Poetry Is Somebody Writing
Poetry is somebody writing
About soft rotting peaches,
Lying on a table that's missing a leg
In a deserted cottage somewhere,
With ermine curtains.
And Poetry is someone explaining
That the poem holds promise of great beauty,
In the seeds of the peaches,
Even if they are over-ripe;
And even if the curtains are poorly matched.
And Poetry is someone else arguing
That the poem is about avarice
And wasted opportunity
In a post-modern world.
And Poetry is somebody else saying
A poem is just a still life
Made out of nothing in particular,
And thus can't be assigned relative values.
And Poetry is the child,
Falling asleep on the table
Holding a poem book open,
Pressed against his cheek,
And dreaming of ermine peaches
Rolling off of limping tables,
In a dark cottage alone,
In the middle of an existence
Nowhere that we could recognize.
poem by Patti Masterman
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Making Poetry
Why did I make a poem?
It's more than you can imagine
It's not about black or white
Because the power of poetry that I'm dumbfounded
Look at the whole Bible, everything is poetry {not, but a holy book down from Allah is the truth}
Abstract ideas of science are all from the poem
Idealism actual human life is poetry
I'm just trying to be honest...
Creating poetry for me is more than anything
Not me want to be Jesus or Muhammad {but imitate their pious}
But I do not know what my purpose {paradise}
Only the most important is to produce poetry
I just write from the unreal world
Introduce something to people here
Are they willing to accept it or not does not matter
Since the poetry of the poem is the image of eternity
Who continue to fly and only revealed to the seeker
Poetry for me is more important than life
More important than my beloved
More important than my brother
Because the poem can represent any
Why did I make a poem?
When you reject the poem in your life
It has a form of poem to poem
Actually you can not escape from poetry
But you did not realize it, be aware of?
Indeed the poem is really real
Do you not believe how strong poetry
Look at all the countries in the world today
All poems must have an ideology
Ideology of all States is poetry
Do you still deny its power?
From now on, deep down consider
The poem is more than just blank words without the influence
(30 April 2002)
poem by Irvan Hermawan Saichu
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
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There Are Times/ When The Poetry Of The Poem
THERE ARE TIMES/ WHEN THE POETRY OF THE POEM
There are times
When the poetry of the poem,
And the poetry of the poet
Are poetry.
But there are too times
When the poetry of the poet
And the poetry of the poem
Are not poetry.
There are times
When all the poetry,
And all the poets in the universe
Do not make the world a poem.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
An act of poetry
Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry
A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art
Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation
Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:
The pen be our salvation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I Wanted A Poem/But There Was No Poetry In Me
I WANTED A POEM/ BUT THERE WAS NO POETRY IN ME
I wanted a poem
But there was no poetry in me
I said to myself from outside,
‘Write the feeling of a song'
But I had no song within me-
Poetry did not flow
No music moved me
I was alone with a Mind
That had no heart or song-
And then I writing
Simply tried to listen to myself
And what I heard
Was these awkward non- poetic lines
That make a poem
Which is not true poetry
And yet here now
proclaims its own rhythm as this page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Was A Poem About Poetry
THERE WAS A POEM ABOUT POETRY
There was a poem about poetry
Written by a poet whose name was hidden within the lines-
The poem about poetry
Became a song in the night
And a distant metaphor
For the incomprehensible journey that is life-
It became anything it could be made to be-
Love,
A world of a kind,
A mystery,
The holy sounds of light far far away -
All the poems we know are like this,
In the darkness they say one thing
But in the light in the light
Oh how dark and deep and far and lonely they are-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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On Poetry
1
poetry can be
like a sky filled with wrangling clouds
or as a sky without a wisp
2
in poetry there are no
clichés in thought and phrase;
and what is left there is
the resplendent and the living
3
poetry leaves one
rich inside
and ordinary outside
4
the fool defines poetry
and poetry defies all definitions
5
poetry entertains, inspires;
poetry tickles, distracts, and shapes and frees -
but its true intent, no one knows
6
many lines, and countless lines
many pages, and thick volumes
don’t make poetry
7
if one had no coins
one cannot buy bread;
but not all the world’s wealth
can bring you poetry
8
Oh no!
Not another love poem!
Oh no!
Not another poem about oneself!
9
rhyme, technique and meter
and tricks of prosody
don’t make poetry: passion does
poem by Raj Arumugam
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What Does Poetry Mean To Me
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from a poem
Good poetry is a rhapsody
That makes my spirit roam
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from an ode
Good poetry is the world to me
It is the mother lode
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from a verse
Good poetry makes my soul soar free
And lifts the darkest curse
What does poetry mean to me
A sorry sonofabitch
Good poetry grabs me by the balls
And makes my life seem rich
What does poetry mean to me
An ageing U3Aer
Good poetry takes me back to youth
To when I was a player
What does poetry mean to me
A frustrated would-be bard
Good poetry trips not off my pen
It’s far too blooming hard
A Poem Which Makes No Reference To Poetry
A POEM WHICH MAKES NO REFERENCE TO POETRY
A poem which makes no reference to poetry
And does not wonder who and what the poet is-
A poem that makes meanings of life outside the world of its own self- reflection-
A poem that is what life is
In some far and different way-
That poem
Waiting elsewhere
Written by someone else
So great in its beauty
And so powerful in its light
That poem written by someone else
About something I know nothing about
In a way I never dreamed or imagined
That poem is not written by me
And never will be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Not Every Poem Knows Its Own Name
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS ITS OWN NAME
Not every poem knows its own name
Or can have itself be written easily-
Not every poem lives in the light
There are dark poems also.
We, possessed of poetry
Often do not know where we are.
We would like to believe
That the light of our soul
And the light of our words
Are one-
But we know deep down
There is one poem somewhere
And another poem somewhere else
And whoever we truly are
Cannot be wholly found in either.
No poem is us completely
And we are not complete Poetry either.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wrote This Poem And That Poem And Another Poem Again
I WROTE THIS POEM AND THAT POEM AND ANOTHER POEM AGAIN
I wrote this poem and that poem and another poem again
The world of poetry was open to me
And I could go on and on in it
It was a dream come true
A world which opened when I moved through it
A place I wanted to be
A place of beauty and peace and spirit and imagination
A good good place
The world of poetry was open to me
And as I wrote my way through it
I felt God had given me a gift of life
And I should at least know enough to be grateful for it-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My reason's why poetry is never devilish,
My reasons why poetry is never devilish,
My reason is that poetry made me realise knowledge of Imagination,
It is from the pleasure that express Human emotions,
If Man is from God then poetry is from man,
A man is a Spiritual being,
Existing with Infinite Knowledge,
Poetry is not supporting felonies,
Either way the great Prophet's recognised poetry,
Poetry can take away Indifference,
Create a spiritual man into Beauty of the soul,
My reason is that felonies is worser than writing a poem,
Fornication and gossip is much distinguished from Angelic Realm,
I think that Poetry hast better explanation,
In a World that is very Shallow in Spiritual Knowledge.
poem by Abdul Karim
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Poetry On The Chin
You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.
You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.
You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Poem The Poem And The Poem Again
THE POEM‘ THE POEM AND THE POEM AGAIN’
‘The poem the poem and the poem again’
Isn’t there any life without poetry?
Why is it always ‘The poem the poem the poem’?
Let it be some other dream
Or some other small facet of our endless realities
Why always ‘The poem the poem the poem? ’
The poet who lives and dies for the poem
Is only one kind of poet
And perhaps not even a good one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Know There Are Other Kinds Of Poetry
I know there are other kinds of Poetry-
I know for many a confession cannot be a poem-
But for me my confession is my poem
And my writing what I most intensely think and feel
And need to say-
It may not be Poetry for you
And it may not speak to you at all,
I don't want you to waste your time
With what is meaningless for you-
But if the poetry of Confession
And mine in particular
Can be poetry for you,
Thank you for giving my lines
Some time and attention.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Dont Write Poetry!
i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...
no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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It Is A Habit
writing poems
when you really write poems
everyday and every moment of your life
even when you're in the middle of your
bread and butter eating thing
or even when you are defecating
writing poems becomes a habit
even when you sleep even when you dream
writing poems becomes a part of your system
you eat poetry you vomit poetry
you digest poetry you poo poetry
you breathe poetry you sweat poetry
you love poetry and you live with your poetry
and at the end you die with poetry
and your epitaph says: here lies the poet,
choked with poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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