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I speak not
As I feel
Speaking is not essential
Silence speaks for itself
Poetic Masterpiece: A Childbirth Of Profundity.
Like delivery of Divine Revelations
which favours calmness of wilderness;
It's brought forth in Creative-Glory-Of-Solitude:
A few words
Could bring more than a sound
Touch the ears turn wry to golden smile
or sharper than a glass to cut into pieces
If I could write words
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
What a bonfire my letters would make.
To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed,
Scented and warm against my beating breast;
To whisper soft and quivering your name,
(Dedicated to you, my Brothers and Sisters)
oh how sweet are the words from your lips
the words full of hope and promises
oh how sweet to hear those whispers
whispers with jokes and naughty phrase...
What sight so lured him thro' the fields he knew
As where earth's green stole into heaven's own hue,
All the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
All round me are words, and words and words,
They grow on me like leaves, they never
Seem to stop their slow growing
~ POETRY IS NOT CHASE GAME ~
Ms. Nivedita. UK
So the light falls, and so it fell
on branched leaved with flocking birds.
Loght stole a citys weight to swell
the coloured lofe of stone. Your words
What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through,
Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do!
Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all.
Simple and noble words of laughing
And that laugh in working,
Simple and noble words of loving
And that love in working,
PASSIONS are liken'd best to floods and streams:
The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb;
So, when affection yields discourse, it seems
The bottom is but shallow whence they come.
Are deeper than eyes
Are deeper than dreams
I write a poem for you today,
to get a place in your heart for ever
A poem that could tell you my love for you
I write my poem with emotion and affection
The evening was lonely for me, and I was reading a book till my
heart became dry, and it seemed to me that beauty was a thing
fashioned by the traders in words. Tired I shut the book and
snuffed the candle. In a moment the room was flooded with
Upon this blank page, before the whispers of the letter is spoken into the weave of the word which spells the meaning, the message born within, through which, intertwined with the next letter and the next, comes joined together with another word weaved, through which their conjoined meanings combine and align to create words in sequence, as the poetry begins to give birth before the fertile womb of the blank page, as the words weave and intertwine into the next word and the next. Creating a poetry seething, beautiful, intricate, intimately complex, as the meanings of the words come together to create a poem that breathes the life of inner meaning, in the depth of their sacred inner sounds, with deeper depths of meanings profound, as they abound upon the blank page, as if written by an ancient sage, as they weave and intertwine in a paragraph made with lines; of words with voices strong and true, that speak to the depths inside of you, as one word joins another, and those words are two, and then another comes and the verse flows free, the words now a trinity, and as the verse is borne from the sacred power of the silence before the storm of the poetry seething within, the birthing pains of the muse are the sounds of a lover giving birth, to the beauty found within the chiming fetters of the blank page, as I rue and sing a lament for the death of sweet silence, as the story unfolds before the words broken silence, and in the music that is born, from the birthing cries of the muse with love in her heart and tears in her eyes. She cry's, calls to the pen, and the child's hand, holds him like a lover, bows to a king, crowns him a man, in the delicate fateful stroke of her graceful sovereign hand, with which in love she pours forth to entwine within his soul a verse, filling his heart with new birth, as the inspiration flows from her jeweled heart, shinning light to entwine upon his art, that begins as he starts to write first the letters then the words, spoken before the power of the blank page, that whispers of promise so sweet despite its age, the king crowned child with steady hands, hears the whispers of his muse sing upon the lyre in his heart, louder than the lion, champion to the music in his soul. As she bestows. Words begotten from the deepest corners of time itself, to dance with poetry amongst the fairies and the elves, that they might join in chorus, in the middle of the forest, with the music that graces their ears, as the music sings a melody to the deep and the wild, a poetry seething, in the heart of a child. That sung his song, pen in hand, upon the sacred power of the blank page, that he might wage war upon the silence, with a sovereign providence, of words of deeper depth, that as he pens his poem in melodic verse the fairies and angels do rehearse, the many colors and notes of this poetry alive, which breathes with a music from deep inspiration, that comes from the titillation of the music of the muse, her heart strumming the strings of the lyre, into the listening ear of her lover so dear, the child, her king, and the poem their child. As verse after verse the poem is compiled, by the wits whim and whiles of the muse and her lover, as each sings a song to one another, and in heated hearts the song is heard, as if the sound was the song of angelic birds humming to the music of words written upon the soul, that they may find lovers of their own, as they wrap, the two lovers, the muse and her king, under the brilliant white feathers of their wings, to raise in chorus, as the fairies sing, and the many bells the angels ring, the trumpeting music of heaven, that sings as notes as soft as mist, to intertwine in the poetry of this. that as the poetry seethes and burns with life, the muse, with lips locked upon the child's heart, consecrates herself as his wife, and the two lovers, form a dance in verse, which upon sheets of the blank page they give perfect birth.
Here, in this poem, I will explain why Spanish is hard for me to write.
My explanation is necessary for the reader to understand my poetry.
Spanish is a human language.
It's a language by some millions of humans on Earth.
You get a new book from the market.
The book has a unique name on the front cover.
The book title is very unique, special, and interesting.
Mes poèmes/ My poems
I am lost in my poems
From Strangers to Strange things and strangest
Words can implore, words can plead,
Words can fail, but also succeed,
Words can empower, when at their best,
Can help to clear, what is on your chest,
POETICS: EAST AND WEST
Origins and evolution of poetics the World Over
Although poetry appeared in many countries of the world from times immemorial, it was only in India that an enquiry started on the questions as to what is poetry, how it could be treated, and why it should be written. In the wake of this enquiry, a large body of scientific knowledge regarding the mechanics of poetry and its purpose developed and began expanding through the centuries. We have a plethora of evidence about this in the Vedic literature, Ramyana and Mahabharata. I don't wish to go into all that here. I shall only give one instance from Mahabharata (chapter 207 of Rajya lambha parva)Narada is described as "Paribhushaitaa vaachaam varnatah sarvatorthatah". It means Narada is also a poet. In those days, evidently, according to the scientists of poetry, a poet is one who adorned the word letter-wise and meaning-wise (i.e. word-beauty and sense-beauty) . These words remind us of the great Bhamaha of the later period and his theory of Alankara. Those books of poetics are not available to us today. However from the Natyasastra of Bharata onwards, all the literature on poetics in not only available but also remains intact with a tradition of being read by scholars and taught to the students of literature (in Sanskrit) .
By Dr. Gary Miller
About the Author
Greetings to each of you my dearly beloved brothers and sisters in God's name. Please read these twenty-one blessings rendered for you in God's grace:
I. May God's love for the new year grant you joy and inspiration overcoming trials and tribulation with patience and prayer. His words state "Not slothful in business; fervent in spirit, serving the Lord. Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing in instant prayer" (Roman 12: 11-12) .
Writing a poem is not about bringing some words together to create some charming sentences. It's so much deeper than that. Writing poetry is a bridge that allows people to express their feelings and make others live every single word they read. Poetry is to educate people, to lead them away from hate to love, from violence to mercy and pity. Writing poetry is to help this community better understand life and live it more passionately. PoemHunter.com contains an enormous number of famous poems from all over the world, by both classical and modern poets. You can read as many as you want, and also submit your own poems to share your writings with all our poets, members, and visitors.