Poet Poems - Poems about Poet

"Thoughts must not be stifled; they need tears, an outlet, a sigh, words." ...

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To take a thought and shape a poem Takes patience, and a clue – The patience for the diligence Required of a muse The clue for clever subtleties Engaging poets use To form connections yet unformed Reveal with clarity The mysteries that men have known Throughout the centuries Unraveled with apparent ease In fonts of industry – To trace the riddle of a thought Decrypt it...

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Have you any pride Why must you use AI Poets submitting honestly Are the ones deserving to compete I look at the AI detector results And shake my head at insult If your goal was to get published Don’t use AI it is detected rubbish!!!!...

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In the eyes of society, the poet is dead, and the only one unaware is the poet himself, Because his vanity binds him to verses like an invisible thread, a thread of destiny, He writes his words on the sky of memories, unaware that they are merely shadows, Shadows of a changed reality, where poetry no longer sings...

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the poet makes a big meaning in few lines the poster makes small meaning in many lines the writer knows when to make it short or long...

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I sit and ponder, allow my mind to wander And wonder about what I ponder Then put pen to paper, begin to scratch and scribble Hoping endless hoping that someone will read my dribble And then reading perhaps exclaim “This poem deserves acclaim” crickets Ahh, what’s a poet to do But ponder through and through Then wander further afar Find a wonder so bizarre And purchase...

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Wandering in the corridors of my heart Somewhere in a mystical part I came across a curious door But It felt like the life's core It was decorated with joyful lights Which had brighten my dark sight On opening the door, the new world emerge I entered it as my heart urge After entering I...

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Once upon a dreary time A boy set out to note a rhyme Pen in hand with paper lined Prepared he was to share his mind But thoughts lay barren and confined Without sense, reason, or rhyme Suffered he did this weary time Both his soul and cheerless mind His eyes grew dark, his face grew lined And tho he sought to redesign Something, anything...

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(Begin: There is no beginning.) (O' my--not again--you should not have started.) The quill burrows. No--splinters. No--fractures. No--was never here. Ink spills--no--veins spill--no--veins collapse--no--veins rewrite. The vowels--black-lipped--no--the ink coagulates--the ink tightens--the ink breathes- acrid, metallic, it stings the tongue. Teeth in the--grain. Teeth in the letters. Teeth in me--no--teeth in you--no--teeth in the mirror- splinters in the gum's raw edge. (First...

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I’ve always dreamed of painting with fire— lash the canvas with embers, watch the smoldering orange spread, chasing white into flame— before my chaos dies into silence. It feels natural, this need to see my art burn— they’re not complete, not before the charred ink is bathed in heat. I paint with alcohol then ignite— so my work is no longer just raven lines on pale...

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He walked where no one dared to tread, Through fields of fire and cities dead. No crown, no map, no hand to hold— Just ink for blood, and truth for gold. They watched him pass with judging eyes, A ghost, a myth beneath their skies. But he, with silence as his guide, Wrote thunder where the stars would hide. He wore no mask...

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I gave myself this name because it describes me well I enjoy writing about my happiness and where I fail Just by reading my poetry you're getting to know me If I haven't introduced myself I go by the name Key Keyonda is my full name although I don't like it So I use either name depending who I'm talking...

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counterfeit of life’s fortitude and beauty - fatuous cheat-bot...

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Poetry, Plato says know it; "Go," though, he says to the poet. It's good to be good, But be understood, Best if you never do show it....

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Never came close to starving didn't wait tables or wash dishes Never hung out in the subway no cults or commune on my resume ...

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