Poetry must be your art
Desire is your first name - Love
Sadness must be your last
Yearning is in middle -
to cuddle these men in black
Death makes your epic
Poetry must be your art
Orgasm is your myth
for ages thats been your trick
Heart is where your battles are fought
The spleen must be your powderhouse
Kiss of lips is your flagship, targets-
from where you randomly pick
poem by Prakash Nair
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What Poetry Mean To Me
What does poetry mean to me
Poetry is the air I breathe
Poetry is the words that feed
My soul
To make me whole
Poetry is what makes me blossom
In the middle of spring
Poetry is what grows my garden
And makes it flourish with nature
Beauty
Poetry Is
My magical whim's that supply all my
Fantasy and fills my hopes and dreams
Poetry is the strong desire that keep the
Flames of love burning
In the midst of the hour
And lights up the sky
With beautiful hues of colours
Spreads from one globe to
Another
To swim the ocean deep
Just because of love
Poetry is that and more, which I
Hate to carry this on and on
But
Poetry is the love of our life that visit
Us in our dreams
Poetry is
Me and the worlds that wakes every
Morning to bloom and blossom
Even after the death has played it last
Song that breaks our hearts
Poetry is tears and moans
Grief and pain that Hunt's the
Soul
Poetry is the rain crying from
The sky
The sun the moon with the golden
Light
Poetry is a child laughter at play
The tears a child shreds in sadness
They cry
Poetry is just a book of songs you
And I write down in our journal
Each and every day
We
Mix them together again and again
That is poetry
Poetry is life woes
Life happiness
Poetry is life
Here now and after
Poetry is you and I
poem by Carolyn Sears
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There Is This Sadness That Brings......
there is this sadness that i want
to give to you
but of course, you shall not accept it
for who is foolish enough
to welcome sadness when all hopes
of our humanity are pinned
on happiness?
but there is this sadness that makes us silent
and responsible upon our own shoulders
there is this sadness that makes us
fully human, and fully alive,
there is this sadness that brings you literature
and poetry
and then all those fame and fortune that you
have been seeking
there is this sadness which has another consequence
the purification of the soul
the everlasting happiness
shall you not take it now?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry Is
poetry is what the soul wants
poetry is infinite sound that taunts
poetry is strength of ones spirit
poetry is the powerful truth within it
poetry is love and hate
poetry is what makes you stop wait and appreciate
poetry is something you should die for
poetry is what makes you dropp to the floor
poetry is put up randomly
poetry is, well, simply poetry
poem by Daniel Romero
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Songs Of Poetry
Poetry is the wave
drenching the sea-shore!
Sea-gull hovering overhead!
Poetry is lilack
Poetry is lily
Poetry is rose
Poetry is cherry!
Poetry tears down the cheek
liquidated in joy!
liquidated in grief!
Poetry consoles the soul!
As glass of sherry!
Poetry draws the out-line
....the cosmos forms!
Poetry paints the blue
....the sky performs!
Poetry waves the desire
...love sings along!
Poetry paves the way
....makes us strong!
Poetry dreams and cry
....erases wrong!
poem by Suvra Bhattacharya
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There Is Another Poetry
THERE IS ANOTHER POETRY
There is another Poetry-
A poetry of inspiration
A poetry of help
A poetry of encouragement
A poetry of courage and heart
A poetry of love of life
Which teaches greater love of life.
There is another poetry
A poetry I would write
But the poetry I largely live in
Is complaint and question and fear and doubt
And trouble and sadness-
Oh why can’t I give some greater goodness to others
Than I am myself in my soul?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poem about Poetry - An orgasm of languages
flowers, they are
orgasm of earth
opening itself to
multiply
flowers, small, large
and colourful
poetry, they are
orgasm of languages
that gives new eyes
to the mind and - the world
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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As You Stare Right Through Me
Love is an illusion, a myth,
Its all compromises I shouted,
I have had my chances with love,
This heart ain't falling for anyone again,
Love is an illusion, a myth.
Its easy to break hearts,
Hearts of stone or hearts of broken glass,
The poet nurses all his wounds in silence,
But poetry flows out unabated,
The emotions need a release after all
I shout in the silence of the times,
The emptiness of dark nights,
Railing against the travesty of life,
That yet again I fall for someone,
A someone who stares right through me
I immortalize you through poetry,
Yet broken verses reveal no names,
And as you smile at the world,
I just keep gazing at you,
As I can't see anyone prettier around.
If you could be mine,
I would walk along till the end of time,
Make you the heroine of epic tales,
Partner in stories of legendary fun,
Lazy days, busy days, rainy days, sunny days
But you are also the heart breaker,
Pretending not to see the obvious,
When I hang onto every word you say,
For the most painful thing is seeing you,
Oblivious as you stare right through me,
Like I am a ghost who isn't even there.
poem by Ashraf Husain
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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
The Poetry Of The Old
THE POETRY OF THE OLD
The Poetry of the old
Is a smaller poetry
A more fragile poetry
A quieter poetry.
The Poetry of the old
Does not raise its voice
It sings to itself softly
And does not really hope to be heard.
The poetry of the old
Is a quiet poetry
And its name
Is mostly ‘Sadness’.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Epic Poem
This poem is epic
so I named it so
it's more epic than wind and snow
which are in there own respects quite epic
snow could be described as ghetto
and wind can take on epic forms
like a spinning tiger with legs made of iron bars
that would be pretty epic
infact I think that happened in outer mongolia
to a young girl how got hit by the iron bars
sadly she died
but the type of death was one we all wish for
over exposure to pure epicness
like viewing a snail with a lightsaber who flies over mountains made of cheese
that's bleedin' epic
imagine it if you can
can you?
I imagined it so according to the ontological arguement
it exists
im scared now
it may be coming to get me
and although I will suffer the best kind of death
it will be death still
and what is death without life
it is simply death
that was mock epic
those statements aren't as deep as you think they are
they are meerly the ramblings of a crazy man
you fell for it did you not
I know you did for I can see you
your PC moniter is actually a camera
If you're paranoid then you will be scared now
and for that reason I laugh
I can see your fear
I smell it
it is like raspberry ripple ice cream
your fear is wierd
I don't like you anymore
this poem is bleedin' epic!
poem by Torben Duncan
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Summer Was A fast Train Without Terminals
I, too, can love you
in my dialect, you know,
punctuated with cicadas
and their eternal afternoons —
To love in a language prised from my wishbone.
To sing a landscape where village girls once burst
the moon with giggles.
To dance through the fattest eye of a rice-grain —
To do all these in peace and war is the wish
embodied in Merlinda Bobis’ poetry.
From her epic poem Cantata of the Warrior Woman Daragang Magayon to lyric reflections on longing,
and finally to an erotic poetry-dance-drama,
Bobis traces the cartography of desire
and its intimacy with death —
I am the mouth remembering
the coupled heaving of women
and men in another passion
called a war.
I am deeply furrowed
by the universal scar.
poem by Merlinda Carullo Bobis
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Self denial is like self burial.
The middle age %
Women at forty are vulnerable.
Beware! Your estrogen levels are dropping.
Why not make the most of it right now?
Shyness has been shed; awkwardness has gone.
It is time for you to take the lead
When it comes to your own orgasm,
The orgasm that’s eluded you thus far,
From the monotony you stuck in.
You must reveal yourself in newfound youth.
You must assert yourself with newfound guts.
Yes, you must take the control of your sex.
If not, it is you who are the loser.
At this stage you are the most attractive.
Composure added, you are in glow.
As the sex is important part of the life,
Your assets unused must not go waste.
It is true you are hungry for strangers.
Men are hungrier for women of your age.
Now a stranger only can explore you.
He only can drive you to get orgasm.
It is time you tasted orgasm again.
Finding orgasm is not breaking home.
It is just physical gratification.
Man must shut his eyes and woman, her qualms.
He must let her get what he couldn’t give her.
If he let go of her, he’ll get such like her.
You need not elope, nor own a paramour.
Hire a man and fire him after he fired.
It’s not a crime when done with the knowledge.
Men must disarm his possessiveness
And abandon his probing tendencies.
15.08.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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Poetry by Meena Mustafa
My brain is a recorder
It stores all black and white
Each time I write a poem
It throws a different light
It makes the reader happy
At times it makes him sad
The love of poetry
And the poems that I have
Words pour like fountain
Imagination takes its place
On a journey to knowledge
Poetry we must embrace
Poetry is my refuge
And keeps me on the path
Expressions take new meaning
And words pour out at last.
Poetry is a song that sings to the soul
The rhythm of the words that a pen can hold.
poem by Meena Mustafa
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how do you know that God is a myth?
a myth
like the sphinx
and the phoenix
as the story goes
on and on
somehow
there was this death
at the end
and then immortality
in the same way
that my God
died and lived
forever
killing a myth
can be another myth
like asking how do you kill a myth
that does not exist?
when you finally give the correct answer
about our humanity
the sphinx gets killed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Am At Work
won't you believe it
i am in the middle of my work
and in between
i type some words,
which i may call
a poem, like this one
those that see me
do not realize this
poetry is in between
our dull moments
poetry is an insertion
of our routine
poetry is not bread
it is the cheese
the ham
the mayonnaise
the pickle or the
lettuce in between
the slices of
sandwich
poetry is what goes
in the middle of meaningless
endeavors
poetry is unprofessionalism
defrauding the employer
with his paid hours
this it. The fool has not
notice.
this fool.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Between Two Centuries
Choice was washing the guilt
or keeping mind shut.
Microscopic deterioration
in the brain had set in.
The monologue of humility
was not relevant for the flame ritual.
They said the death was a dropp of wine.
Immoral alchemy had
broken the enormous myth.
The electrons went crazy,
they orbited like hungry eagles.
Truth was never the same.
Fading age wears new wrinkles,
black on black rose praises the air.
The return of grief, was very evident.
Eyes blinked endlessly,
I too lifted the pleated pain.
Enzyme of new creation
was worthless.
We were walking
into an epic, oscillating
between two centuries.
poem by Satish Verma
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With several different kinds of poetry to choose from, a man would decide that he would like best to be an epic poet, and he would set out, in conscious determination, on an epic poem.
quote by Lascelles Abercrombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Auschwitz
Once I overheard a middle-aged Jewish woman
talking to her Rabbi
telling him of how she and a friend
travelled to Auschwitz
and finding so much sadness there
decided to do something happy
as if to spite the sadness.
So they danced on the railway line
leading to that camp of death-
two middle-aged women holding each other.
This to me say so much about the human spirit.
If I could I would paint a picture.
Will someone paint it for me please?
poem by Gillian Commerford
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A Fickle Mistress
Poetry...
She lures us in,
As if with her beguiling grin
She captures hearts inclined to sin
Poetry...
That lady fair
Displays a most defiant glare
When we attempt to leave her lair
Poetry...
Makes us drunk with glee
But, she will never set us free
From that which we desire, but can never be
Poetry...
Entices all
With her soul she does call
To those that she may soon enthral
Poetry...
That fickle mistress
Causes hearts and souls distress
Because she fills that need...that humans do possess
poem by Dee Daffodil
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