Dis Poetry

Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops
De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots
Dis poetry is designed fe rantin
Dance hall style, big mouth chanting,
Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep
Preaching follow me
Like yu is blind sheep,
Dis poetry is not Party Political
Not designed fe dose who are critical.
Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed

Be Drunk

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it--it's the
only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks
your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually
drunk.
But on what?Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be
drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of
a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again,
drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave,
the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything

Poetic Masterpiece

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:  
an abode of Enlightenment in whose mirror of grace,  
purest passions reflect out from shady reality —
to gratify inflamed curiosity of Inward-Eye,  
as it wanders around source of enchantment,  
seeking in expanded awareness to capture
the essence of a phenomenon shrouded in mystery.

Songs Of The Singing Bird!

The unknown singing bird sang
Several songs for some years;
The songs of the singing bird
Soon created news and history!
All the life songs of the bird about
Nature and culture are literature now!

Knowledge and experience give wisdom
That gives a system of life to live;
This is called human culture.

Ars Poetica?

I have always aspired to a more spacious form
that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose
and would let us understand each other without exposing
the author or reader to sublime agonies.

In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent:
a thing is brought forth which we didn't know we had in us,
so we blink our eyes, as if a tiger had sprung out
and stood in the light, lashing his tail.

Populist Manifesto No. 1

Poets, come out of your closets,
Open your windows, open your doors,
You have been holed-up too long
in your closed worlds.
Come down, come down
from your Russian Hills and Telegraph Hills,
your Beacon Hills and your Chapel Hills,
your Mount Analogues and Montparnasses,
down from your foothills and mountains,
out of your teepees and domes.

>≫A Poet's Journey

The first poem was a wonder
The second was a surprise.
The third poem made me a poet,
The fourth gave me a name and fame.

The fifth poem fetched me a fabulous fantasy
The sixth one was a striving struggle for perfect beauty.
The seventh poem conceived the heaven's serenity,
The eighth one gave me a fly,
The ninth poem lifted me in the sky.

Poetry Is Sexy

Poetry is sexy
Its lyrics aim to please

Poetry is sexy
Engaging in its tease

Poetry is sexy
It radiates with verb

Poetry is sexy

A Single Note

A lilac for the anonymity,
Of Mrs. Hinkle's simple poetry.
It shines within the margins of its space,
A single note of captivating grace.

The subtle sun through ancient maple leaves,
Paints memory with a gentleness that grieves.
A touch of soul is music to the bone,
Even after every wing has flown.

Realizing

.

« What is Poetry? »
Heavens no! Don’t ask me;
I don’t know the answer.
« Try one —Any answer;
Just to give me a clue »
Maybe
Poetry is just a starry night looking down at us..
Or it is the whole of

A Man I Knew

There was a man I knew
and just knowing him
made me think of poetry.

Loving him, I learned
that accepting love
is as important as giving it

and the not-so-subtle difference
between loving lukewarm

On The Grasshopper And Cricket

The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's--he takes the lead
In summer luxury,--he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost

Everything I See Is Poetry To Me

Everything I see
Is poetry to me
From the last standing tree
In a lonely forest
To the great ocean sea
Bathing in the sunset
everything I see
Is poetry to me

Every thing I see

My Poetry Journey

My poetry journey is nothing and nowhere to go
Without leaving a word or two
I need a companion along the way
With you in my thoughts each day

In this square box i learned a lot and send
To click, read and comment and bend
Making someone happy and heaven sent
Learning, loving, inspiring and content

Iris Of Poetry

Introduction: We don't really think deep enough about 'What A Poetry Actually Is', the obvious question which we all know but don't think how to really elaborate on. We mostly see the story, depth and the purpose it delivers. Well, here's one a little bit different this time...


Poetry is the reflection of our lives like in the mirror,
It is something we can relate to and share.
It's our memories written in jumbled words,
It's like a song, with a meaning it holds.

A mere idea of our mystical lives,

Biography Of A Poem

Where speech fails, poetry takes over.
As if like a fetus in the womb, a poem
Is born in the brain's chamber, where
It sleeps and sometimes moves about
For an exit. Finally it finds its way out,
Silently through a computer keyboard
Or the nib of a pen, to the open world.

Where speech fails, poetry takes over.
Small poets eschew big pandemonium.

Poetry 1 - An Emotional Rhapsody

Poetry is
An emotional Rhapsody
Igniting the contemplative mind
Pouring out words in exuberance
At times, an impudence to create
A Chutzpa!

~ Ich Bin Ein Künstler [fusion Poetry] ~

~ Ich bin ein Künstler [Fusion Poetry] ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
April 18,2010

[Humble apology: Like music dance painting etc. I’m offering linguistic fusion in poetry ~ ‘Fusion Poetry’. Readers’ are requested to refer to glossary ~ niv]

I’m stark stone
Sculpt myself
Schnitzen my ownself

Poetic Sense -1 (Translation)

Although the human mind has been divided into conscious, subconscious and unconscious today, yet the man had already been existing and his mind, too. Freud was of the view that he did not exactly invent the idea of unconscious mind because poets and philosophers were already familiar with it. He said that he had only presented its theory in psychological terms. According to Freud, the poetry comes into existence on account of regression and sublimation of unsatisfied longings. On regression of these conscious desires, the subcoscious and uncoscious minds apparently become symbols of sabotage but on sublimation they transform into creative subconscious and creative uncoscious respectively. It is either as the peaceful use of neuclear energy or as to irrigate the far flung barren lands from a large dam. When Plato said that even an expert of Poetic Technique could not create great poetry without intuitive insanity, he wanted to say that the poet could not depend on his conscious mind only because the source of superior creations is afterall the unconscious, the backyard of mind. Since then people have been considering the poets to be abnormal. You may call it insanity or licentiousness or poetic spell or revelation or intuition or poetic inspiration. On the other hand, a genius who is also seen at the last footstep of conscious, mostly depends upon his intuition. Therefore he is also considered to be abnormal. A litrary genius seldom turns to be normal but as a human being his best creative faculties operate during the most normal moments of his life. These are intellectual moments indeed. The analysis of revelation or intuition shows that it operates in two modes. In first mode, a totally untouched thought steps into conscious all of a sudden. It is usually considered similar to electric lightning. Therefore poets, mistics, even scientists, all are aware of it. While the second mode is more common which is also understood by people having non creative mind. This is called productive thinking and it is placed second to intuition. For example, a forgotten name or face or event comes into conscious suddenly during half-asleep. The first mode is related to unconscious while the second mode is related to subconscious. The subconscious is more important in both. In first mode, the unconscious is raised upto the level of subconscious. While in the second mode subconscious is itself a source of information. First mode is usually named as Poetic Inspiration while second as Poetic Imagination. A stream of thoughts begins to flow from subconscious towards conscious in both modes. Where in a trance-like state, the creator and his creation become two peas in a pod. At the end of the process when he observes his creation for the first time, it is no more a part of his subjective process but now he studies it objectively and makes modifications and additions in it. Thus he observes his creation as its first listener and critic, and tries to analyse what he has listened during intuition. In the first mode creative unconscious is responsible for the subjective process and creative conscious is resposible for the objective one. Likewise in the second mode creative subcoscious is responsible for the subjective process and creative conscious is responsible for the objective one. The creative conscious comes into existence by mastering the Poetic Technique. In fact, the functions of creative unconscious, creative subconscious, and creative conscious are so intercombined that they can not be isolated from one another. They are collectively known as Poetic Sense. In general terms Poetic Technique, Poetic Imagination and Poetic Inspiration are collectively called Poetic Sense.

Poetry And Religion

Religions are poems. They concert
our daylight and dreaming mind, our
emotions, instinct, breath and native gesture

into the only whole thinking: poetry.
Nothing's said till it's dreamed out in words
and nothing's true that figures in words only.

A poem, compared with an arrayed religion,
may be like a soldier's one short marriage night