Poet At Heart

A poet at heart
My, My, how I love this art
I wish for this feeling of warmth not to depart
When down it lifts me up so lovingly to start
Makes me feel all the more smart
In a poet’s world when you’re ready with your shopping cart
Make no mistake about it, you can buy all you want at the mart
It fills your appetite, tastes just like lemon tart
Over time, has become my real sweetheart
I pray, may my quill and its words never part
And I remain forever a poet at heart

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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! '

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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.

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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.

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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.

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One Unto The Other

What can a poet do for you?
Open up your heart
to let the sunshine through.

What can a poet say to you?
Words so powerful
to put your past in review.

What can a poet give to you?
A moment of prayer
to make you feel brand new.

What can a poet make alive in you?
A picture of your soul
as it comes into view.

What can you give the poet you read?
The chance to reach you
with something you need.

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A Poet

a poet knows nothing best than a seer, nay neither
touches like a magician nor prays like a monk, yet!
feel the tremendous heart that breathes and sees the
oozing shadow of the light, a poet lives

Oh! what wonder! each word exists where
every poet has come to paste, as the world
turns its page every color the pen refreshes

as the poet begins to tell, every feeling makes it
to fulfill, though in every edge there is always some
sad stories that everybody could feel and relate

a poet always wins in every ink of a pen, there is
always pain, turning others' gain, the end
holds on to reign, and the heart of the immortal fight
has just begun, transcend beyond it rainbow's
plain, wherein every poetry the dying soul comes
to raise the wonderful surprises of life

as the fulfillment has gone, and every one's dream
has achieved and the poet now wishes to repose in the
lamp light grave the pen it lays, leaving the world to
be freed watching my hand to flee

wish me luck; the time has to come, where my day is
counted in the pen everyone is perfected and my
moment is for you to remember that in very write our
soul leads us to be upright and every way is alright,
and now haggle me to know that I am a poet at the
end of my life

a poet in a shining armor of light.........

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The Poet's Page

All the words that fill a poet's page
can never convey love's feeling.
For all we know and think about love
is only what we're feeling.

The page itself is a bit of relief
as the words spill upon it.
But as the poet spells out the emotion
it seems as if they omit
the deepest and sweetest part of love
that words can never convey.
For the innermost ardor that's everlasting
is too hard for the pen to say.

But say it they must or die inside
and little by little sicken.
And write it they must or never be
able to feel their heart quicken.

And what words can come
that can live through the pain
of unfulfilled love that does remain.
The pen is just an extension
of the brain that's overworked tonite.
Oh that it had the power to bring
to me sweet delight
instead of another lonely,
lonely and empty night.

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Don't

Don't fall in love with a poet
for they will melt your heart
and there is no escape, you see
for romance is their art.

Don't try to vie with a poet
for words trip from their mouths
as easily as quick silver
that lines the darkest clouds.

Don't tell a poet your secrets
for very soon you'll see,
they'll write them as a metaphor
upon a paper sea.

Don't make a stance with a poet
for you don't stand a chance
they'll sway you with emotions
and words that sweetly dance.

Don't fall in love with a poet,
however they endear,
for strong romantic gestures
will conjure flowing tears.

Don't fall in love with a poet
for life will surely change
but oh how happy you will be
to have it rearranged.

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The Heart of a Poet

The heart of a poet is too soft
more soft than petal of any flower
the heart of a poet is too mild
more mild than water of any spring

The heart of a poet is too melodious
so melody springs out from heart of a poet

The heart of a poet too genius
so, he picks up jewels from deep ocean of wisdom

The heart of a poet is more transparent
more transparent than any crystal

So, the poets are!

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Yes I Am Fat

Yes I am fat
Yes I am fat
And I love my hats
Sometimes I wish my hair was wrapped in a plat
I got two Siamese cats and I always dress smart
But let me put this right from the start
Yes I am fat
But O! No, I am not a tart

This is a message for all you love rats
I may crave once in a while for brown chocolat
But I do I have appreciation for the finer art
Sometimes I let out a big fat fart
Sometimes I have a full shopping cart
Yes I am fat
But O! No, I am not a tart

I have a big bum - I got curve infinity
I have big breasts - I got breast immunity
Though my bum is round and never flat
I got the purest of dignity all you love rats

Yes I am fat
Yes I am fat
Sometimes I get scorned or made fun at
But you need to check out my stats
I am intelligent, respectful and not a brat
I go to work and pay my dutiful vat
So do you want a chit chat?
Or do you want to take out your baseball bat
You see I can engage in any immortal combat,
on any wrestling mat and come out without taking a scat
Yes I am fat
But O! No, I am not a tart

So many have looked and spat
As if I smell and don't take a bath
I was born fat
And such is that
Respect me and I give tit for tat
Please don't make jest at
I do like when I get winked at
You see, even the fat have a heart
At times I feel pain as if I have been pierced with a dart

Yes I am fat
I have to plot my own life chart
And accept myself until death does me apart
By telling me when it is time to depart
Yes I am fat
Yes I am fat
But O! No, I am not a tart

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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..
.

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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.

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Sonnet: What A Good Poem Does?

A good poem exits the poet’s heart,
When inspired enough, flowing with ease,
In a way emotional, right from the start;
When feelings abate, it will tend to cease.

A good poem lifts up the reader’s heart
In the same manner, the poet had felt,
With attributes right that speak of his art;
The reader’s mind, a candle-like does melt.

A good poem’s a musical fine piece,
Rhythmical too, whenever it can be;
And like nectar to honey-making bees,
Giving, feeling of immortality.

Good poems come only once in a while,
When writes the poet, from his heart in style.

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A Poet To Be

A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.

I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.

I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.

I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.

But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.

I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.

I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.

I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.

A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.

I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.

I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.

It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.

A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.

But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.

How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.

As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.

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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

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New Start ver.1

Riding Down past the k-mart
Spelling her name with hearts
My love for her goes off the charts
Not looking for some tart
Not shopping for a girl in a ghetto supermart
This is my new start
Puting back pieces of my broken heart
Doing everything to get her on my part
If I don't get her I'll fall apart
Go to sleep and drift on an empty ark
So you think you are ready to be apart of my new start! ?

vers1 people read others

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Poet vs Poem

Does a poet makes poem
Or poem makes poet?
The eternal war goes on.
The big confusion who will solve it?

Poet fight with sword of pen.
Poem armoured with shield of senses.
Poet tries to rich sky high,
Poem pulls rope of meaning and tenses.

Does poet sketc the poem
Or poem drags him through the invigible gravity.
A piece of paper becomes battlefield.
The war of ink and vocabulary,
Creates a historic beauty.

Poet cages the poem in a book.
Where the world will look.
Praises all to poet 'oh how great'
But the poem is what counts after his death.

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I am not a poet

They say I am not a poet,
I, too, think so,
I am not a poet,
For I dare not turn the truth,
Into falsehood,
Or vise-versa,
I refrain myself from decorating
my verses with words and phrases,
To create sensation.
I call spade a spade,
In the simplest term
I may not be a poet,
But am aware of,
The mysteries of love,
I may not be a poet, But know how to detect,
Imitations in emotions.
I am aware of,
The cavity the society bears,
The thriving double standards,
The artificial claims of love,
I know I am not a poet,
I prefer to remain a simple person, Without being obsequious,
I can accomplish my task,
I just say what I feel,
So what if they do not send
Their inspiring comments,
So what if they take my request for flattery,
I would go on expressing my feelings,
Whether they like it or not
For I am not a poet at all.

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Goodbye Poet! ! ! !

Very sad when a Poet close your book
leave his pen and left us
So we say: There goes, Aphrodite, Apollo, Hades
find your ethereal Muse and make peaces with God

Because
The Poet goes different

He goes taking all of us with him
He goes but leaving your scrolls, hymns
His Ilíadas, Odisseias
For ever and Never

Because
The Poet let us different

He dare to be absent without a motive
confront dead and write the more beautiful Poem
Poet's heart now beats alone!

So go Poet
Go, because you are different

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Letter To A Young Poet Revised

Letter to a young Poet

Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent pass time it doesn’t
change anything, no one reads it, other than cranky people. Should
a poet writes something nationalistic that resonance with, a nation’s
pride, like: “my country is the best in the world.” He will get a medal.

So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the common man a poet is regarded as a figure of
fun who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make
sense of a world he doesn’t understand. As my father said, when my first
poem was published: “How much did they pay you? ” If my words have
not scared you off, you’re a poet. The only tool you’ll need is honesty.

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