Poet Poems - Poems about Poet

In the quiet corners of his own mind, he walks alone, a poet whose pen drips with moonlight. He counts the hours by the hum of his thoughts, each one a lantern swinging in the wind. A thinker — he weighs the weight of names, dreams of the laughter not yet born, imagines a tiny hand curling around his own. In solitude, he builds worlds...

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Raw, a nubby grey knuckle-boned day, when the wind blows through my skin pulling at the cord which holds my insides in, oh infernal internal wall keeping without without and within within, off key Wednesday crashing chords that I have swallowed not a passing thought for the blue tunes of tomorrow, or the music I have made thus far in life and the ones that I have...

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Come on big men of the world You that owe the power You have already had much money To move on soldiers You have already had much gold To feel stronger You have already had luxury palaces To live comfortably safer in And fields, ground, soil, trees, Rivers, lakes and seas. You have taken in everything your eyes can see to the horizon. But do you...

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Essence of wealth Inheritance health Jealousy divine Life changes Rearrange of financial eyes Hidden and full of surprises Murder on the mind Thought of inheritance Wealthy promise The rage Death will come to one Elegant party Drinks and dancing all around Conversations flow Suddenly a fall then death Pronounced Dead Poison found in the drink That sip Situation now a circumstance Mystery Murderer The outcome will turn into clues The murderer wants to redirect and bring...

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truths teller poet is greatest and the best writer and poet in my view!...

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"There is a window open from my heart to yours." Rumi See the splendor of pained poetic souls. After he died, leapt out in the air above, turned into a star in Gaza's bleak sky, pouring words and tear. How many heart cries. For what endless suffering, soothed by his verse and rhyme. The gallant Gazans follow it with reverence. Although they weep...

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MAXWELL STREET BLUES BEGAN PLAYING ACROSS THE SOUTH WATER MARKET FUNNY GROWING UP IN THE VILLAGE WE ACTUALLY MOVED INTO THE BUILDING 1968 CHRISTMAS FROM THE WEST SIDE THERE WE WERE LOOKING FROM THE TEN FLOOR WINDOW I WATCHED THE CITY OF CHICAGO BEING BUILT MY COUSINS AND I COLLECTED WHITE ROCKS ON THE RAILROAD...

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There’s a new sound in the air Can you hear it? It’s a song we all can share Will you sing it? It’s a lyric full of hope Words of peace to help us cope There’s a new sound in the air Can you hear it? There’s a new vibe all around Can you feel it? If you’re lost you can be found Will you trust...

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AFTER RETURNING FROM THOMAS MANN TOWN OF MUNICH GERMANY DAYCARE TEACHER FOR USAF FORT SHERIDAN ARMY BASE JUST A STAY AT HOME MOM HOW I BECAME A RETARDED POET IT WAS ACTUALLY AFTER TRANSFERRING MY GOVERMENT EMPLOYMENT FROM GREATLAKES NAVY BASE TO MACDILL AIRFORCE I THOUGHT I WOULD JUST START OVER FORGET ABOUT THE SEVERE...

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LIVING IN MUNICH GERMANY THOMAS MANN TOWN THE TOWN OF POETRY MARIENPLATZ TOY TOWN CHRISTMAS TOWN THE PLACE WHERE HUMMELS COME ALIVE WOODEN CLOG SOUNDS IN A DISTANCE UPON THE COBBLE STONE BRATS AND LARGE PRETZEL HANG BEER STEINS ARE SLID ACROSS LONG TABLES INSIDE ROWS OF TENTS OCKTOBER IS NEAR THE OKTOBER FEST APPROACHES...

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the times I've been here, words in hand mind-sculpting verse of phrases, grand that speak of that, the cruelest school those moments, rife, I've played a fool ... laid bare this soul, with one broad knife ...

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THE BEAUTY OF BEING A POET ANY DISABLED SEVEN CAN REACH MANY READERS BEING A POET ISN'T TAUGHT IN A UNIVERSITY IT COMES FROM THE SOUL THE HEART AND SOUL OF THE SMALLEST HUMAN BEINGS TODAY AND EVERYDAY I'M INSPRIED BY LITTLE MATTIE STEPANEK SEVEN YEAR OLD DISABLED POET WHAT WONDERFUL WORLD MATTIE DIED AT AGE 13...

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They built this world for the other hand, Every door, every tool, every scissors command. Ink smears across my palm like war paint, While spiral notebooks mock me with their constraint. But I am the mirror breaker, The rule shaker, The one who writes backwards And dreams in reverse. Ten percent revolution ninety percent poetic evolution I am the southpaw standing alone Against a...

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I admire the poet who looks life seriously in the eye, whose emotions he won't deny. I admire the poet who makes me cry, but I'm not him, and I won't try. I admire the believer who will never discard his beliefs when times are hard. I hold the believer in high regard, but I don't believe - I'm scarred. I admire...

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Sponsored by: Jerry T Curtis Abridged Version Contest My Song _____________________________________________________ I didn’t see the moon in a pearly hue. The ocean’s waves weren't a deep azure blue. If the meadows didn’t sing a soft gentle tune. In a pearly hue I didn’t see the moon. Would you still love me? Floodlights don’t shine brightly as I...

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