Poetry has flowed in my veins since writing in school
and I wanted to share my love like a bath in the pool
I would pen on paper to express the love from my heart
by creating a beautiful rhyme to give to my sweetheart
I would think so deep inside to present the words I used
singing those lovely praises of beauty and not abused
by writing alone gave to me so much enjoyment and peace
encouraged to follow wisdom by my father who is now deceased
even though he is not alive within my soul I silently share the pain
I continue to express my deep emotions of life to seek my gain
I learned that in moments of turmoil I must look for the light
to fight with all challenges and stand for what is right
Today with the world of poets at my side chasing after my dream
I can create a new poem like a bubble flowing in the stream.
Poetry is madness
A ritual I do, but do not know.
A night that conquers,
Drunks me to helplessness.
And it kills shame,
Guilt.
It hits you like an exploding racket.
It shoots out you naked.
Poems settle softly on the 'Peace Race,'
But a cyclone wind whirls to birth mishap.
Each soul foresees truth at a dreamer's pace,
While blue Earth is ripe with thoughts to unwrap.
Hope clasps the trees, painting the Elven hues.
Freeing our pink hearts' lasting love that swells
When wise leaders embrace the moonlit views,
Invoking kind spirits, summoning Elves.
The moonlit council leans on bargaining.
Soft persuasion drifts gently to mainstream
Garden Sprites who charm the soul, nurturing,
With the Elves' theme of peace that reigns supreme.
Kind 'letters' soar above divisive schemes
As Peace becomes more than an Elven dream!
Poetry is
A mish-mash of scattered words assembled into a cohesive formation allowed to march across the page to the beat of a different drummer and danced to by an errant passerby.
A smooth stirring of a simmering broth brought to a culinary conclusion leaving the mouth of the reader hanging agape.
A dark coated mystery skulking on the edges of each word stalking the unsuspecting reader
An hilarious visit to the loo
A venom-soaked rant raging about the ragged remorse of regret
A whispered toe tapping bed time story
A gathering of words in valiant attempt to assemble a cohesive thought capable of expressing the innermost feelings of a bewildered poet
The undefinable gift we call
POETRY
My poetry is my foreshadowing prophecy,
So maybe someday such a man will love me.
My poetry is a foundation of my philosophy,
So maybe someday love comes again freely.
My poetry is a record of all the times I see,
So maybe someday I will see more clearly.
My poetry is my literary documentary,
So maybe someday many know my story.
My poetry is a gift and a curse I hold dearly,
So maybe someday even I can be free.
My poetry is both a source of joy and misery,
So maybe someday others may thank me.
My poetry never meant to make anyone see,
So maybe someday I can truly just be.
My poetry reflects my inner sanctuary,
So maybe someday my heart finds security.
I discovered www.poetrysoup which lists styles of poetry
This site shows you examples of haiku, senryu, alliteration, monorhyme
Diminished hexaverse, acroustic, shape poems, rhyme, and much more
The first day I discovered this site I wrote eight poems; all a different style
By the time I branched out to www.allpoetry, I was a bit more confident
I believe that now I know a teensy tiny bit about what poetry is.
Delving into this art for eight years, has not been nearly enough
There is so much to learn; I feel I barely know anything yet.
Here is what I do know. It is fun for me to write every day.
I set a daily goal of ten poems; I usually make this goal.
Have made this goal for four years.
I like sharing my poems, and appreciate every comment.
As a thank you to others, I hold six poetry contests simultaneously.
I would hold twelve, but we are limited to only six.
A thesaurus and scientific fact book for children are my references.
If I run out of ideas I say “what if” and create outrageous scenarios.
I love writing poetry; for I am a storyteller.
Poetry
A whisper to a scribble
The pen scratches against the blank page
an odd and rhythmical pattern
Imprinted into one's soul
Leaving an odd sense of peace or turmoil
Lingering with a yearn
A yearn for something unattainable
Something supernatural
Words standing tall
Reaching and stretching- searching
Desperately trying to
Obtain the unobtainable
Failing time and time again
Only leaving an echo of the words spoken
Or the emptiness of the ones left unspoken
Forever lost in the silence
Empty space
Which can only be filled by the next
Vulnerable moment to be bled out onto an innocent page
I'm riding the train into town,
Enjoying the suburban scenery.
And here it comes -- a poetry idea!
I know it's an idea
'Cause it rides beside me:
Something about the riders
As they all crowd the train,
Rushing, sitting, reading.
I'd like to share with the man on the next seat.
But no! he doesn't want to hear from me.
I'm walking west on Main Street,
Enjoying the sidewalk scenery.
And here it comes -- a poetry idea!
I know it's an idea
'Cause it walks beside me:
Something about the coffee-breakers
As they sit in the donut shop
Drinking, reading, talking.
I'd like to share with the smoker on the sidewalk
But no! she flicks her butt and walks away.
I'm relaxing in a bar,
Enjoying the social scenery.
And here it comes -- a poetry idea!
I know it's an idea
'Cause it watches the people with me.
Something about the folks
As they come into the bar
In one's and three's, and leave in two's.
I'd like to share with this guy at the bar
But no! he's not here to "just chat".
My journal listens.
It's good at that.
But it doesn't answer.
I come with nothing but my name
No shield of pride, no bold demands
Just echoes I can’t still.
A thousand thoughts rise up like waves,
But only ink knows how to save
I am the grief that learns to sing,
The silent hope that blooms in spring
And when the final words are free,
The page will hold what eyes can’t see
The things I cannot flee.
But even then, I’ll rise once more
A poet spilling at her core
For poetry is me.
POETRY IS A RECITED ART
as folk talk
&recite
they naturally
pause
after one breath..
thus gramatical symbols
are superfluous..
tradition calls
for capitals
at beginning of lines ..
but again spoils
the flow
as most will
unthinkingly
hesitate
...thereat
so also ' lines'
as such
are an irrelevance
in this open
context
.,without these things
each person
brings a uniqueness
to the poem..
much as
we all do
when looking at
a work art
or
touching
a tactile sculpture ..
a poem
is
or should be
similar
I write about the day and the night I write about putting
the world to right
I write about happy times I write about the sad
I write about the things that really drive me mad
I write about hate I write about love
I write about the devil and about god above.
I write about family I write about friends
I write about forgiveness and making amends
I don't write about fiction because everything is real
I write my poetry to explain how I feel
I write my poetry as a personal release
I write my poetry to put my mind at peace
I thank you for reading the poetry I write
and understanding that my poetry makes the darkness become light
Writing poetry is in my blood
It's a fairly recent thing
Only been writing for about ten years
It's sure made my idle heart sing
Before I began I stumbled around
Lost my direction in life
Discovered my poetry wasn't too bad
Tried it out on my wife
She encouraged me to pursue it further
Soon realized it WAS for me
My passion has been lying dormant
It's set my idle heart free
There's been a number of turning points
Since I was just a young boy
My life's been enriched in so many ways
Now poetry has filled it with joy
Writing poetry is in my blood!
The Writing of Poetry
Is A Sacred Commitment - - - - -
That's how you
have to look at it
if you're a serious Poet
You've got to take
a Vow to Poetry,
as if you're
married to it.
In a sense you are
But it comes
with it's benefits
and moments of ecstasy,
satisfaction deep down
in your Soul
You would never
have believed that
life can be so fulfilling
So keep at it
being pious and with Faith
You surely can rhyme
Heard this all the time
Poetry is not a crime
It could be sublime
It makes not a dime
Can be done in quick time
Words that somehow rhyme
Pop out from the grime
Slither through the slime
Some of them sublime
One found in Anaheim
Words that love to rhyme
Lemon cake with lime
Atoms with an enzyme
Want to add to this rhyme
Poetry is not a crime
particles
of
inspiration
fire
of
poetry...
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.