(1/6/2014 12:59:00 AM)
Please feel free to read my recently updated collection, and rate and comment as you wish. It would be greatly appreciated, Jack Growden.
(1/5/2014 10:16:00 AM)
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A poem is born of the inspiration
and filled with perspiration
and sometimes precipitation.
Those who don't understand
precipitation in the poem I am
referring to tears that comes
from writing from ones heart.
Those who don't understand perspiration
It is the hard work that's put into verse.
You have brought nothing new to the table; if you
keep writing these verses, they are rehearsed
and won't contribute to your purse.
I thought it best to get it off my chest,
before I am put to rest with repeated rhymes
used too many times.
Writing poetry is like painting a picture
using words instead of charcoal, oil, water color,
It seems that they prefer words used by muse,
divine inspiration has no room they may have met
their fate. It is a supernatural discourse
that is preferred.
I don't care if it rhymes too much or has
been well rehearsed; either you like it
are you dislike it, it really doesn't matter,
we all have our own style that will be with
us for a while.
I do not mind constructive criticism
so let's not call for a poetical exorcism.
I think it's fair to say it appears poets
have no sense of humor when you try
to amuse a muse.
If you are still reading this poem
and it does not meet your expectations,
or qualifications I apologize for
using the wrong media to relay the frustrations.
I have read beautiful poems in this forum
however some of the poems are downright weird,
such as this one.
(12/30/2013 8:59:00 PM)
Should a poem pass a " standard" to qualify as a poem?Is lofty language or artistic form be some of these criteria for a poem's acceptance by the tribe of poets?What do you think tribal poets?
(12/29/2013 3:22:00 PM)
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Hello, Poets. I just want to repeat a warning by my publisher that once I post a poem in PoemHunter, I cannot publish the same in amazon.com or any other publisher on account of SELF-PLAGIARISM. Would anybody care to confirm or refute this?I will be grateful for any authoritative view on this matter and I feel, most will be grateful for guidance. Can anybody from PoemHunter comment?
(12/20/2013 11:14:00 AM)
Im not new at writing poetry but i would like some honest feedback on some poems I posted. Can you guys go check them out?
(12/18/2013 3:35:00 PM)
Laying here thinking about how much a person can love someone. I wonder… You love him so much your world isn’t complete with him in it. Your days aren’t as bright without his amazing smile. Your body aches without his touch and the sense of hearing is not a good without the sound of his voice. He is and always will be the biggest and most important part of your life. Your love for him is deeper than the ocean and farther then the sky. The thought of him loving another is unreal to you. You can’t imagine him with someone else and he can’t even imagine loving another. When he’s asleep you just lay on his chest and listen to the calm sound of his heartbeat. When he kisses you the heart begins to race and knees start to buckle. You can’t seem to figure out WHY?Why do I love him so much?Why does my world revolve around him and only him?Then suddenly you wake up and realize it was all just a dream.
(12/16/2013 6:37:00 PM)
When i think of poetry i think of imagery the more descriptive the more vivid the imagery and so we poets must make every efforts to rid our poems of lazy filler words. we all do it to some degree
(12/15/2013 6:45:00 PM)
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Please give constructive criticism. I am by no means done.
The man on the moon ran away when morning came
And the earth reached up to touch
His stiffly flowing veins.
The wandering miles
Brought him back
To the land where
Kept their shelter
He ran beside the flying machines
Amidst the fields and dreams
And runways of
Tied and tethered
But then the moon rose again in the hollowed out streets
And he wept the wistful tears of
Old hounds as they dream of
Chases remembered, and
In their sleep
Pranay Aich Roy
(12/15/2013 12:33:00 AM)
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To those, who brought us light,
To those, who won the fight.
The fight for truth, a fight for freedom,
Which brought us the sun of the rising dawn.
Thank you brothers and the sisters,
To the thinkers and to the prolific writers;
Without whom, we can’t thrive,
We can’t die in peace, we can’t live life...
Today in this world of lies,
Their frame from the walls gently cries.
Is this the world for which they desired?
Is this the world for which they lived?
But now who cares, now who thinks?
They have the freedom in their dirty pair of hands.
But they will never know when darkness will ring,
Snatching away the unity and free air of our lands...
This world is nothing, but a darkened path.
Who will light it, who will tear it apart?
Not those pairs shading the evils,
But some pure pairs who will slay the devils....
Pranay Aich Roy,
VIII, South Point High School,
(12/11/2013 6:20:00 AM)
There hides a serpent in a; damp,
long, moist and venomous,
its known as the
It can kill like a sharpened sword and draw not a drop of blood,
weaves the air of which we depend and spins a silken word,
to ears of another so heard, its venom travels as a wave,
in forms of barbed syllables, it hisses from its cave,
some who have minds unheard,
are to it a traitorous slave,
but no serpents words shall meet a heart,
once ears are put to graves,
Notes are best heard and remembered,
when positive sounds,
a fact as invisible as music,
and apparent as swelling Bells