When Poems Write Themselves
When poems write themselves
To save good eating for last
They refrigerate desserts but
Set them out a while to ponder
on blocks of delivered ice rapped
In preservative newspapers
Until Just before supper is served
Plates are stacked by older
Siblings the coal is stored
In the indoor shed for the evening
Warmth that is there to keep
Comfort before the blessings and
Bible reading verses are marked
The pages tucked the songs
We sing will themselves sung
From memory or hidden verse
By the unison that remembers
Opening sonnet words but
Drowns in long forgotten lines.
poem by Lee B. Mack
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When I Have Passed Away
When I have passed away and am forgotten,
And no one living can recall my face,
When under alien sod my bones lie rotten
With not a tree or stone to mark the place;
Perchance a pensive youth, with passion burning,
For olden verse that smacks of love and wine,
The musty pages of old volumes turning,
May light upon a little song of mine,
And he may softly hum the tune and wonder
Who wrote the verses in the long ago;
Or he may sit him down awhile to ponder
Upon the simple words that touch him so.
poem by Claude McKay
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We Live Poems We Cannot Write
WE LIVE POEMS WE CANNOT WRITE
We live poems we cannot write-
Words of beauty that sometimes come suddenly
And disappear before we think to transcribe them-
Indescribable perceptions that move rapidly within us
And are gone before we can even be fully conscious of them-
We live poems we cannot write
Worlds of feeling there are no words for-
Our lives are pervaded by unwritten poetry
And our strongest Will and most determined Memory
cannot make pages of it all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sonnet: My Poetic Evolution
From simple Rhymes that Kinder-gardens teach,
And little songs that children love to sing,
I worked my way, up to what Poets reach,
And tried to soar the Skies with my own Wing!
And then I came to know what metre was;
And Rhythm melody of words and sounds;
And soon I was some kind of Poetic-Boss;
And tried my skill of words in newer grounds!
The old was gold but people wanted new;
I had to write 'free verses' now and then;
My Sonnets sprung with speed and divine hue;
My Wings were strong enough to reach Heaven!
Believe-it-or-not, I'm World's Sonnet-King!
Each Sonnet was just a ten- minute thing!
poem by John Celes
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Oh The Poems
OH THE POEMS AND THE POEMS AND THE POEMS
Oh the poems and the poems and the poems
Oh the love of Literature
Oh all that stuff
I have given my life to-
Words and meanings and feelings
Pages and pages and pages –
What it is all this literary life for?
When out the window out the door
With our eyes we see in an instant other worlds other dreams?
I don’t know and I will never know
And Literature is certainly far more than I can say it is-
Oh the poems and this poem and this day turning grey
And all my life old and old and more old and more old-
Oh why oh why oh why
And always back to God
My last rescue and refuge and escape
I who have read so much Great Literature
And can only write this-
Oh the why and the oh oh oh and the words
And the whole world of Literature
I would belong to and do not.
Oh the words oh the world oh the Literature
Oh God help me please can’t you please help me a little or not?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poems About.
There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Attempted Sonnet
You asked, “Why don’t you write me a sonnet? ”
To be honest I’m not very good at rhyme,
Ten syllables sounds like a big struggle,
I wouldn’t stick to fourteen lines in it.
So I’m not going to do any of that.
I thought about stealing lines
From some other poems,
But I thought you’d realize what they were.
So I write this in my own words,
So let us doth go forth with prose.
How do I love thee? Let me think,
Erm, you make me feel good,
You make me smile.
I think I make you smile too,
When I’m not been stubborn.
All I can say is ‘I love you’,
Because that is what I feel.
A sonnet I can’t give you,
So all I give is this and my love,
I hope they will be enough.
© Charlie F. Kane
21/3/06
poem by Charlie F. Kane
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The Absence Of Mind
There is an elephant in the room it’s in the corner eating my
straw mattress the one I have had since childhood and could
not bear to get rid of, because all my dreams are hidden in
the stalks of cereal plants; white now as an old man’s beard,
yet soft as the fleece of a spring born lamb.
Ah, memory of a good life lived; sing for m let me write down
what happened so long time ago when time was forever and
forgetfulness was a youthful distraction on a jubilant day.
Poor memory is more sinister now, what is forgotten will not
be remembered, so I need my dreams.
It is true that once upon a time I was seafarer, but since I do
not recall well, I have to invent my tales, yet I have seen and
feared the irate sea. I must write all this down if the elephant
eat the last straw my dreams will be blank screen.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Deceased Poets Of Nature
Such beautiful poems to Nature they did write
The poetry we love for to read and recite
May they rest in peace now where-ever they lay
The deceased poets of Nature their poems live today
They glorified Nature and her praises they sung
And though they may be long dead their poems remain young
the poets of the land and the poets of the sea
In their beautiful poetry their greatness we do see
Their poems and their songs I loved as a boy
And their poems and their songs I will always enjoy
The beauty of Nature they did celebrate
And beauty in their words they loved to create.
Great insights of Nature from them we did gain
The beauty of their words with us does remain
We loved them for their poems in decades long gone
The deceased poets of Nature their poems living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Dead Poets Live
Dead poets live
With words left behind
To linger in life's pages
Read again by others
Who travel
That long road
Of Poetry.
Dead poets live
In verses left behind
To play like old songs,
Sang again, touching those
Who dare to sing
Harmony
In poems.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Emilys Song
Lovely to know the warmth
Youre smile can bring to me
I want to tell you but the words you do not know
Sing me a lullaby
Of songs you cannot write
And I will listen for theres beauty where theres love
And in the morning of my life
And in the evening of my day
I will try to understand in what you say...
Rivers of endless
Tides have passed beneath my feet
And all too soon they had me standing on my own
Then when my eyes were closed
You opened them for me
And now we journey thro our lives to what will be
And in the morning of my life
And in the evening of my day
I will try to understand in what you say
Through all that life can give to you
Only true love will see you through
And will stand beside you now in what you say
And in the morning of my life
And in the evening of my day
I will try to understand in what you say
Take me into your world
Alone I can not go
For Ive been here so long
Youre leaving me behind
Walk with me now
Into your land of fairy tales
And open up that book of pages in my mind
And open up that book of ages in my mind
...
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wrote Many New Poems Now Long Forgotten
I WROTE MANY POEMS NOW LONG FORGOTTEN
I wrote many poems now long forgotten
Why do I believe any poem I will write now
Or in the future
Is better than them?
I am a man lost in the world of his own words
And the only way out I know
Is writing more words
Which too are added on
To the unending pile of the forgotten.
Tell me where this poem too will be
When I am in the ground?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I don't write poems
I don't write poems,
I drink them like wine,
I become tipsy
with each coming line.
I don't write poems,
I breathe them like air,
I become so happy
when each one I share.
I don't write poems,
I live with them;
they prolong my years,
they are as true as I am.
I don't write poems,
I weave into verses
sadness, joy, tears,
prayers, love, curses…
My poems talk and sing,
Sense of living they bring.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
26th of April,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Always The Poems In Me
Always the poems in me-
Saying themselves over and over
Returning to lines learned long ago
Or lines learned with more difficulty in old age-
Always the poems in me-
While my own poems written
And forgotten
As if only
Poems of a single occasion
The time of their writing-
Always the poems in me-
The poems which others will have in them after me
Poems not my own.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poet
Real gem with good name
You are eligible to claim
Poems with nice composition
Quick in row with nice disposition
So is the role of poet
Never to sit quiet
If there is unrest somewhere
He has to reach there
Write for the cause
It is essential because
That may give insight view
May not reach to all but few
So they are the third eye
For the society to try
Give them enough of love and honor
It is trusted upon and called for
What do the poets write today?
Stars, moon and Milky Way
About horizon and hollowness
But why not to see at ground's face?
Poor move half naked
Their interest is forgotten and not staked
Rich become richer
Poor remain sufferer
Environment is affected
Public opinion still not reacted
Trees are cut and rivers are blocked
Coal is forgotten and from gas it is cooked
Sing not for artificial songs
Love not for what is wrong
Write not for only imagery
World is already in mess and cuts sorry
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Let I get my thoughts
Let I get my thoughts, my verses from You
who reigns supreme over everything
and in it let You bless me as You constantly do,
to make everyone of my words sing
and let others boast
of finding supreme power
from a familiar ghost
in which they flower
and let them in that spirit dwell
while You dwell with me in tranquillity
and let them be dignified and of its powers tell
while You guide me in every activity:
and although their works play out as a lucky clover
in my writing Your blessings resound over and over.
[Reference: Sonnet 86 “Was it the proud full sail of his great verse” by William Shakespeare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Sing
I sing to vent the pain that is sometimes in me
Other times I sing of happiness, jubilation and glee
Sometimes I sing in celebration and can rock out all night long
I sing of love through every ballad and heart wrenching love song
Sometimes I sing a song that is trapped inside my head
I sing it all day long, sometimes until I go to bed
I sing of memories, songs that mark pages in my past
I sing on holidays, great carols that last and last and last
I sing when I am working, then time doesn’t seem so long
I sing when I am lonely, there’s nothing like the comfort of a song
To me, to sing with all my voice is simply a blast
I hope to sing everyday of my life until I breathe my last
poem by Rhonda Baker
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Browsing and Commenting on Poems.
It is my habit to read the poems
delivered by the young and old, male and female.
I pick up the poems by title and not by the authors.
Internet helps us to browse and comment on poems,
burst into by the poets from all the continents.
I read, chew and digest the new words, usage,
and the content in the poems. The young guys,
baffle me with colloquial, archaic and email forms
like gonna, wanna, u, and so on.
The youths write poems on love with inspiration
but old people have to perspire or be resilient
going back to school and college days.
If I murmur the tune of some melodious film song,
I find it possible to scribble on love-lorn life.
I am very weak in English manners of saying thanks
and expecting thanks for the comments made on poems.
The voracious readers of poems won't stop criticising
if we contribute touching poems or message giving lines.
The comments at times inspire me with new ideas and subjects.
If our lines comfort some hurt hearts,
guide some to ride the life with peace and hope,
that is enough for the mad people like us.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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There Have Been Many Opening Lines Tonight
THERE HAVE BEEN MANY OPENING LINES TONIGHT
There have been many opening lines tonight
But none has been followed by a convincing poem -
Why is this evening one of trying and failing?
Why can't I at least write one small poem
That seems to me worthwhile?
I am doing better now-
There is a stanza,
And perhaps these lines will be a stanza too.
I have two small awkward stanzas
When I finish this one
I will try to feel I have a poem.
Nothing I do tonight is good enough
Is it better to have a poor poem
Or none at all?
I answer by posting these lines.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poems Of Others Will Not Save Me
THE POEMS OF OTHERS WILL NOT SAVE ME
The poems of others will not save me-
My poems will not save me-
The poems of others- morning light-
My poems- sometimes light-
I write and write through the long night
The poems will not save me.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Versatile Verse - Polyacrostic Sonnet
Vanity within a verse scheme gave
Each alphomega, each word's aura, ease.
Run through in print, as content rhymes to please,
Springs, rising sprightly, links few see, most crave.
Apart here thread we tight, taut, autoclave,
Tacit, yes, yet pate-play may seem tease.
In lines smooth I express this hidden frieze, -
Lucid keepsake, light, keen, subtle stave.
Emphatic theme expect, - interpret rave!
Vain verse-vine vile? Voice very vivid? Seize
Externals terse are shade, sense secret keys.
Rare is this art, rare verses are, - rhyme save.
A sonnet's stress sometimes less shows than's hid, -
Here's an example baring message grid.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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