Poet Hunter and Mathew
In the dense jungle the poet hunter went
With his photographer friend, Mathew
Carrying a shot-gun that Jim Corbet lent
And a camera that was practically new
Eagerly they waited for the jungle king
Composed, silent – after all tiger’s the name
They wished and prayed but not a thing
Came to start their hunting game
Rejected, frustrated the poet yawned
Along with his friend, Mathew
The hush was broken by a starling sound
And the poet his shot-gun drew
Upon them was the tigress glance
A few metres away from Mathew
The poet’s hands shook in trembling stance
And his heart beat missed a few
But his poetic mind as rescue came
And the jungle gleamed with greenery
Sexy the tiger-skin beauty became
In disguise was the haunting fairy
With camera resting on his nose
Taking shoots was friend, Mathew
Some were distant, some shots close
But they came out good, he knew
Tigress, bored by the foolish scene
Jumped on friend Mathew
And dipping her teeth in his skin
A good poetic lunch she chew
The poet hunter ran seeing the plight
And the tigress behind him flew
Behind was still enjoying the sight
And taking snaps blood stained Mathew
poem by Sas Debray
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Related quotes
Little Children
Little eyes have told me wonders
As sparkling innocent as sunrise
Their sweet sunny laughter renders
Rainbows that console my rainy eyes
poem by Rex Mathew Mathew
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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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Walt Whitman
For erratic style he leads van,
Wildly, wayward Walt Whitman.
*Mathew Arnold saw fit to say that Longfellow was not
the National Poet of America, but we presume few believed
him; one of Longfellows grandest pieced the scene is laid in
Canada.
It is a tale of love divine;
Charming faithful Evangeline.
poem by James McIntyre
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King Of The Castle
The tiger strolled alone again...
Unloved for all to see...
A lonely king revered by men
And yet no queen had he...
No tigress roared for him to hear,
No tigress caught his eye,
No tigress brought from far to near
To cause a sovereign's sigh...
The tiger strolled a little more...
His heart a heavy weight...
A lonely king who felt so poor
He couldn't celebrate...
No tigress toured his countryside,
No tigress sought his love,
No tigress thought of him with pride,
So was this life enough?
The tiger strolled another day...
With pining in his soul...
A lonely king he'd have to stay,
Maintaining self-control...
But suddenly he roared and roared!
Until God heard him, too!
God sent a tigress to this lord
Who never said, 'Thank You! '
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2011.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'King Of The Castle'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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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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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 Mosquito's Bite
To tell a story I wield my pen,
Of a poacher who waited outside a den,
He cocked his gun and took his aim,
To shoot an animal he knew was lame.
The pug marks on the mud,
Revealed that it hobbled,
And instantly the poacher knew
That many a time it had stumbled.
Time flew by, the jungle became darker,
The night grew older, the huntsman became wearier.
From inside the den, he heard a soft growl,
And hoped that the tiger would soon be on the prowl.
Out of its home, the predator was on his way,
But little did he know that now he was the prey.
The gunner fired with deadly precision,
At the tiger in his sight,
But at that instant, from a mosquito,
His trigger finger took a bite.
The shot awakened the entire jungle,
But it did not hit its mark,
The bullet zipped past its target,
And slammed into a tree's bark.
The Hunter cried out in pain,
All his efforts had gone in vain!
The tiger turned around and fled,
Into the undergrowth, across a grassy bed.
A miracle saved this tiger but many others are not so lucky!
poem by Shashwat Chaterji
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Fall's start of winter
start of winter
October
dying, frosting, chilly
Fall
poem by Mathew Gallerno
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I had to go. A spirit in my feet said 'Go,' and I went.
quote by Mathew Brady
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the forest
Tiger and tigress
And they are in the forest
What they are doing
I can not say the best.
I you want go and see
The trees the fruits the leafs
Why and what is these
I can not say since I missed.
I can say about sad sorrow
And about Sweet and sour
About safety and security
And can say here nothing to fear.
Tiger and tigress are busy
Are in brainstorm and are busy
To find a solution and that are
In motion in all nation.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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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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No one will ever know what I went through to secure those negatives. The world can never appreciate it. It changed the whole course of my life.
quote by Mathew Brady
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lunch With a Poet
I had lunch with a poet, just the other day.
A poet who has written fine and lofty verse,
Conveying his experiences, emotions and his ideas, in
Vivid, imaginative ways, condensed in simple language,
Choosing words for sound and power,
Rather than impressing readers with poetic adulterations.
Almost apologetically, he said he uses 'nickel words'
To write his inner thoughts. It was as if he were at fault,
As though he thought those simple sounds
Had lessened the intent of his poetic worth.
I emphasized how wrong he was, and tried
To make clear, a poet writes in sympathy with his reader,
Overleaping the barriers of understanding by the simplicity
Of his language, and of his words.
To write with words of misty meaning does not make
A mystic.
To write with vulgar words does not lift up the poem
On wings of song, it only floats as high as the poet's
Commonality who, mistaking flatulence for inspiration, becomes
Enmeshed in a literary byproduct of the foulest of excretion and Smells.
My friend failed to intellectually understand,
But spiritually Accepts, as his writings reveal,
That clarity of thought and mind is the poet's
Highest point of the poet's integrity.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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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
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Hate Is Not The Reason
The tiger chases the deer.
The tiger chases the tigress
The dear flees; the tigress eludes.
No hatred; only fear and shyness.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Capitalist, a Socialist and a Poet
A Capitalist, a Socialist and a Poet
Capitalist: What profit's there to be made?
Socialist: And how the workers will get paid?
Poet: Forget potatoes and your stocks,
The beauty's in the shining locks
Of my sweet darling-there she is-
An angel gliding through the breeze.
Capitalist: That's fine and dandy. What's the price
Of that sweet bosom and those eyes?
What is the bottom line, my friend?
Socialist: This dreamy nonsense has to end-
With millions walking unemployed,
What beauty's there to enjoy?
Poet: And in the starlight late at night
I see my lady burning bright,
And that is all I really need-
No public good or private greed-
I want my freedom just to be
Away from life's banality.
Capitalist: Good luck, my friend, but then again
You could've been a richer man.
Socialist: And while your comrades starve and hurt,
All you can think of is some flirt,
Who steals men's wallets and their hearts,
While you pursue your foolish art.
Poet: Foolish or not, and who decides
What to extol or to deride,
What we imagine, what we seem,
What we aspire to and dream?
And do we know who we are
Beyond some house or a car,
Beyond our jobs, beyond this life
That starts at nine and ends at five?
Capitalist: You could, my friend, be self-employed.
Socialist: Or one of many unemployed.
Poet: I find my meaning in my art,
While beauty lies within the heart
And shared equally with all,
Igniting passion in the soul,
Beyond appearances and lies,
Beyond demand, beyond supply,
Beyond your wealth or state control-
Mine is the freedom of the soul
To love and dream and to behold
The beauty of the natural world.
Not to despise, and not to claim
To have some answers to your game
Of rich and poor - it's all the same -
I want to live before I die
My life - not someone else's lies.
October 2,2009
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Sumatran Tiger
Sumatran Tiger! Look at you!
So many frowns you've got!
As if you don't know what to do,
So you don't do a lot!
I see you resting all alone,
Pretending that you're fine,
But you don't like it on your own,
You need a Valentine...
I know you're proud, stiff-upperlipped,
But that's bravado, friend!
It's outward show, emotions gripped!
You'll soon go round the bend!
There's some cute tigress all depressed
With frowns as long as yours!
Go get her, tiger! Do your best!
Caress her with those paws!
You're made of flesh and blood! Yes, you!
You lucky so-and-so!
It's time to change your point of view...
It's time for you to go!
Sumatran Tiger! On the shelf,
With dark frowns on your brow...
Get up! It's time to move yourself!
Your courting days start now!
(May 2011/The poem is based on the
magnificent sketch by Stephen Gayford
called 'Sumatran Tiger'.)
poem by Denis Martindale
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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
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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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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