
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Related quotes
Words
Words on this paper
Words in my head
Words while I'm texting
Computing
Unsaid
Words between people
Words on the phone
Words upon words
Even when I'm alone
Words from the Bible
I question
Don't mesh
Words from pornography
Making them flesh
Words with flat letters
Written in black
Good words and bad words
You cannot take back
Words that are shallow
Words that are deep
When they're too many
They put me to sleep
Words that I'm writing
And rhyming you read
Whatever I'm saying
There's prolly no need
Words from the alphabet
Words that can't be
When you are blind
And it's Braile that you see
Words that are worthless
And said on the fly
My words or your words
Are most likely lies
Words in a sentence
Wise words or fair
The only words earnest
Are those said in prayer
Written by Sara Fielder © 2011
poem by Sara Fielder
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i teach my child by G. Abad
I.
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
They are hardest to learn.
Words like home,
Or friend, or to forgive.
These words are relations.
They are difficult to bear;
Their fruits are unseen.
Or words that promise
Or dream.
Words like honor, or certainty,
Or cheer.
Rarest of sound,
Their roots run deep;
These are words that aspire,
They cast no shade.
These are not words
To speak.
These are the words
Of which we consist,
Indefinite,
Without other ground.
II.
My child
Is without syllables
To utter him,
Captive yet to his origin
In silence.
By every word
To rule his space,
He is released;
He is shaped by his speech.
Every act, too,
Is first without words.
There's no rehearsal
To adjust your deed
From direction of its words.
The words are given,
But there's no script.
Their play is hidden,
We are their stage.
These are the words
That offer to our care
Both sky and earth,
These same words
That may elude our acts.
If we speak them
But cannot meet their sound,
They strand us still
In our void,
Blank like the child
With the uphill silence
Of his words' climb.
And so,
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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238
i teach my child by G. Abad
I.
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
They are hardest to learn.
Words like home,
Or friend, or to forgive.
These words are relations.
They are difficult to bear;
Their fruits are unseen.
Or words that promise
Or dream.
Words like honor, or certainty,
Or cheer.
Rarest of sound,
Their roots run deep;
These are words that aspire,
They cast no shade.
These are not words
To speak.
These are the words
Of which we consist,
Indefinite,
Without other ground.
II.
My child
Is without syllables
To utter him,
Captive yet to his origin
In silence.
By every word
To rule his space,
He is released;
He is shaped by his speech.
Every act, too,
Is first without words.
There's no rehearsal
To adjust your deed
From direction of its words.
The words are given,
But there's no script.
Their play is hidden,
We are their stage.
These are the words
That offer to our care
Both sky and earth,
These same words
That may elude our acts.
If we speak them
But cannot meet their sound,
They strand us still
In our void,
Blank like the child
With the uphill silence
Of his words' climb.
And so,
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I read another poet I could not understand
I READ ANOTHER POET I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND
I read another poet I could not understand
The metaphors racing one after the other
The eternal thoughts taking on a new particular dress
Words and more words
Lines and more lines
Rushing toward meaning and beauty.
And in it all my simple not understanding,
My waiting to hear words that would return to me-
My understanding
That only by my own effort
By my reading again and again
By my willing to believe
Could I make another poet real.
But do I want another poet to be real
When I am a question,
And when there are already others real for me also?
Oh selfish little man oh poor poor reader-
Write your poem alone again
As if no one but you will ever be able to write
The poems which are real.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Words Sometimes Take On A Own Meaning
Words sometimes take on a own meaning
and sometimes they are sharp and painful
as if there is much more to words
as if a kind of secret knowledge hides in them
that are sometimes something moving.
Words sometimes take on a own meaning
but somehow words can at times miss things
and are sometimes dependent on feelings
as if there is much more to words
when through it all love brings a kind of bonding
and so you and I are attractive to each other.
Words sometimes take on a own meaning
and daily a bond develops between us,
while you become more considerable to me,
as if there is much more to words
you constantly live in my thoughts,
while love becomes real through words.
Words sometimes take on a own meaning
as if there is much more to words…
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Lords Words
my words have been written for you to read
in my apostles i've planted the seeds..
read all the words they have to say
don't let anything make you sway.
for tommorrow may be your ' judgement day'.
i was sent to the world by my father
but! not to make man's life any harder.
so that the world could confide in me
and their souls i could set free.
centuries from now this world will be a mess
and your beliefs will then be put to the test.
search your hearts and search your minds
for my words will last untill the end of time.
in the bible my life and words will be found
you just have to turn and look around.
people are turning to me every day
and on their knees they begin to pray.
so when you go to chuch to pray
there should be much for you to say.
pray for peace in this world
and to help the sick and poor
pray for health and jobs
.and then pray for more.
all of this you could ask of me
and of this i shall set you free.
poem by Louis Rams
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Beloved Secrecy
I carry my notebook
with me
everywhere I go
because without the words
I'm just a lonesome dropout
looking for a body to love
I feel bad
when I read Bukowski.
His legacy
is well-built and strong
he would have said,
'You're crazy. And maybe beautiful.
But this fight
is one of the hardest
you will ever face.'
That's what writing is:
A fight.
I'm small
feeble
and weak-hearted
but words
are my favorite
weapon
and they are my best
defense mechanism
'Hey Buk, ' I'd say
'I'm tired of being cruel
and pretending I'm the
victim.'
This love thing,
I'm only nineteen
and I've felt it
with three different people,
maybe four.
I'm waiting
on a handwritten letter
from a man
out in Calgary
in his words:
'I like you Miss Vanessa,
you carry that gene
that piques my ever
diverted interest.'
In other words:
We are going to
fall in love.
We met by chance.
On account of what I believe
was fate tapping me on the shoulder
saying, 'This was meant to happen.'
He told me we'd go away together
and there is nothing
I love more than
the idea
of
getting away.
poem by Vanessa Grixti
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New Talents
Tracing my past,
Looking for my identity;
Walking into my mind,
Learning from others,
Living through life,
Writing for others
With my hopes and my dreams!
But, others want to see me in person.
This is my muse and this is my home,
Others want to understand my mind;
But, this world is like that at times!
With me walking into my mind to set the pace,
But, this race is not yet over.
Heading towards you,
With my mind as the keyboard for you to type your words;
But, my identity is what the people are asking for! !
However, i am who i am in a land on the West Coast of Africa.
Wars! ! Why are they killing each other?
Who created us?
Then, you can answer yourselves on this simple matter;
Because, we need peace everywhere on this earth than war!
This is my muse of love,
With words from my mind to lead you on;
This is my muse of care,
With words from my inner self to educate you;
However, new talents are born everyday into this world.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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No More Gay
I don't need words as much as words need me,
For I may live in silence; not so words,
Which cannot survive in obscurity.
And oft words lose their true identity
From ill-use of vulgar mouths; blessed words-
Destroyed, defaced, banished to infamy.
O that good men could once again be gay,
Without all the confusion; splendid word
That now must die of neglect- no more gay.
The First Poem
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Words That Move
Amazing are the words that move
Us like the sailing seeds of a poppy or
A freight train falling from the sky
A thousand pictures paint the words that
Fuel the fires of passion or drown the
Ambitious with agony. Words
So simple, so plainly profound flowing
With articulate expressions of
stuttering staccato
haiku and sonnet
free verse and rhyme
limerick and ode
So many ways to say one thing
So many things said just one way
Like the sailing
Freight falling
A thousand pictures
Fuel words so simple
With articulate
Verse to say
Amazing
are the words that move.
poem by Mario Valdes
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Other one's words
We all go to sleep
With someone’s words
In our minds
Words of kindness
Words of anger
Words of every kind
They carry us off to sleep
And perhaps temper
And shape our dreams
Words said in caring
The most soothing
it seems
In anger or sadness
In calm and in madness
Words in our minds, we’ll find
As we drift off to sleep
Be it fretful or deep…and
Our mind slowly lowers it’s blinds
We all go to sleep… be it shallow or deep
Hearing some other one’s…
Words in our minds
poem by David Whalen
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Strange Currencies
I dont know why youre mean to me
When I call on the telephone
And I dont know what you mean to me
But I want to turn you on, turn you up, figure you out, want to take you on
These words, you will be mine
These words, you will be mine, all the time
The fool might be my middle name
But Id be foolish not to say
Going to make whatever it takes,
Ring you up, call you down, sign your name, secret love
Couldnt I take you in and make you mine?
These words, you will be mine
These words, you will be mine, all the time, oh
I tripped and fell, did I fall?
What I want you to feel, I want to feel it now
You know with love come strange currencies
And here is my appeal:
I need a chance, a second chance, a third chance, a fourth chance,
A word, a signal, a nod, a little breath
Just to fool myself, catch myself, to make it real, real
These words, you will be mine
These words, you will be mine, all the time, oh
These words, you will be mine
These words haunt me, hunt me down, catch in my throat, make me pray,
Say loves combined, oh
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A little Thing Called Magic
There is a sigh of words drained from the bitterness of your mouth
warning me again of the magic that is stored
this magic tricking me, scraching at my heart
making it open to the simple words of praise and fortune
opening to absorb these simple words so greatly
this magic shows how much one love can hurt
how much one life cannot heal
and how much magic cannot survive in a world that cannot believe
this magic was shown in the worst kind of statue
performing so slowly, so stiffly its as if so forgotton
so misunderstood to the one who cannot feel its presence
its lies showing simple words that deffeat the purpose of its innocence
shatttering the true beauty of the statements my magition
playing as if so played out and so perfected
knowing with all certainty that this love cannot be real
but still lying to one self to proove that it once was such magic
able to lift, to fly, to shadow the main truth of lost love asside
to pursue the greatness of a thing we call love
to hide the true facts that one cannot love
and to in fact destroy the belifs of one girl
in a little thing called magic
poem by Kristinahh KIMBER
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Psycho
I told you time and time again
that we would meet just as friends
and now i just can't seem to get my story through
if i'd known all about this then
i wouldn't have said the things I said
im left now with a problem
what to do
cuz i can't seem to tell her
exactly the way i feel
i can't seem to find the words to show what i know is real
and if she calls me on the phone
wont you tell her im not home
just say ive gone so very far away
if she asks when ill return
tell her that you have not learned
and that i might have plans to stay
cuz i can't seem to tell her
exactly the way i feel i
can't seem to find the words to show what i know is real
i can't seem to tell her
exactly the way i feel
i can't seem to find the words to show what i know is real
here she comes again
this time surrounded by her friends
do i pretend that i dont see her or say hi
she asks me if im free
i said i would if it was up to me
and pray she sees the truth behind my lie
cuz i can't seem to tell her
exactly the way i feel
i can't seem to find the words to show what i know is real
i can't seem to tell her
exactly the way i feel
i can't seem to find the words to show what i know is real
song performed by by Bowling For Soup
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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And If you let......
*Ros-Mum Dah*
If you let go a little
Nothing will settle
You may create an extra space
Lead to emergence of unforeseen race
If you let go a lot
Big battle will be fought
Something more and additional is sought
Your attention is arrested and never caught
As it is rightly said “offer little with good intent”
No hostile reaction later if you say “no” and dissent
This will give you more insight of a stranger
It will save you from possible frustration and anger
There should be careful and permanent attachment
So in case of some set back there is no detachment
It must have some open windows to think and monovour
It must be seen then as complete success in your favor
Why do we accept person who is completely unknown?
Why is that we completely surrender to him and be known?
What does it mean to in our real life for future?
Why do we care for and think for ever to nurture?
It is destiny and decided by almighty to be respected
Inner soul must be searched and thoroughly inspected
It is almost unavoidable must be taken as final wish
How come small creature can survive without water like fish
It is almost certain and likely or bound to happen
Fruits too after certain time are bound to ripen
It is unique experience when events take place at right moment
Nothing can help us whether we remain at centre and make movement
Let someone not fool us or take us for granted
We allow the seeds to grow as per wish when planted
We commit to self and accommodate even at some compromise
Words have to be believed and so on the reciprocal basis the promises
*Ros-Mum Dah*……thought originator
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Magic Of Words
I admit to never having read much poetry before,
But now that I’ve started, I’m eager to read more.
I’ve discovered many poems, ones old and new;
There are all sorts: happy ones and sad ones to.
Some poems paint a picture, and are descriptive in their style.
While some are humorous, and are designed to make you smile.
There are also narrative style poems, such as the ‘Goblin Market’ story,
By Christina Rossetti, there are close to five hundred lines, in all their glory.
Alliteration always sounds extremely catchy and really rather nice –
When an initial consonant is sounded, in quick succession, at least twice.
Assonance also often comes in quite handy too,
Especially when the rhyme isn’t quite exactly true.
The addition of onomatopoeia can be a real whiz,
Adding sounds like Crash! Bang! Pop! And Fizz!
I love poems which have a regular rhythm, and which rhyme,
And I try my best to incorporate these factors into poems of mine.
In rhythm and rhyme, myself, I like to try and immerse,
As I have to admit that I’m not a particular fan of free verse.
With poetry, I’m really beginning to get a little bit obsessed.
I change words around, trying to see how they sound the best.
I like to keep my writing quite simple, not complex;
I hate it when words and ideas complicate the text.
I love it when words paint a picture in my inner mind;
When a masterpiece is created, as snapshots are combined.
My mind finds it difficult to process ideas which are too abstract;
I just like simple descriptions and a smattering of interesting facts.
Unless I understand the first few lines, I can get very easily bored,
And from then on, reading the rest of it can become quite a chore.
I’m not keen on poems which, I consider, are way too short,
As they probably haven’t really required that much thought,
And, likewise, I’m not keen on poems which, for me, are too long,
As reading them, can feel like running a twenty six mile marathon.
If I see a word in a poem which I have not previously seen,
I will look it up in a dictionary, to see exactly what it means.
I always enjoy learning the meaning of the odd new word,
But I hate it when there are many, of which, I’ve never heard.
I also like to look words up in a thesaurus to learn,
If I can swap them for an alternative word or term.
Reading and writing poetry can be a real education in themselves.
You pick up books which may have previously been left on the shelf.
If you’re sat concentrating on reading or writing,
Temporary release from problems, is quite inviting.
It can have a very calming affect upon your soul,
When life’s worries and woes have taken their toll.
I don’t know if I’m just going through a phase, or if my obsession will last;
Over the last few months or so, I really have been having an absolute blast!
I’ve felt proud of some of my works - I didn’t think I could do such things,
And I’ve really revelled in the happiness, into my life, which poetry brings.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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We Met In A Restaurant In Pretoria
We met in a restaurant in Pretoria,
maybe it was more a kind of coffeehouse
with the strong scent of roasted coffee
Spanish or maybe South American pasta dishes
and music in a strange language
probably Portuguese or Spanish
of which the words did carry some meaning
and the customers were cosmopolitan,
you suddenly stopped short,
looking for lingering moments at me
as if you know me from somewhere,
coming abruptly to sit at my table
you wanted to read the words that I was writing,
they were magical to you
and rather full of grief
and you smiled, full of confidence,
totally without fear.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Be Grateful
We always have something
to be grateful for,
our family and friends
whom enrich our lives
with their words of kindness
and their deeds of unconditional love.
We may at times be low in spirit,
feel we cannot carry on,
but we are grateful for the person
who will put sunshine in our lives.
Raise our sprits with their words
and plant a smile on our face.
Being grateful comes with no obligations
except to treat another
in a similar way.
Give them a lift in their lives,
plant a smile on their face,
then we will be grateful for
the good that we can do.
We should never turn away
that little cry for help,
but be grateful that they came to us
to help them through their crisis.
Hoping one day,
they might do the same for us.
6 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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