Unpoetic Rumblings For An Unpoetic Age
They told me I cannot write
something remote like the sand and pebbles
of a secluded beach in Siquijor
stranded in isolation by the tides
that push the island away from the radar
of conscious speculation or
those waterfalls and caves in Rogongon
that remain a mystery to those accustomed
with the slums and maggot-infested corners
of a Capital with no passion for the idyllic
instead I must write of the realities of life
and quit imagining the heavenly fog
that bearded Mt. Apo one Tuesday afternoon
as I found myself marching to its peak
cradled with the silence and whispers of nature
away from the disturbed realities
that gripped the lives of the inhabitants
of a Manila that is giving way
to the intellectual high rise that
reach the poisonous smog in Makati and
the technocratic walls that hide away the stink
of its illegal shanties from its bourgeois-minded
mall swingers and coffee shop fanatics
reading the facade of their intelligences
which are like the books they skim
are as empty as a bottle of rhum
left by drunk construction workers and
intoxicated spoiled brats that flooded
the city together with the provincial servants
of the capitalist slaves in their
business suits and American dreams
that prove to be more
idyllic and remote than good ol' poetry.
poem by Artchil Daug
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Related quotes
Writing
first of all
these considerations
i do not really take writing seriously
i write when i feel like writing
whatever it is
essay, poetry, novel, or
plain comment and notes
on the margins of my
empty diary,
writing is not my bread and butter
i make money in my own
little way
having inherited property and business
from my affluent ancestry
my parents specially who left me a house
a farm, a beach, an investment house,
frankly speaking
i can live even if i do not have to work
because others work for me
accountants, real estate agents,
jewelers, bankers, butlers
professors, construction magnates,
etcetera etcetera
to cut the story short, without much
circuitous explanations not to waste
adjectives and expletives
i write because i have nothing much
important to do
and this is it
i am spoiled i do not edit
much less i do not read anything
after i have written it
i leave it as is
and i do not intend to hire editors
and publishers
for poetry is not a bankable business
poets are bankrupt and
beggars
they crave for a name, honor, and
fame
but that is far beyond my simple intentions
i write because i am bored
filthy rich that i am belonging to no one
genuine affection
poor man that is what i am
despite the money
and this very very lousy poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Drunk On Poetry
Poetry surges steadily
Through my veins
I grant it to stream through them
Day in and day out
Sleep and awake
I believe it's a healthy obsession
I get drunk on it
The more I inject in me
My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become addicted
Sometimes I absorb too much poetry
Reading, writing and listening
I become drunk sometimes
Poetry spills from my pen
Inking a piece of paper
And unto another and another
Constantly on every thought
Humorous, emotionally, romantic, tragic
Experiencing in life
Opinionated, factual, abstract
Political, any subject that's on my thoughts
Sometimes I become drunk
The more i inject into me
Poetry I live for
Eat, drink, sleep
Racing through my spirit
Poetry, poetry, poetry
I loose myself sometimes
When I digest too much
Poems that I write
I write for me
I share them with the world
I can't resist this urge
Poetry is what I crave
It happens to be my mistress
I become drunk
The more I inject
My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become so addicted
Breathing in too much poetry
Reading, writing, listening
I'm drunk sometimes
Poetry I write
Write from experience
What I've done
What I've heard
What I've seen
What I've felt
What I've known
Poetry I live for
Eating, drinking, sleeping
Racing through my spirit
Poetry, poetry, poetry
On my thoughts poetry
Loosing myself sometimes
When I inject enough
This is what I've become
A drunken poet
poem by R.K. Cowles
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Gentle and Inviting Essence
The ferryboat to the remote island
Drifts away in the disappearing sun of dusk,
Sweetly lovers kiss, they’ve missed
Their ride home and will spend
The night entwined on the beach
Remembering every detail of their affair.
Stranded with opportunity to create
A tighter emotional bond and lovelier fate!
This, also, has been my strategy
With every word I write to you
In my lonely night of tears.
You have seen my soul like a trapped ghost
Trying hopelessly to communicate
To an uncomprehending spouse
Left behind in an empty house of memories,
But you’re beginning to feel and trust
My gentle and inviting essence.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Travel Guide to 2009
Let's get away from it all..
that is, to take 'it all' with you
and dump it on an idyllic beach
whose native population rake smooth
every morning
but who will remove your burden of thought
from that idyllic community
when you've come back?
OK go ahead, now hate me..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Write, Write Your Story
It is delving into the ocean of childhood days
It is giving words and life to great memories
It is mapping the mind with rich fantasies
It is wrestling between fiction and realities.
Write and get your pen, write, write and swim
As you paddle your boat on the ocean of creativity.
Write, write and raise your pen, as you unfold
your wings to fly to doors and worlds far and near.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Finding Chicago
I wanted to write poetry like Carl Sandburg.
I wanted to write about big cities and small towns,
about open prairies and rivers in the sky.
I wanted to write about the people:
plumbers, politicians, poets,
but I’d never been east of Tucson.
So I quit my dead end job,
closed out my savings account, all 600 dollars,
and went to Chicago in search of a poem.
Chicago—City of the Big Shoulders, wrote Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find it.
I found Chicago falling down around an old black man
leaning on his battered bass case, the way you lean
on a friend when you’re in need. And Thomas Jefferson
Brown was a man in need, shoulders sagging under
the weight of six decades of back alley blues bars
and his thirst for blended whiskey.
Chicago—Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler,
wrote Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find it.
I found Chicago in a rusted heap of railroad cars, twisted
tracks and 55 gallon drums where bums built their fires.
Factories and warehouses empty, workers sitting in nearby
bars drinking beer, expecting checks at the end of the week.
Chicago—Stormy, husky, brawling, wrote Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find it.
I found Chicago shimmering in the shadows of towering
concrete, steel and glass along 32nd Street, poets reading
in bookstores and coffee houses, children marching
to museums, women with slim hips in black silk gowns,
men in tuxedos and Italian shoes, dressed for the theater.
I wanted to write poetry like Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find his Chicago.
poem by Clifton King
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Liberty
On my books and poetry,
On my desk and on the computer
On the sand and on the beach
I write your name
On all the pages I have read
On all the blank pages
Stone bloody shed or ash
I write your name
On my greedy, tender friends
On my comrades, beloved country,
On my clumsy hands
I write your name
On my health and wealth
On the risk which disappeared
On the hope without memory
I write your name
And by the power of one word
I begin a life again
I was born to know you
To name you.
Liberty
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Notes From The Night
Rilke once said
if he spent all of his life
studying and working
he hoped to
be able to write
four good lines of poetry
think i'll quit writing
grow a big garden,
cut and stack wood
for all who are cold
save as many stray dogs
as i can
spend a lot of time
playing with and listening to
small children
and sit with as many
old people left alone
to die as i can
read Rilke daily,
and drink a lot of
black coffee
and hope like hell
that just before i die
i can write one good line
of poetry
i'd be happy with that!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Ho Ho Ho And A Bottle Of Rhum
(lyrics by Jimmy Buffett & Ross Kunkel-
music by Jimmy Buffett Roger Guth & Peter Mayer)
Santa's stressed out as the holiday season draws near
He's been doing the same job now going on two thousand years
He's got pains in his brain and chimney scars cover his buns
He hates to admit it, but Christmas is more work than fun
He needs a vacation from bad decorations and snow
Mr. Claus has escape plans, a secret that only he knows
Beaches and palm trees appear night and day in his dreams
A break from his wife, his half frozen life
the elves and that damn reindeer team
Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of rhum
Santa's run off to the Caribbean
He thinks about boat drinks and fun in the sun
Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of rhum
Plastic creations and crass exploitations aren't good
He wants to go back to simple toys made out of wood
Just for the weekend he'd like to be Peter Pan
Get out his long johns and dance with a sword in the sand
Chorus:
Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of rhum
Santa's run off to the Caribbean
Marimbas, calimbas, he's playing steel drums
Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of rhum
(Bridge)
Chorus:
Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of rhum
Santa's run off to the Caribbean
Marimbas, calimbas, he's playing steel drums
Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of rhum
Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of rhum
Santa's run off to the Caribbean
A week in the tropics and he'll be all right
Sporting a tan as he rides out of sight
(over the drums)
Merry Christmas to all, and to all... good night.
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ho Ho Ho & A Bottle Of Rhum
(lyrics by jimmy buffett & ross kunkel-
Music by jimmy buffett roger guth & peter mayer)
Santas stressed out as the holiday season draws near
Hes been doing the same job now going on two thousand years
Hes got pains in his brain and chimney scars cover his buns
He hates to admit it, but christmas is more work than fun
He needs a vacation from bad decorations and snow
Mr. claus has escape plans, a secret that only he knows
Beaches and palm trees appear night and day in his dreams
A break from his wife, his half frozen life
The elves and that damn reindeer team
Ho ho ho and a bottle of rhum
Santas run off to the caribbean
He thinks about boat drinks and fun in the sun
Ho ho ho and a bottle of rhum
Plastic creations and crass exploitations arent good
He wants to go back to simple toys made out of wood
Just for the weekend hed like to be peter pan
Get out his long johns and dance with a sword in the sand
Chorus:
Ho ho ho and a bottle of rhum
Santas run off to the caribbean
Marimbas, calimbas, hes playing steel drums
Ho ho ho and a bottle of rhum
(bridge)
Chorus:
Ho ho ho and a bottle of rhum
Santas run off to the caribbean
Marimbas, calimbas, hes playing steel drums
Ho ho ho and a bottle of rhum
Ho ho ho and a bottle of rhum
Santas run off to the caribbean
A week in the tropics and hell be all right
Sporting a tan as he rides out of sight
(over the drums)
Merry christmas to all and to all a good night
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Primeval
The Primeval
Was it a distant cry of a child I heard?
it evoked an equally remote memory
of another child’s wail.
The body in, the bay is your dad’s.
The school yards is empty and cold as
the sea. The bullies have gone home and
the afternoon sun paints unyielding
windows reddish-purple.
Don’t go home yet. Your mother cries
relatives eat shop bought sandwiches;
whispers. I will stay here for a while
and listen to the silence.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Capital of Change
Beyond- capital capital, capital of change
realizing energy through social capital
energizing capital through intellectual and emotional capital
capitalizing energy through death in post-conceptual realities
beyond trust
beyond relationship
beyond law of Karma
post-framed mind-set in the ecological mind of spiritual freedom
capital of change
the end of ideology
you see/you the sea
Go Slowly To The End Of Your Own Life
GO SLOWLY TO THE END OF YOUR OWN LIFE
Go slowly to the end of your own life And do not remain there in silence
But speak continue to speak
Beyond the grave
As if you never died
Or never could die
And as if your life
Is a giving to others
Of words and thoughts
Others were helped by your giving.-
Write on beyond all and forever
Write write write
And never die.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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So William Is Not Dying
i have long told
you, a poem is
detached from
the poet
the stranger
talking to you
might have
been
talking about
another
stranger too
be detached
like
a mirror
and yet
so immersed
in the
image of your
own face
the realities
we write
are lies
behind
the realities
of others
william
has just told
you
the reality
of death
and he pretended
it was him
in that coffin
surrounded by
friends, parents
and children
and lovers
could be just
all in his mind
but the truth
has been told
and you
received them
fairly verily
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Part Of My Life
People write poetry for diverse reasons,
as in poems that describe the yearly seasons.
Poem's can show the love for our mother and father
and you can vent against the boyfriend of your daughter.
You can express your feelings about a day at the beach,
nothing is out of poetry's reach.
Beautiful poetry can make your heart soar
and bring alive days of yore.
It can make king's of old come alive
or make you sad enough to cry.
Poetry can describe angel's performing a celestial dance
or some other circumstance.
Poetry can help a relationship to mend
and it can also help it to end.
I have used poetry to describe a summer day's ice-cream cone
and to express feeling's of being alone.
Poetry will always be a part of my life,
to write of the good and write of the strife.
06/01/07
poem by Barbara Haskell
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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!
Remote Control
Things get hectic quick
From the satellite dish to your joy stick
Its the night of the living cable box
Wires coming up from around the block
Remote control to change the station
But that wont change your situation
Have you seen what I mean
Im the little gnome thats in your dreams
So I say this rhyme built by design
To take you beyond space and time
Said who is the man making diamonds out of coal
The man pushing buttons on remote control
Remote I want control
Remote I want control
Until your backs up against the wall
You never know yourself that much at all
So youve got to share your love with a friend
Thats all that youve got left in the end
Living in this city of pure confusion
People misled by their own illusion
All this action, no satisfaction
Were all linked together like a chain reaction
Play or fold, love is bold
What is the future that will unfold?
Some like it hot, others like it cold
But we all want to hold the remote control
Remote I want control
Remote I want control
Remote I want control
Remote I want control
Things get hectic quick
All of the sudden Im in the thick
Too much drama all around
Distractions booming in sensuround
Like a rainy days earth wont sit still
Sliding on down a hill
Sometimes life it seems to stall
So never be ungrateful yall
So I got a little something for your pay per view
Like don king Ive got the crazy hair do
Weve got cameras on mars on space patrol
Controlled on earth by remote control
Go to top
song performed by by Beastie Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Books
Books are my first love, I’m so proud to read;
They give me knowledge and help life to lead;
Hours, days just pass by, by reading life-time;
Life would not be worth, if not for my rhyme.
Great are those people who write books all life;
Burning just candles, with Goose-quills in strife;
Tired of writing though day-long or night,
They keep on writing in such a bad light.
Books serve a great cause; their value can’t cease;
It takes years to write but reading is ease;
Book-makers struggle to print a few books;
And keep spending time to, improve their looks.
Some find their way to libraries in town;
Some remain untouched and nev’r taken down;
Silver-fish, Moths eat the books that are old;
Some are gone obsolete, some sold like gold.
Some are in tatters and must be rebound;
Books are Man’s best friends where solace is found;
Reading for long hours, does help you to learn;
Books give much knowledge and wisdom to men.
Read books with great care whose weight is in gold;
Serve generations though they may be old;
Source of much Info, deserving respect;
Books are life-partners whom you ne’er reject!
poem by John Celes
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Write Me
Aerosmith
Write Me
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
I said, the ways of the night are evil with eyes that love the day,
but I'll never never never never never get so far away.
I said write me, write me, write me.
I said write me, write me, write me.
Well there's nothin' I can see that'd ever make
me want to be without her she's good, she's good to me.
Said there's no way to explain the kind of feeling
that you get out in the rain she's good, she's good to me.
See this emptiness inside it makes me scream
it make me crawl out of my high, she's good, she's good to me.
I love her.
Write me a letter, write me a letter, write it today, I'm goin' away.
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
Well I've been so many places hidin' from the wind and the rain,
But you could write me a letter for to save me from a goin' insane.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Don't write me baby.
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Just Do It For the Enjoyment
I hear this all the time:
'Oh?
So you're a writer?
What else do you do?
How much money do you make? '
I write poetry!
'Ooooohhh!
So you like to write 'poooems'?
I use to do that,
When I was in elementary school.
You make money from doing that? '
No.
I just do it for the enjoyment!
'Oh gawd!
You're one of those sentimentalists?
One driven by emotions and unresolved issues?
Confused by life!
And abused by a dysfunctional upbringing.'
I suppose.
But I currently have two books out!
'Nooooo?
But no one's into reading poetry! '
Me either.
I didn't say I read it!
I write it!
'Oh!
Well...
You 'must' be doing it for the money? '
Not yet!
That's next!
'You want me to help you? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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