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Moon Poetess.

hands flicker, the smokes hurries
And insignia like ice blows in appearance
So seated and commanding twisting joints.
Powers, so she use and sleep.

Cross like lights, like crowns.
And in moon, she exploit simile.
pair of simile, like smile.
married to a poet of the sun.

Seated in a throne, scrutinizing expected writer.
o' poet your tones are failing
Your flood is quited.
Take not my gown for a clown.

In this moon there is peace.
And my ink is agreeable to a moon cave.
And the election has ended.
Yet you are the poet.

No truth is bad as a poetess been a poet.
Posted to bright stool.
and good stew.

poem by Ebi Robert
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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
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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
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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
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Poem about Poetry - a premature death

to let the poet in them die
their mind must have fallen
flat like a corpse
cant the moon not be
made a queen so that
she could doze off in the
light of his care?
nay, of course, they
did not let the poet go to sleep

he was wrapped
and bundled away in the
shadows of the day
by the flood of sweats
to bring the food on the table
by the torrent of thoughts
to get life smooth sailing

the poet, the poet, he can
sleep for a while and hopefull
will not die too prematurely

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Poet is free

Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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This Poet Is Always Beside You

You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Poet Finds....

The poet finds whatever the moon could not see,
The poet finds whatever the earth does not know,
The poet finds whatever the sun could not see,
The poet finds whatever others do not know,
The poet finds whatever the stars could not see,
So why do the heathen rage and the people plot vanity? !
For she who is pregnant is closer to us,
And the hart pants after streams of water.
Your tears have been your food night and day,
And like your inner self in the lan dof your muse;
But the poet finds whatever the sun could not see.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Am More A Poet

I AM MORE A POET THAN ANY OTHER KIND OF WRITER

I am more a poet than any other kind of writer-
But I am not a pure poet -
And not the best of what a poet could be-
I 'think' in my poetry
And it tells me what I dream and feel-
It is my soul-

God made me a poet
Perhaps not a good one as I would have liked to be-

It is so wonderful to be able to write these lines now
After long long hours of difficult silence.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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I Am Not The Poet's Poet But Perhaps The Would- Be- Poet's Would-Be Poet

I AM NOT THE POET’S POET BUT PERHAPS THE WOULD- BE- POETS WOULD – BE –POET

I am not the poet’s poet-
The one poets of name and fame admire-
But perhaps the would- be- poets would be – poet-
Who tries to be a poet
And tries to understand what it means
To love poetry and live by writing it
Even when the world does not recognize me..
.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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I May Not Have Been A Great Poet

I MAY NOT HAVE BEEN A GREAT POET

I may not have been a great poet
Or even a good poet
Or even the poet I wanted to be.
But I am the poet I could be
The poet I am.
And may God have mercy on my soul,
And on all those I love.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poet Who No Longer Believes In Himself

THE POET WHO NO LONGER BELIEVES IN HIMSELF

The poet who no longer believes in himself
And writes on anyway-
The poet who is too weak to stop writing-
The poet who has died as a poet,
Before he has as a person-
The poet who may never have lived as a poet-
The old old old schnook,
Still trying to write a poem
And believing he has done it once again.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Moon Song

A child saw in the morning skies
The dissipated-looking moon,
And opened wide her big blue eyes,
And cried: "Look, look, my lost balloon!"
And clapped her rosy hands with glee:
"Quick, mother! Bring it back to me."

A poet in a lilied pond
Espied the moon's reflected charms,
And ravished by that beauty blonde,
Leapt out to clasp her in his arms.
And as he'd never learnt to swim,
Poor fool! that was the end of him.

A rustic glimpsed amid the trees
The bluff moon caught as in a snare.
"They say it do be made of cheese,"
Said Giles, "and that a chap bides there. . . .
That Blue Boar ale be strong, I vow --
The lad's a-winkin' at me now."

Two lovers watched the new moon hold
The old moon in her bright embrace.
Said she: "There's mother, pale and old,
And drawing near her resting place."
Said he: "Be mine, and with me wed,"
Moon-high she stared . . . she shook her head.

A soldier saw with dying eyes
The bleared moon like a ball of blood,
And thought of how in other skies,
So pearly bright on leaf and bud
Like peace its soft white beams had lain;
Like Peace! . . . He closed his eyes again.

Child, lover, poet, soldier, clown,
Ah yes, old Moon, what things you've seen!
I marvel now, as you look down,
How can your face be so serene?
And tranquil still you'll make your round,
Old Moon, when we are underground.

poem by Robert William Service
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World view

Come to poet
And enjoy life.
Come to poet
And see beauty.
Come to poet
And know truth.
Come to poet
And have patience.
No non-sense can
Disturb you
And you have
At your hand
World view.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Moon Moon

When Moon Moon says
In case of me
To be a quite poet is possible
In addition, I have to be a cool.

When Moon Moon says
The days have to face
Good ways
To begin its first hour
To get its special power.

When Moon Moon says
I cannot hear anybody’s voice

When Moon Moon says
I can realize my age
To do something better
Not caring any matter.

When Moon Moon says
I can guess
She says something special
Those are needed for all.

When Moon Moon says
I have to face
Some case in any case.

When Moon Moon says
Sometimes, no case can be found
Without she says, like
“Hi! How are you
For the few
With your near dear
Are there any tears in your eyes?
When she says…”

Man can be silent
Ocean can be island
He can be brilliant
Even
You can be toys
When Moon Moon says.

When Moon Moon says
All guys are nice
To play with their lives.

When Moon Moon says
Everything seems to us
Like a touch
Of heart,
And
That is a part
Of our life
To survive.

When Moon Moon says
Man pays attention much
Because, what she says, is a touch.

If Moon Moon doesn’t say anything
Then for her not saying
All will be dying.

When she stops saying
Everything seems to me lying.

When she will say
I may
Wait for her
Than other
For sine-dine
Even until I die.

poem by Manir Hossain
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Poetothemics

No magician can make
Moon: A beautiful lass.
A poet can............

No device can grasp
The language of celestial
A poet can.....

You know! He dug out the beauty
From sorrow and melancholy
Mixed it with wine and enjoyed.

And He, enjoyed the song of her,
language was not known to him.
And He, depicted spirit of revolution
As a spiritual bird.An Albatross.

Bursted he and questioned to me.
'What device a poet has?
How they operated the device? '

I replied..
When a vinsect bites to a poet
Poetothemics activated.

'Never heard such words before! '

Now you heard from me!

He said...A poet can...
............***...........

poem by Aftab Alam Khursheed
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Puzzle

Do not bury the poet
The poet bury himself.
The poet is his soul
It is seen ti poet only.

The poet see the time
And time see the poet.
Ask not the poet repeat
Another sun flash light
And you puzzled.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Who says I'm a poet

Yes I write lines
And rhyme rhymes
I write puns
Simile alliteration
And all figures of speech
But who says I’m a poet

In some cases I write and scratch
Sometimes I think crack
Voice out loud dah
Making speeches like damn
Combining words
Building sentences
But who says I’m a poet

I maybe great and brave
Embracing grave
Like person reading a Braille
Showing how strong I dare
But still at night I stare
Thinking who says I’m a poet

I may speak with sticks
Throwing ink turned into voices
Beat with lips
To defend my choices
That might be pointless, thoughtless
Maybe fair-less
Because no one says I’m a poet

They say;
Self recommendation has no justification
Practice makes perfect
But I say;
If you can’t recommend yourself who will
Why practise if no one is perfect
Because I’M A POET I say

poem by Zama Ashley Helebe
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A Poem To A Poets!

the poet see crooked
and talk weird too
like a drunk
perdition in his insane!

No one can understand a Poet
Just you and me, like poet we are

The poet say 'Dr. Jivago'?
It means like a movie? No
it means my love for you! ! !

Or he asks yourself, Am I Evil?
No, he does not evil
I am in silence, affirm the poet! ! !
In silence never he will be

BONG, kick the can! ! !
WAR
AAA
RAW
in silence he is!

Trapped in a tower
a terrible place
just for one second to rest
like almost all of us

He said' I gone'
but gone like no one
gone with strenght
strange and revolutionary Poet!

No one can understand a Poet
Just you and me, like poet we are! ! !

poem by Mirna Morgan
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D.M.V. - Department of Muddled Verses -or- My Mother Is The Only One Who Will Read It Without Curses

Like a door, I'm poor at metaphor, and very bad with simile.
I'm more than just a little off on my rhymability.

My mother, the existentialist, has never cared for meaning.
So I've been a little short on plot, ever since my weaning.

My poetry would be aetheric,
if the Muses weren't so esoteric.

It's clearly only clear to MY sense;
'cause I poet without a poet's license.

poem by Steven Silent Wolf
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