Me Mentor - Sounds Good
How well I know I wanted us to grow!
I figured if you used the tools
we both could never look like fools,
you balked and squinted then my way
but in the end it was okay.
We wandered down that path, first you
when all the bracken still had dew
reciting to the forest's trees
such wondrous poems, and the breeze
embraced our sentiments and words
presenting them to waiting birds
who turned the poems into songs
the forest soon was bare of wrongs!
And left behind was rancid flesh
which spawned new life, to start afresh
And when the two of us great masters
got back to man's abject disasters
we did remember then the day
when summertime was green and gay
and when both Lawrence and his buddy
stopped in to see that fuddy-duddy,
and tested out the motorcar
that wears the triple silver star.
Soon civilised and sinful life
had trapped us well, we took a wife
and settled down to homely chores,
Lawrence and Herbert, two old bores.
This was written in response to Lawrence's poem 'Mentor'.
Lawrence exaggerates because he wants to drive the Mercedes again.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Related quotes
Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.
Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh The Poems
OH THE POEMS AND THE POEMS AND THE POEMS
Oh the poems and the poems and the poems
Oh the love of Literature
Oh all that stuff
I have given my life to-
Words and meanings and feelings
Pages and pages and pages –
What it is all this literary life for?
When out the window out the door
With our eyes we see in an instant other worlds other dreams?
I don’t know and I will never know
And Literature is certainly far more than I can say it is-
Oh the poems and this poem and this day turning grey
And all my life old and old and more old and more old-
Oh why oh why oh why
And always back to God
My last rescue and refuge and escape
I who have read so much Great Literature
And can only write this-
Oh the why and the oh oh oh and the words
And the whole world of Literature
I would belong to and do not.
Oh the words oh the world oh the Literature
Oh God help me please can’t you please help me a little or not?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
poem by Shalom Freedman
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poems Poems
poems poems every where does any one care
poems are your life but do you include them
poems may seem silly but there a great part of life
so say a poem write a poem listen to a poem be the poem
poem by Samantha Thuringer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Green Roads
The green roads that end in the forest
Are strewn with white goose feathers this June,
Life marks left behind by someone gone to the forest
To show his track. But he has never come back.
Down each green road a cottage looks at the forest.
Round one the nettle towers; two are bathed in flowers.
An old man along the green road to the forest
Strays from one, from another a child alone.
In the thicket bordering the forest,
All day long a thrush twiddles his song.
It is old, but the trees are young in the forest,
All but one like a castle keep, in the middle deep.
That oak saw the ages pass in the forest:
They were a host, but their memories are lost,
For the tree is dead: all things forget the forest
Excepting perhaps me, when now I see
The old man, the child, the goose feathers at the edge of the forest,
And hear all day long the thrush repeat his song.
poem by Edward Thomas
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An Evening Poem
AN EVENING POEM
An evening poem
Waits for deeper darkness
A night poem knows blackness
As home.
A morning poem is light
An afternoon poem is thick with heat.
All times have a poem
And all seasons poems also
All lives are poems
And all stories also.
We all are and all know poems
Poems pervade us
And the universe.
It is night now
But when the morning comes
Its poem will overshadow now.
What a brave new world it is
With so many poems in it
And what a life-
With such deep sadness
Waiting forever to be unexpressed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This Is A Poem Written To Escape Doing Something Else
THIS IS A POEM WRITTEN TO ESCAPE DOING SOMETHING ELSE
This is a poem written to escape doing something else
Perhaps in a way all my poems have been written to escape doing something else
Some lifetime work I never wanted to do?
Some hard business task?
Some duty of life I felt myself not up to yet?
Some meeting some personal confrontation?
But this poem
A small poem indeed
Is written because I fear the longer work I have to do
Will not be alright-
But then don't I also fear this poem too and all the poems
Will not be alright?
All my life I have been escaping into poetry-
Why in my old age how in my old age
Should I
Change this now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Greatest Poem
Good poems don't rhyme
Great poems don't have rhythm
The greatest poem is not one on paper but said out loud
Good poems are about flowers and puppies
Great poems are about peace and happiness
The greatest poems are about change
What should change.
how it should change.
And who should change.
Most of all the greatest poem is not one about the life you wanted to live
But the one you are living.
poem by Getasew Shumet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is No Poem For Me Today
THERE IS NO POEM FOR ME TODAY
There is no poem for me today
There is no poem of yesterday
The poems have gone
And far away
There is no poem
For another day.
There never will be another poem
Poems are gone
Poems are stone.
All the words I will ever write
Are not enough
For a Poem of Life.
The Poems are not
They will never be
I am not a Poem
Nor Poetry.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wanted My Poem To Be A Real Poem
I WANTED MY POEM TO BE A REAL POEM
I wanted my poem to be a real poem-
I have read and studied and memorized
So many real poems-
I wanted my poem to be one of them
Which others would read and feel and memorize
And make their own –
We want and we want and we want
And who are we with all our wanting?
Who am I with all my wanting?
One more dreamer
One more ambitious person
One more lover of poems
One more writer of poems
One more wanter of real poems
Who writes this poem
For others
who dream like me
of writing real poems.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is A Forest Existing Amongst The Trees
This life is mine and not yours to ride.
Get off my back.
Keep your eyes on your own path.
Make and establish your own tracks.
This life is mine and not yours to define.
There is no need to offer your definition,
As to the direction I should better take.
When I place each foot down,
I am aware of each step I make.
There is no blindside to catch me,
Straying off into the wilderness.
No hindsight is there to express,
About concerns of not doing my best.
My best has yet to be done.
And I do not seek in a premeditation,
To prove this to anyone.
I am at first my own worst critic.
This life is mine and not yours to ride.
Get off my back.
Keep your eyes on your own path.
Make and establish your own tracks.
You will be surprise to see,
There is a forest existing amongst the trees.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poems About Poems About Poems
Poems about poems about poems-
More poems and more poems and more poems-
Poems poems poems poems poems-
How many poems?
How much poetry
Until there is no poetry at all?
But only 'words' and 'words' and 'words'
Until one goes far away
Where there was never a poem before-
And suddenly hears
“Let there be Light”.
And Poetry perhaps
Is born again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This' I Know to Be True
You can not be a better Lawrence S. Pertillar.
Not better than Lawrence Pertillar, Junior can!
Somehow I know this.
However...
There is something you can do,
Better than Lawrence.
Or anyone else who attempts to prove.
And you can place a bet on this,
At any casino with little risk!
I bet you can have the best life possible.
If you desired it!
And no one has to know,
A thing about you or what your name is!
Who you love or who you choose to screw!
That is up to you.
'This' I know to be true.
And 'if' I can say that...
I know you can too!
Open your mouth and say 'Ahhh'!
Now,
Get out of my face.
You've got to have other things to do?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Happy Birthday Daddy Larry
86 years old,
Today my Daddy Larry...
Would have celebrated on this day.
He and I had a unique relationship.
We weren't particularly close.
And yet,
A closeness existed.
He and I were so much alike.
But he never did scold me,
Since my mother Edna did that...
To keep my steps on a path walking right.
When I was young,
My daddy was called Lawrence.
I was then Larry junior...
With my own presence known.
Then when I became of age,
He wanted to be called 'Larry'.
And I thought, 'How could he do this to me?
Moving in to claim 'my' territory.
I became Lawrence 'S'...
Back in 1971.
And when I discovered on his birth certificate,
He was Lawrence 'A'?
I had not known that up until that day.
And AS I grew...
Knowing my daddy would soon pass away?
I told him I loved him.
And he looked at me as if to say,
'I wish I had more time! '
That was back in 1988,
Days before my Daddy Larry...
Would from us pass away.
And on this day, December 11th 2010...
I miss my daddy very much.
With a more understanding of him,
And who he was.
Feeling his presence is near.
And we are closer now than ever.
Just because...
That is the way it is!
Happy Birthday, Daddy Larry!
Dedicated to the memory:
Lawrence Pertillar, Senior...
My father.
'Miss you, daddy.'
Love,
Lawrence ('Larry') ...lol
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Beauteous Forest Vavroovahana Patra
Beauteous is the forest;
In summer provides oxygen.
Tranquilises creatures minds, provides peace, merriment.
The forest is beautiful, mother’s shrine smiles in the forest, devotees
are delightful.
Beneath the trees shade passers-by rest a while, chilly breeze kisses
The passers-by gaudily;
Passers-by enchant peacefully.
Poets rest a while, depict beauteous poems enthusiastically;
Inhale pure oxygen gladly.
The green forest is a Gift of Almighty;
In all poets mind provides peace, gaiety.
Poet depicts the Eternal Truth of life;
Provides peace in human minds, evaporates grief.
I pray my mother Sarala Daily;
Mind derives perennial peace cheerfully.
Chanting hymns I derive peace;
Singing mother’s devotional songs derive bliss.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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If That's the Path You Are Waiting to Have Cleared
Why have you chosen to climb over those boulders?
And walk your way through the forest,
Instead of following along a trail that has been paved? !
'I chose this as 'my' path!
I wanted to experience...
Those obstacles at my own expense.
To learn and observe as much as I could see.
Without taking it for granted,
I could take advantage of an easier way for me.
And I have no regrets.
How about you? '
I've been waiting now for awhile.
They have discovered an enormous amount of debris,
On my path.
Are you coming 'back' from distances?
Or are you moving along on a journey?
'Well...
I am moving forward,
Hopefully.
There was once a clear path.
I saw some folks on it.
If that's the path you are waiting to have cleared...
To visit or stay...
Or fellowship near.
Best wishes, my 'brutha'.
You got a long wait!
Back there...
Folks like to stay in debate,
As to who should do what...
To get things done!
You should go.
You'll be welcomed and caught up in it,
Before you know it!
That's why I long decided to do my own 'thing'!
Stopping to discuss what action to take...
Is not on my agenda!
Go! Or wait...
Or whatever it is you do!
They will love you!
And they will not believe,
Just how naïve you are! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Those bare forests
When I was young, I had gone to this forest,
It was dark, deep and wild,
Like my youth it was full of resources,
I had spent few days there and had learned how the forest life is?
Forest life means survival of the fittest,
I could not find difference between city and forest,
In city too only the fittest can survive else the human who have wore the leather of lethal animal will not let the herbivore animal like us to live.
After twenty years struggling in the city and being tortured by children,
I returned back to the same forest to see its growth,
I could see it was bare, cut by poacher, deforesters,
It had not followed its own rule and the trees which it holds were all ageing like me,
We both were thrown out of the society it was thrown by cutting and I by my own sons.
I and it had the same fate bare with few more ageing hair and trees to be removed.
poem by Sambidhan Acharya
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A Journey Of A Poet
A journey begins with
A thought in our mind
Words are chosen and formed.
Lines of poem
Well Written with meanings
With words of emotions and expressions
A poet starts with
An inspiration of mind,
An aspiration in soul mind
With reflection
On our life experience
We start to
Compose some
Wonderful poetry
Expressing our innermost thoughts
With deep contemplation
To put them in poetry words
A journey begins when
A poet takes his imagination
To a place where
No one ever dream or imagine before.
A poet's journey ends by
Writing another lovely poem
And deep reflection
A poet remains
As a poet
When he or she
Continue to
Write and Share
lovely poems with the world.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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