Best Poetry Is Poems
When smoke consumes clear horizons,
manipulating corridors of the mind,
beckoning imminent afflictions
poetry is the remedy.
A poet's first eternal love,
forming an authentic bond.
A tonic of silent expressions
creating a potion of poetic confessions.
When the soul
reignites the muse,
stars become brighter,
the sun mightier and majestic,
the moon mysteriously tranquil
so we weave words of wisdom.
When emotive ink becomes the essence,
that flows deeper than rivers of blood,
piercing through ruptured veins
we express words the tongue cannot utter.
Poetry never broke my heart,
my poems are forever faithful.
When passages of life become obscure
unwind the mind, for poetry is the cure.
Simple Musing
The Silent One
26 January 2019
Poetry is a Risky Business
The Recipe for Poetry
Open stereo
Turn volume medium high
Poor 3 shots of whiskey
Add 2 bottles of wine
Open 1 bag of chips
Add one box of Oreos
Listen to Alice Cooper
Then Abba
Then Dance of the knights
Then listen to all 3 at the same time
Stick pins into the doll of your ex
For added drama add some ketchup
Open up 2 brands of cheese
Because that shows some class that you have 2 types on hand
Do this
Before opening second bottle of wine
This way you’re not an alcoholic
Turn on some Paul McCartney and Uriah Heep
During moments the stereo is on high volume
Sing along
Down to the skivvies it is, if you have a hockey stick
A little air guitar for some added inspiration
Cut up some Edgar Allen Poe poems
To put between the Oreos and cheese
Eat till the feeling of darkness overcomes you
Let your thoughts simmer 5 hours
Voila done
When you wake up
You should have 1 or 2 poems facing you
Poetry is white lights falling upon rainbows and snow
Casual exchanges blinked upon a shared pillow
Lip prints etched inside an antiquated photograph
The obligatory holding of hands as a lost-craft
Poetry is the scent of morning kisses
Words that blossom, an arrow that misses
Umbrellas unopened on a drizzling day
A trail of lovers unable to find their way
Poetry is an evening sparrow chasing the moon
Two silhouettes cascading into a spoon
Roses blown from a closed casket
The loneliness of waiting for her to ask-it
Poetry is the answer to what if and why
Tissues capturing the tears but not the cry
Rubies polishing a heart to an imperfect shine
The undefined likeness of I, Me and Mine
Imagination and subliminal thoughts are created-
Seen through my minds eye....
This pen takes the shape of a scimitar-
Following the way of the samurai....
It's a hunger a desperate need.
This pen accelerates picking up speed.
Continuous momentum never to stop.
I will scale and conquer this mountain top.
I'm a warrior with my words.
Using nouns, adjectives, and adverbs.
They can confine, keep me blind, but my mind is not in the slammer
I design, entwine, and use no guidelines with my grammar.
I combine my stanza's and make 'em sing.
Through my ruthless bloodline, I'm the most diabolical King!
"Writer's Block" is a trained and difficult adversary.
But regardless, I'm destined to be legendary.
I paint visuals that compliment my morbid personality.
My reality is your fantasy.
Stories tend to dance into creativity.
Through my dark imagination I'm not given much choice.
Poetry is my voice....
When reading poetry, I like to see
clear imagery! I don’t like things obscure,
for if a poem lacks lucidity,
it’s like I take my glasses off; words blur!
I’m no good at puzzles; I want to know
the poet’s message! Oh, my mind will drift
if all I see are words like whirling snow!
My spirit does not often need a lift.
Good poetry can be both dark or light.
But most of all, I like it when it’s smart!
The use of metaphors and words not trite -
poetic craftsmanship. . . now that is art!
Smooth-flowing – whether it’s free verse or rhyme -
is poetry to which I’ll give my time!
Dec. 13, 2019 for Line Gauthier's 'Fave' Contest
Poetry is a dance of words and feelings,
Bouncing off my inner ear;
Laughter, tears and joyous giggling
That only the writer's heart can hear,
A tension playing against life's strings,
Vibrating wildly to my soul's quickening pace;
Rushing, gushing, struggling to be
The first upon the mighty page.
Chula Fleming © 3/16/2015
"Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words,
after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost,
something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry."
— Mary Oliver
With pen in hand, I readily compose heartfelt lines
filled with aggregations of thought and emotion.
Verses that break chains that bind, setting me free
as if I were a shackled slave in the Land of Goshen.
Freed by my pen, I've been redeemed from the sea,
and each poem a litany, recited on a rolling wave.
Poetry is the seafaring wind that fuels my sails,
navigating me to exotic, faraway places I crave.
I'm unanchored without the burden of an albatross
tied around my neck when I choose to compose.
While tethered to a pen, I'm safe and kept afloat
in tragic times of mourning and sorrowful woes.
Rhyming romantic Sonnets stirs my sensual blood,
for then I am imagining being someone's treasure.
With the heart of a passionate poet, I take part
by scribing torrid scenes of fervor beyond measure.
Writing breathes anima into the chasms of my soul.
I celebrate my poetry as art, a revered tour de force.
Poetry is my source of equilibrium, joy, and peace
when life's adversities attempt to steer me off course.
Poetry is my insanity
Poetry is my insanity,
sparks collected on flat mirrored walls,
frantic phrases floating
in a spectrum’s pulsating palette,
picturing Dali-esque icicle melted webs
and chromatic landscapes
blurring in the distance
Dancing to the demented sounds
of brain cells singing, Zappa inspired
A cappella rhythmic compositions,
ringing monotone echoes
in between Jupiter and the ghosts
counting off beat pendulum swings
on fingers and toes
Words with eyes, they see, they stare
they blink, they close,
wandering attic crawl spaces
casting neon shadows,
illuminating ideas
passed on to the next pair
lashing out as another retreats
Pulling on my heart,
squeezing every last thought of love,
oozing in blacklight ink, day-glo sunrises
of roach clip offerings on psychedelic posters,
depicting ceramic moons
fluttering midst crayon heavens
eating stardust candy…
Poetry is my insanity
and it is driving me crazy…
in the best possible way
Poetry is... Art
by Amy Swanson
Poetry comes in all
shapes
sizes
colors
surprises
varieties
lengths
flavors
styles
About all kinds of
feelings
thoughts
emotions
moods
people
foods
societies
animals
nature
It can be
long
short
rhyme
prose
haiku
quatrain
free verse
narrative
sonnet
footle
senryu
tanka
epulaeryu
.... and so many more-!
Poetry's authors are
from everywhere
all ethnicities
women
men
girls
boys
young
old
adults
kids
tall
short
thin
heavy
average
brunette
redhead
blonde
raven-haired
white-haired
gray-haired
or even no-haired
Poetry is
abstract
or
concrete
playful
or
serious
light-hearted
or
strongly stated.
It is about
anything
everything
nothing
and in-between.
It is
word art
from the heart.
It can make you
happy
sad
thoughtful
mad
excited
or even goo-goo eyed!
Poetry ... just is.
There is only one thing
Poetry is not ...
cookie-cutter
same-old-all-the-time-heard-it-all-before
cookie-cutter.
Each verse as unique
as the heart that wrote it
Each line as unique
as the soul that felt it.
And so
simply said:
Poetry is... art.
I thought poetry is
-name of Mesopotamia which was the first civilization to emerge in human history
-ancient cave peoples surviving life struggle
I thought poetry is
-an immortal love story of Yousuf- Zulekha, Shirin-Farhad, Laila-Majnu or Romeo-Juliet
-a telephonic or open love conversation of smiling postmodern girls
-drying wet colorful clothes of beloved in the courtyard of the house
-haring of beloved with tuberose garland before a mirror
I thought poetry is
-lizards chirping from the deserted house; cockroach flying
-quarrelsome cats in the black dark or barking dogs
-the struggle of mosquito for human blood
-traveling of the arrogant indecent animals all over the night
I thought poetry is
-thrilling venturous ghostly stories of J. K. Rowling
-self-expression of known-unknown writers
-unspoken tale of a war-wounded soldier
-the regret of the thousands of dead soldiers
-the unwritten fantasy of an isolated poet
-the lonely guitar or ektara of dead singers
I thought poetry is
-without reel tie an independent flying of a kite in the sky
-in the blue sky sovereign flapping of birds
-movement of invisible winds everywhere
-hearing story of fairytale crossing of green forest
I thought poetry is
-handmade airing of newly married girl to a new groom in lunch time
-dyed hands of nubile girls by mehndi,
-captivating sounds of jingling anklet and kamarband of dancing damsels
I thought poetry is
-classic music of Pandit Ravi Shankar
-immortal tune of Ustad Bismillah Khan's shehnai
-compilation of humanitarian lyrics of the legend Bob Marley
-heart touching reciting of the Holy Quran of Qari Abdul Basit
I thought poetry is
-unforgettable philosophical discussion of Socrates with his disciples
-the philosophic lineage of learning such as Socrates-Plato-Aristotle
-immortal scientific creations of Newton, Galileo, Einstein, Nikola Tesla, Hawking
I thought poetry is
-unremitting prayer or worship of any prevailed religion devotee to get heaven
-inhuman history of bombing on the Hiroshima and Nagasaki or brutality of 1st or 2nd World War
These all are just my thinking,
my thinking is free
on my path
but poetry is poetry,
more than any thinking, many more;
on its path
Poetry is independent fully
-June 27, 2019 Chattogram
In time
silent ripples
wave
more quiet
than sound
less melodic than water
wash ashore, arrange
green garments in motion
rock in trance
spoken sound
colours circles
interlinks spirals
reaches
touches
fingers on keyboard
grows larger
evolves into lines
expands meaning
sentences
arranged into images
for your eager mind
***
July 2, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Poetry is-healing
Poetry is -encouraging
Poetry is-spiritual
Poetry is-laughter
Poetry is-happiness
Poetry is-sadness
Poetry is-helpful
Poetry is-playful
Poetry is-religionist
Poetry is-romantic
Poetry is-life lessons
Poetry is for everyone
To read and enjoy
Poetry is for everyone
Poetry Is
Poetry is a lonely craft
Those of us that write must be slightly daft
For every thousand writers of the rhyme
Only one reader follows and not all of the time
Even the closest of relatives and one's dearest friends
Care little for the poets works and little encouragement lends
So write on lonely poet write on if you must
Chances are your books will soon be covered with dust
And as you toil on with your craft secluded and alone
Be aware there’ll be no mention of your writes
on your final gravestone
Welcome! Take a seat, and please do slouch.
In fact, lay down on this psychiatric couch.
Tell me, exactly what ails you today?
You say your head hurts. Explain, in what way?
Is this problem new or ongoing for years?
What are some of your biggest fears?
Tell me all about your childhood.
Was it traumatic or mostly good?
Is your family close or full of strife?
Which activities are part of your life?
How do you feel about the opposite sex?
Are you dwelling on past regrets?
Have you been having recurrent dreams?
What are some of the common themes?
When conflict arises, how do you deal?
Tell me, how does that make you feel?
Less discuss some coping techniques.
How about we meet again in two weeks?
Here, take this prescription, and water with each dose.
Sharing poetry is about being close.
Poetry comes from the heart, the dreams, the spirit, and wishes, Too oft' I hear of pain and woe and what life often dishes. So come with me and learn and see that poetry is more than this, It's more than rhymes and more than times and more than just a kiss.
I hear the thunder rolling as I feel the breeze a blowing, So my mind begins a showing a dream that I been going, Going far from where I am and going far from where I'll be. My heart it flutters and then it mutters as I drift out to sea.
See the birds glide through the air as if they were at home. See the fish float in the water and look right up at me. Toss a hand full of the future high into the sky, Pitch a thought of where I was and then see where I'll be…
The flowers grow both wild and tame not seeking any nurture, And yet, we pause and sniff and think and end their lives, no thought… The ants they move both to and fro just doing what they do, We watch and gaze so questionably and poison what they've sought…
We cry and wale at the loss, that we see so wrongly dealt, Curse the sky, and wonder why, and swear unto revenge. Never we think about the way the sun rises, or how the moon it glows, The cat's meow, the cow it's moo, the frog it hops, or how a fire will singe.
A shadow never walks away, from all and does endure,
I'm a shadow, and I see all the things you don't. I feel the texture of the ground, each of its nooks and crannies, I follow the contour of the earth and enjoy the things you won't…
I touch the sky and feel the water; I am all that I write, I am the sound that you don't hear; I am the sights that you don't see, I am the feeling you can't express; I am the dream you can't caress,
I am the love that once passed by; I am the loss that made you cry, I am the fantasy not touched; I am the one, who listens much,
I am the star that looks at you; I see all you wish to do, I am the moon that shines at night; I am the thought that takes a flight, but more than these and all I write I am a poet late in the night…
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