Simple, You Don't Know Me
You fell for a voice behind those poetic words
Well, carefully read this again
Stop fantasizing
Start looking
Look deep into my soul
Ignore the pretty face that comes and goes
I want you to see beyond my literature
Wear your specs and examine this serious message
I am not here to serenade or confuse you
Take the time to read between the lines
And stop staring at me with those googly eyes
Checking my behind and thick thighs
You tip-toed your way to me with your sweet lyrics
Making empty promises of love
Prophesizing as the creator behind the Song of Salomon
The great Zeus with Casanova as your mentor
And you took no notice of ME
The self-sufficient woman that I am
On a human scale I am an architectural gem
The queen with the Caribbean signature
My light glimmers over many tropics
To put it mildly you are simply a hawker, a clown
A troll of a man magnifying stupidity
Lacking class giving true definition to the word “jerk”
Whistling at any female who write poetic verses
Flirt with artificial conversations and collect as many women as you can
And crowning them on your bed of debauchery
I now know you are not at all the poet you claim to be
All you seek is outer beauty without spacing your words evenly
That is why I toss you this note of sarcasm with ease
For you to digest briefly this history of me
This beautiful Renaissance landscape
You will never have the pleasure to admire and appreciate
So keep on hiding behind your veil of poetic lies
As I walk away without a kiss goodbye
(c) 1/2006FaceButter
poem by Face Butter
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Related quotes
The First Poem
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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A Message Here For All You Poets
The love poet writes of lovely things like true love and flowers in bloom
And the roses in the poet's garden scent of a sweet perfume
And the gentle hearted applaud him saying what a marvellous poet
He surely is a child of God and one worthy of note.
The love poet writes of love of God and the God fearing say
He's a fine poet one of the best love and respect to God he pay
He hear no evil speak no evil only write of God and love
And there's a place reserved for him in God's Kingdom up above.
The social issues poet writes of the poor and few his verses read
They say he writes such morbid stuff sob stories we do not need
He keeps highlighting the downtrodden and those in poverty
He ought to put more trust in God and in Humanity.
A message here for all you poets don't write of the downtrod
But write of affairs of your heart and write of your love of God
And some will say how great you are and your praises they will sing
And they will pay respect to you and call you their Poetic Queen or King.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Almost Poetic
It's almost poetic
The way you speak
It's almost poetic
The way you think
The way you sleep and dream
It's almost poetic
The way I feel for you
It's almost poetic
The way we argue
It's almost poetic
When we say goodbye
Not knowing the next time
We'll see each other
You are the curved line
And I am the dot
That creates the question mark..
And it's almost poetic
If it were not so pathetic.
poem by Jeremy Rascon
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Poetic Is The Existence
I have no clue as to why,
I enjoy confronting those...
Who believe my life,
Has been a trimming of poetic verses.
Oh,
The reverse of that is so true.
To this very day...
Most of the neighborhood children,
Are illiterate and can not read.
Or know how to write or spell their names.
I wish this was an exaggeration!
And living with a masquerading poverty.
You know...
The kind accepted BUT in New England,
Denied.
It's more charitible to discuss,
The 'richness' of the environment.
Than to reveal and expose the real wounds,
Spotted as misplaced bowels...
Through the beautiful Oak and Maple trees.
Hiding the manicured suppression.
Oooohhh...
Such disguising magnificient beauty,
Just has to be seen and digested.
I have no clue as to why,
I enjoy confronting those...
Who believe my life,
Has been a trimming of poetic verses.
However...
Poetic is the existence I embrace,
As known and witness as it exists...
In all of its contradictions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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.
poem by Adam McKim
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Poetic Justice
Her beauty lies along the seas.
You are a woman that every man sees in their dreams.
You way different from other women.
I want to touch your heart.
And hold on to it like a piece of art.
You my motivation for finding your love.
I want us to fly all over the world like doves.
Fly over the seas of paradise.
Making a sacrifice.
I just don't want you to miss this flight.
And feel so blight.
I want you to fly with me.
So you can stay in the skies with me.
Our love reflects light of different colored pigments.
I'm so loss for words that im so incoherent.
I want our love to grow like a flower into a powerful pigment color of violet.
Because I don't see you as violent but innocent.
I don't want us to cheat on each other but together.
To pass the tests of this soon to be a relationship.
Im doing Poetic Justice because you are so fine.
Its the first thing that comes to my mind.
I want you to come my way.
I can make you so high in a fly way.
I can drive you crazy in a driveway.
Sometimes I wish we could replay.
Because you so true and calm and blow up like a bomb.
You remind me of blue waves that clashes.
That I hear on beaches.
You remind me of sweet blue berries that grow on branches.
I want you to be my cinderella, but your heart I will shelter.
She is my princess that I will never forget like christmas in December.
Poetic justice because you so gorgeous and gifted.
I can remember how you always walk.
When you smile everytime you talk.
I see a shining spark of your beatiful eyes when the blazing sun rise.
Your beauty is not a disguise.
I can describe you in so many ways.
You like a superstar.
And I'm like a fan just wanting to be your man.
You so amazing that I never could despise.
You are independent woman that I would like to gloat to be with.
And you should look at this poetry as art.
So you can notice that this letter is a sweet kiss to your heart.
This is Poetic Justice
I want to save you from your sorrow.
So I can be your superman.
And you can be my superwoman.
I love the way that you different.
This vibe I get when I am with you feel so new.
You the best one.
I want to stay faithful and be thankful.
For a angel so loyal.
Its my justice to give you these beautiful compliments.
You are heaven sent.
I want to bring you into my world.
I don't want to be qualm of hurting you.
Because everything good about you is so true.
You are sweeter than sweet tea that I would brew.
You are such a beautiful view.
I feel better with you like not having a flu.
You are a fine potrait.
You should sing this poem as your chorus.
Poetic Justice.
poem by Anteaus Berryhill
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Verses From God
I’m just the pen; God is the ink, Who fills me as I write and think,
And God’s ink never runs dry, as it flows from His Spirit on high.
Penning verse that never ends, as He talks to a world of friends,
As I go to God in prayer, He pens down each blessing and care.
In a trial God helps me through, He pens verse to share with you,
And the blessing He brings my way, as He helps me, day to day.
As I write every word and line, I do not claim the verses as mine,
For as the pen to page is pressed, it is my heart that is blessed.
Blessing seem to come my way, as He helps me, in what to say,
To illustrate to all those who read, that Jesus is The Lord indeed.
His Words just seem to flow, not knowing where His idea will go,
But His point He makes every time, as God speaks on each line.
He draws from deep inside, my heart, where His Scriptures hide,
Always used at the proper place, to pen down a verse of Grace.
And as the page begins to fill, it is not my poem, but God’s will,
That fills lines with His Word, which some who read, never heard.
It’s God above who fills my pen, with words for the eyes of men,
By means of only poetic verse, to claim victory, over sin’s curse.
The page is filled by God above, with true examples of His Love,
Penning Truth for men to see, He’s a God who loves you and me.
(Copyright ©08/2007)
Amazing Joyce
On such rare and marvellous talent how can one put a price
She surely is amazing the one and only Joyce
She has tried every form of poetry one must say with success
And to lovers of poetry Worldwide she brings great happiness.
The marvellous Joyce Hemsley a poetic legend of our time
The internet queen of haiku and senryu and the internet queen of rhyme
Six thousand poems to her name she just goes on and on
One cannot say about her that her better days are gone.
In every one of her poems one can detect her poetic voice
The poet for all Seasons is the amazing Joyce
What can be said about her that has not been said before
Six thousand poems to her name and from her expect many more.
She waves the literary banner for England a true poetic great
The amazing poet from Sunderland we ought to celebrate
A legendary online poet by example she leads the way
And surely a great mentor to all young poets of today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Great Poetry?
How could anyone ever truly
Define great poetry?
Factors are so many that contribute
To the way each person does hear-feel-and see.
The season, the day, the very time,
Along with each readers wisdom-knowledge-and mind.
A line read one day
May deeply stir the spirit
While the very next time read
The reader simply just can't 'get-it'.
Besides, who is to judge,
And who is to decide?
Who always speaks truth,
And who pray tell has never lied?
Let the one who has never struggled with emotion and word
Cast the first critical stone,
Let the pure, perfect poet
Read and write completely all alone;
Enshrined by himself
Upon his own empty throne.
After all, it is supposed to be
A bit (or more) of myth and mystery,
A little difficult to decipher, somewhat vague,
Meant to speak, but not brag.
For Goodness sake, it's poetry.
Not prose, not essay, and certainly not the news.
It's forms are many and free,
It's thoughts different and deep,
It's direction everywhere the heart can see,
It's origin, and destination, ineffable...
But to write, one must try, or die... such is the poems strength.
So, let the creator of words create.
With wild and wonderful words to decipher and debate;
And never let the beauty of it all
In trivial criticism suffocate.
What is great poetry though you still inquire?
I should have told you from the start;
(But, then you would not have listened)
Great poetry is always, and only,
Beautiful words written truly
From, and for, the heart.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Poetic licence
Poetic licence
I use my poetic licence a lot
Its a vital piece of ID
Border control won't let me cross
They'd stop me being as free
Its dog eared now beyond repair
And if it falls to bits
I'll order me another
For all language's misfits
I use it so much when I jiggle my words
Ought to get it laminated
Cover my back when the words don't quite fit
In the stanza I've created
The poem police are out there you know
In search of a dodgy poet
Always carry it in your head
In case you have to show it!
If you are so daring
That you'd use a word like orange....
Some would get a nervous twitch
I get a nervous twinge!
A few words, they just cant be rhymed
No matter if you're smart
So write in prose
And prosper in this slightly different art.
poem by Stevie Taite
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Types of Poetic Frustration
I tried to write a haiku for you
But it grew too long
Evolving into a song
Wrapped around the sun and morning dewdrops
And giving you props
For making this the best part of my day
In every little way
I tried to write you a sonnet
But almost every line on it
Fell short a few syllables
Not to mention the intensity of end rhyme
Whose rules I broke from time to time
Oh what a curse to have all these words
Trapped in my head
When putting them down on paper
Has only led to poetic frustration
Oh, and I tried to write you a funny poem
But I’ve got pretty dry humor
poem by Dyhanara Rios
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Selling a Poets Mind
Devoted to writing the words of poetic inspiration
I offer my mind as soul payment
Some say it’s a madness of strange conception
I claim a quiet misunderstanding
To follow each emotion with such intent
Expressing and expanding beyond reason
That I may flower in bloom a thought
Far beyond its own conception
I whore out my heart to illustrations
To better depict that which I seek to serve
A flow of endless poetic verse
Seemingly I have become detached
From a world I may never have knew
And so in my indifference
Some say I carry a strange madness
Perhaps I do, perhaps I do
For I am devoted to writing the words
Of poetic and beautiful inspiration
If my mind is the fee of creation
Then to poetry I shall cash in
poem by Matthew Holloway
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I Read Today A Hundred Poems
I read today a hundred poems
And cannot find
A single one that moved me -
Perhaps it is not the poems
But my poetic soul
that has no life -
I remember a poem
I read yesterday by Neruda
How beautiful how deep
How filled with passion and longing-
How rich in surprise-
I marvel at the greatness
Of his Poetry of Love-
There is Poetry
One only has to read a true poet
To find it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What They Write About
what they write about
are so poetic, and sometimes i feel
envious, and think all nights to also
write everything poetic like the way
they write about the moon, and stars,
and sun and clouds and hills and
valleys and blooming flowers
about summer,
but honestly speaking, i think every
poetic imagery has only become too
routinary, all metaphors conceived of,
are nothing but simply variations adopted
from one poet to another like an
uncaught plagiarist on the loose,
but somehow, i also like it when i think
that writing is just a hobby, a diversion,
if not a deviation from what
we really want to become.
well, i may be a sour grape for
staying just to be myself,
an imaginary toad in the real
garden untended by its owner.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Interactive
I write some lines and you read each word
A word excites you and you take it up to
Seed your fields where you grow your own
Shrubbery of words with tendrils climbing
I look at your garden of words and there is
This word growing into a flower attracting
Me I pick it up this sensual flower and I
Seed it in the lines of my mind now another
Bunch of words like ripe grapes I take one
Swallow it and savor the taste of its sweetness
More lines of words in my throat sliding
Through the lining of my esophagus so smooth
Going straight inside the veins leading to my heart
Sweet, so sweet I could have written the usual
Lines of “ I love you, I miss you” but I couldn’t
There is this roadblock, this writer’s block
The lines stopped, the words are stunted
I stutter, I retreat to my eyes, to see
The face of this woman I love, her eyes
Are gentle, she smiles at me, and waits
For this beautiful silence that gives her life
You stand there, looking for a hint, another
Word to seed the lines waiting to be written.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poem-eyes
You’re a walking poem
and it’s like I have night vision
except instead of goggles they are
poem-eyes:
only I can see you,
your arms and legs strings of sentences
bare with candid sincerity,
your hair tangled weaknesses
curled with a simile
and eyes of endearing desire
marked with a metaphor,
poetic sentiment hanging off you
like unwashed clothes.
Your mouth breathes out symbolism,
when you walk, the line breaks jingle
and when you hug me I can feel myself
being wrapped in a charming mystery
that sounds so pretty when read aloud.
When you stop, I stop
and gather all the fallen words
in a basket I keep around my waste
marked Beauty.
Something so ordinary can be poetic
Something like
NO PARKING
Is poetic to me
You are a soul
Lost to this
Town of indifference
And you have
Been roaming
Around in your
Old car of a
Soul and you
Want to rest
And think
And what they
Say is
NO PARKING
That is actually
Poetic
Or shall we say
THIS WAY TO THE RESTROOM
Oh that is really
Poetic signifying
Relief that in this country
There still exists A WAY TO
A way a path a footpath
for someone lost
someone wanting to empty
Himself like a heavy cloud
Wanting to empty
Its accumulating heaviness
Like your urinary bladder
Looking for a restroom and
Oh heavens
This is the way to the rest room
This is the way to the heavens
Where I can just
Have the freedom of pursuing my happiness
Of a simple poetic pee
So this way to the rest room
Is a feeling of relief
It is a feeling of relief and poetry is just like that
You look for a way to unburden yourself
A way to this and that of relieving your
Urinary bladder your poetic urinary bladder
Discharging a discomfort
A heaviness of unwanted liquids
Which you have accumulated
In time
And you hold your thing in the manner that you
Want it held and in the process that you want it done
Without anybody looking
Without anybody saying you this is the proper way to pee
And no other else that can make your pee wholesome
To prescribed rules
And you point it to the big basin of a bowl
You pee
You have just discharged a discomfort
With all the images of
THIS WAY PLEASE TO THE COMFORT ROOM
To your comfort zone
Because you have been in such a discomforting fit
In complete release
You feel relief
And that to me is very poetic
THIS WAY TO THE COMFORT ROOM PLEASE
when all you want in life is to pee
On that instance
that moment is the best poetry
To the lines and verses of a person
simply peeing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnets to my love
I. My woman among a world of women
My woman among a world of women,
I wonder when will I see you again?
You who live in every dream,
as part of me
and time is rushing by and my hope
grows dimmer like the winter sun
in the cold sky.
At night the darkness covers me
and the moon glitters bleak
and even it grows weak
while I long for you
and even my consciousness
declares that maybe
I am waiting in vain.
II. I wish I could remember
I wish I could remember in detail
the first time that we met
the glance in your eyes
when you saw me.
Was it May, June, July
or maybe October?
I cannot recollect
what time of year
not even which season
but from the very start
I held you dear and that first hug
when I held you near
brought tears to your eyes,
or was it mine?
III. In dreams you are still with me
In dreams you are still with me
and in every dream
your dear face I see
and every night I dream on
of you and me being one
and when waking
with the sun braking through
the windowpane in the early morning
you are gone
and still somehow
it’s as if I can smell
your lingering perfume
just as if you spent
the night here with me.
IV. From the first moment I loved you
From the first moment
I loved you
construing how you felt
from your voice, what you said
to me and your actions
even if you might not
feel the same
but tough at times
you are not sure of your feelings
you were then
and we became one
and I dwelt in your eyes
trying to find your soul
and to bind with it.
V. Today I pray for you
Today I pray for you
not only to be true to me
but to have God dwell in your heart
for Him to keep you well,
to shadow you in every thing that you do.
Today I pray that every word
and every deed be blessed,
that every poetic line you write,
every brush stroke that you make
and every time you take the guitar
in your hands
be a great delight to others
and that they see you
in the greatness that I know.
VI. Your rebuke I have not earned
Your rebuke I have not earned,
just gave my sincere opinion
about something that I read
which you wanted me to
and neither were my words
aimed at you.
What should shine through
my lines is how much
I love and miss you
but more so
my love for the creator God
which comes first
in all that I do
even superseding you.
VII. If love is something sure
If love is something sure
between the two of us,
will you go away?
If love links you to me,
will you go astray,
be swept to another shore?
Love me and love me more
before it is too late
and destiny makes it impossible.
Love me as an equal
or let it be and loosen
the raging winds
to devour the citadel,
the castle of our dreams.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Spirit Of Poetry!
when a spirit of poetry decent,
it came
In a form of dove
When it came
Jesus became first poet under sun
And Almighty God
Was already, first poet over sun?
Using Poetry in poetic foam
Almighty GOD spoke through poetry
And he is a poet himself
Now his poetry is everywhere, and anywhere
We interact with poets
Words are like soil, are everywhere
Brighter that Sun
His poetic lights lead the way
When he likes
He will come
He will be in poetic foam
To Re-arrange poems
Schedule them in a poetic manner
On a judgment, He will met poets first
And secondly meet
Those who haven't written a poem
To Discuss similes, metaphors and personifications
Future of poetry is in heaven
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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0026 To live in poetry
So often, poets
with their poetic eyes,
ears, minds, hearts, souls,
record actions that
are already poetry or poetic
in themselves
or so it seems
which makes it easy
for poetic poets to write
poetic poetry
as when I watch you
poised so still, sitting there,
your face against the light,
painting meeting sculpture,
still as any animal,
still as any goddess
roaming the cosmos in your mind
seeking, ballpoint poised,
the answer to some hidden
crossword clue
living in poetry
poem by Michael Shepherd
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