With a mind like that the poet must be mad
Many men...
(He lost his marbles)
Many women...
(Poetry did this to her)
We believe
What we want to believe
He is keen to see the things
We want to see that they're
Not where we see them
With the one working ear he
Listens with tear stained
Sympathy to the outraged
Complaints of the robbed robbers
With the other not there slashed
Ear he opts not to hear the soaring
Jazz score of the pious whose only
Sin is to escape the wrath of the
Beleaguered match fixers
He's a poet of you know
So in his distress he married himself
Off to another word smith his daughter
Bought him a sympathy card and wished
The soon to be born child God's mercy
Nobody wants to be brought up in
Such a passionate household for sure
He writes with a passionate intensity
With a half crazed mind like that
Your resident poet must be hovering
Somewhere on the peripheries of madness
We learn nothing from the past the past
Haunts us because we learn nothing from history
Wearily our uneventful lives follow where
Where we walk our sloth like walk
poem by Ngaka Motaung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Touchdowns and Fumbles
My poetry teacher tells me he isn’t a poet
He just writes poetry
I tell him I want to transfer out immediately
He shouldn’t be teaching
I mean anyone can write poetry
And if you say you write it good but aren’t a poet
Than you’re an arrogant prick
Give me a poet to learn from
Good or not, they still stand by their writing
While people who write poetry are weak.
Standing behind what people believe is good
And tossing away what people don’t like
A football player takes it all with him.
Touchdowns and fumbles, passes and interceptions
While couches talk about years when they
Were the best, but forget about all the others.
I can’t learn from a poetry writer
I need to know the mistakes and shortcomings
Or else history is damned to repeat itself in me
Give me a poet any day.
poem by Reyes Suarez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Accept my sympathy
In all sincerity
It is a pathetic pity
I merely offer sympathy
With such velocity
This sadness born out of the blue
That decides to levy itself on you
In your fixed stillness
I sense your illness
Accept my sympathy
You lost a pet
Somebody made you upset
Accept my sympathy
You lost a friend
Your broken heart is yet to mend
Accept my sympathy
You were once abused
Possibly at times wrongly accused
Accept my sympathy
You marriage is on the rocks
You got divorced, left without a buck
Accept my sympathy
You lost a fortune
Your voice can't sing a decent tune
Accept my sympathy
You lost in love or lost your job
Or perhaps at one stage got robbed
Accept my sympathy
Your life is a mess
Everything around you depresses
Whatever the circumstances
Accept my sympathy
And if I happen to show no sympathy
Please accept my sympathy!
www.sylviachidi.co.uk
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sympathy In End
In all sincerity
It is a pathetic pity
I merely offer sympathy
With such velocity
This sadness born out of the blue
That decides to levy itself on you
In your fixed stillness
I sense your illness
Accept my sympathy
You lost a pet
Somebody made you upset
Accept my sympathy
You lost a friend
Your broken heart is yet to mend
Accept my sympathy
You were once abused
Possibly at times wrongly accused
Accept my sympathy
You marriage is on the rocks
You got divorced, left without a buck
Accept my sympathy
You lost a fortune
Your voice can't sing a decent tune
Accept my sympathy
You lost in love or lost your job
Or perhaps at one stage got robbed
Accept my sympathy
Your life is a mess
Everything around you depresses
Whatever the circumstances
Accept my sympathy
And if I happen to show no sympathy
Please accept my sympathy! By SARTHAK DAS
poem by Sarthak Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poet Loses His Power For Poetry
A POET LOSES HIS POWER FOR POETRY
A poet loses his power for poetry
He can put down words
But they no longer have poetry in them
Something of the feeling of what real poetry is
is gone.
He strives
He writes again and again
He puts words down in the forms and in the shapes his poems usually take
But he has no poetry in him
He has lost what he is
And all he can do
is strive again and again
Word after word
Silence after silence
To hear within himself again
A voice he does not have.
The poet is writing poetry
And it is not poetry
The poet is dead
And he is pretending to be alive
Is this a poem?
Is he a poet
Is he dead?
Is he alive?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poet Becomes The Poetry
THE POET BECOMES THE POETRY
After years of striving to write Poetry
The Poet becomes the Poetry
No word is not poetry in him
And no silence is not the sound
his own writing makes
Wherever he is
Whatever he does
is Poetry
Mediocre or not
Real or not
Loved or not
Understood or not
The Poet is Poetry
Unable forever to escape
what he Lives.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The life of a Poet
The poet listens
the poet hears
he writes down
all his fears.
He observes things
that others don't
going to places
that others won't.
Inspired by simple things
like a sound or smell
the poet has lots
of stories to tell.
Even when asleep
his mind isn't at rest
in fact this is the time
it's at it's creative best.
The poet can be a restless soul
his life reflected on the page
some verse can be sweet and mild
then full of anger and rage.
The poet can be mysterious
and write in a strange way
he will say Black is White
and that night is day.
The poet is an artist
but instead of paint it's the word
painters want their work to be seen
but poets just need to be heard.
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let It Drop
You were married at eighteen and,
You had your first child at nineteen;
But you were divorced at twenty!
So try to learn from your mistakes in this world.
Let it dry on me and let me learn from your mistakes,
With interactions and experiences to guide me on;
For it is the passionate love of nature tha draws me to you,
And like what occurred to you in those days.
Genetic disposition,
The first was like a lion!
But i am here to heed to your demand,
And like a quality sounds-system playing love tunes.
There are twelve hours with the daylight,
But you were married earlier and divorced earlier too!
So take a graphic details about your past and,
Learn more from your pelvic exercises.
Let it dropp and let me learn,
For the Golden Stool is a symbol of deity;
But this early divorce should rather teach you for the better,
For you are still young.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Put Yourself In My Shoes
Your mind is made up you wont even try
You didnt even cry this time
You say that we could never see eye to eye
And one of us just must be blind
We have our differences
Were still the same
See what we want to see
But you take a second look
And maybe things wouldnt seem the same
If you could see what you mean to me
Put yourself in my shoes
Walk a mile for me
Ill put myself in your shoes
Maybe then wed see
That if you put yourself in my shoes
Youd have some sympathy
And if I could only put myself in your shoes
Id walk right back to me
Youre gonna keep walkin and youre gonna pass me by
You say you dont even care
But I could always recognize a real good-bye
And I know your hearts not there
Weve had our differences
Were still the same
Hear what we want to hear
Now Im head over heels in the lost and found
Its a cryin shame
I thought we made the perfect pair
Put yourself in my shoes
Walk a while walk that mile for me
Ill put myself in your shoes
Maybe then wed see
That if you put yourself in my shoes
Youd have some sympathy
And if I could only put myself in your shoes
Id walk right back to me
Id walk right back to me
Id walk right back to me
song performed by by Clint Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XLVI.
Written at Penhurst, in Autumn 1788.
YE towers sublime! deserted now and drear!
Ye woods! deep sighing to the hollow blast,
The musing wanderer loves to linger near,
While History points to all your glories past:
And startling from their haunts the timid deer,
To trace the walks obscured by matted fern,
Which Waller's soothing lyre were wont to hear,
But where now clamours the discordant hern!
The spoiling hand of Time may overturn
These lofty battlements, and quite deface
The fading canvass whence we love to learn
Sydney's keen look, and Sacharissa's grace;
But fame and beauty still defy decay,
Saved by the historic page--the poet's tender lay!
poem by Charlotte Smith
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This Poet Is Always Beside You
You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Passion Of A Poet
in the world of the poet
passionate about his next poem
there are many trees reaching
high upon the skies
there are bluer skies up there
there are black and white birds
blending
day and nights
dusk and twilight
there will be more things to see
in colors and tastes and
scents of onions and
roses
there is no world as passionate as
a poet in love
with his craft
his beloved asleep in the beauty of her
closed eyes
his lips touching the nipples of her breasts
his tongue unraveling the magic
of a navel
in the world of the passionate poet
there are never aching eyes
perhaps only
an aching heart still wanting to embrace
so much love
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mean To Me
She came all the way from america
Had a blind date with destiny
And the sound of te awamutu
Had a truly sacred ring
Now her parents are divorced
And her friends committing suicide
I could not escape
A plea from the heart
You know what it means to me
She said dont walk away
Im down on my knees
So please dont be mean to me
So I talked to you for an hour
In the bar of a small town hotel
You asked me what I was thinking
I was thinking of a padded cell
With a black and white t.v.
To stop us from getting lonely
I could not escape
A plea from the heart
You know what it means to me
She said dont walk away
Im down on my knees
So please dont be mean to me
No, I could not escape
A plea from the heart
Mysterious sympathy
I couldnt wait for a chance
To walk out the door
You know what it means to me
I saw you lying in the arms of a poet
I heard him tell you t...tantalising lies
Well whaddya know, whaddya know
I could not escape
Youre down on the floor
You know what it means to me
I couldnt wait for a chance
To walk out the door
Mean...
You know what it means
In the arms of a poet
You know what it means
song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He's A Man of His Word
He contemplates life
In general who people are
Or what things are
What is it all about?
He likes to learn
From those of us
With knowledge
Of the here and now
And of the past
He taps away
At his keyboard
As he reads
As he writes
And discovered
To his knowledge
That it helps him
To be a better man
His words are immaculate
Even words I've never heard
But when he writes his poetry
It has meaning to each word
The man is so humble
On what he writes
On what he feels
And on how he preserves others
And their words
I bow to thee Kevin Patrick
Who is a man?
Of his every word
poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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History Will Teach Us Nothing
If we seek solace in the prisons of the distant past
Security in human systems were told will always always last
Emotions are the sail and blind faith is the mast
Without a breath of real freedom were getting nowhere fast
If God is dead and an actor plays his part
His words of fear will find their way to a place in your heart
Without the voice of reason every faith is its own curse
Without freedom from the past things can only get worse
Sooner or later just like the world first day
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
Sooner or later just like the world first day
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
History will teach us nothing
History will teach us nothing
Our written history is a catalogue of crime
The sordid and the powerful, the architects of time
The mother of invention, the oppression of the mild
The constant fear of scarcity, aggression as its child
Sooner or later
Sooner or later
Sooner or later
Sooner or later
Convince an enemy, convince him that hes wrong
Is to win a bloodless battle where victory is long
A simple act of faith
In reason over might
To blow up his children will only prove him right
History will teach us nothing
Sooner or later the world first day
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
Sooner or later the world first day
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
History will teach us nothing
History will teach us nothing
Know you human rights
Be what you come here for
Know your human rights
Be what you come here for
Know your human rights
Be what you come here for
Know your human rights
Be what you come here for
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poet is free
Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Knowledge is to remove ignorance
Learn science to know the world.
Learn psychology to know your mind.
Learn philosophy to know your soul.
Learn history to know the past.
Learn not astrology to know the future.
02.06.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All that is born must die
No one and nothing, remains the same
Everyone has to learn to say goodbye
Every thing changes in fact and in name
All that is born must die
Look in your tattered albums,
look at the faces
They'll speak of volumes
Of lost times and places
Childhood is fleeting
Innocence must fly
Passage of time is deleting
All that is born must die
Accepting the changes
From comfortable places
To new feelings and ranges
To New lives and new faces
To learn to let go
To let hands slip from yours
To yield to life's flow
To walk through opened doors
Each day there's a parting
New peace and new strife
Life changing and starting
From the old, to new life
Each new day differs from the last
Every sunrise and sunset in the sky
Is different and has traveled into the past
Everyone has to learn to say goodbye…
And all that is born must die
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet and Chivalry
Poet, an industry not of mankind
An era that poet’s in awe to partake a rite
Poetry belongs to the ancient tribe
An era that poet’s dissolute and roaming
Poetry ascribes to nature and wildness
An era that poet a jester praised in comic to entertain the king
Poetry is the plaything of an empire
The era that poet yields to the media, pursuing fame and fortune
Poetry is a consuming product
Poet holds in awe since the heaven and earth are vast
Poet’s degenerated because of his nature
Poet’s comical because ironical the self derision
Poet capitulates because of human’s weakness
Although poet hasn’t always been an industry of mankind
Its luster would shine upon the darkness that poet ever survived
Lighting a light in darkness of history and showing its courage
Lighting a light in darkness of future and proving its foresight
Compromised the life
But allows not to compromise of poetry
The spirit and vitality of a chivalry is the case
Poet, still not an industry of mankind
Today
The chivalry has sealed his sword and pen
The page of poetry gradually stained and spotted yellow
The sharp sword conceals a smoked silver flash
poem by DePen Chang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Never Alone
You were like a lost kid looking for home
You found what you wanted right in my arms
If you walk out on me
Just leave your memory
Just take my sympathy and go
I love you so youre never alone
If you find another one turns your head
And you cant understand why it hurts so bad
If you walk out on me
Just leave your memory
Just take my sympathy and go
If you walk out on me
Just leave your memory
Just take my sympathy and go
I love you so youre never alone
Girl youre never alone
Never alone
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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