Poetry Poem by Nikki Giovanni
Poetry
poetry is motion graceful
as a fawn
gentle as a teardrop
strong like the eye
finding peace in a crowded room
we poets tend to think
our words are golden
though emotion speaks too
loudly to be defined
by silence
sometimes after midnight or just before
the dawn
we sit typewriter in hand
pulling loneliness around us
forgetting our lovers or children
who are sleeping
ignoring the weary wariness
of our own logic
to compsoe a poem
no one understands it
it never says 'love me' for poets are
beyond love
it never says 'accept me' for poems seke not
acceptance but controversy
it only says 'i am' and therefore
i concede that you are too
a poem is pure energy
horizontally contained
between the mind
of the poet and the ear of the reader
if it does not sing discard the ear
for poetry is song
if it does not deligh discard
the heart for poetry is joy
if it does not inform then close
off the brain for it is dead
if it cannot heed the insistent message
that life is precious
which is all we poets
wrapped in our loneliness
are trying to say
Poems come from the heart and the soul at any time if day or night and wherever you happen to be, you get a verse and write it down.
a poem is pure energy horizontally contained between the mind of the poet and the ear of the reader.. a vision of a poet. tony
Poems like this one, help me forget all that is practical and listen with my soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 7:29:15 AM # 1.0.0.1119
You spelled COMPOSE incorrectly poet Nikki Giovanni #56 on top 500 poets Poet's PagePoemsQuotesCommentsStatsBiographyShare on FacebookShare on Twitter Poems by Nikki Giovanni: 30 / 43 « prev. poem next poem » Poetry - Poem by Nikki Giovanni poetry is motion graceful as a fawn gentle as a teardrop strong like the eye finding peace in a crowded room we poets tend to think our words are golden though emotion speaks too loudly to be defined by silence sometimes after midnight or just before the dawn we sit typewriter in hand pulling loneliness around us forgetting our lovers or children who are sleeping ignoring the weary wariness of our own logic to compsoe a poem no one understands it