~Poetry pouring in veins of my exitance~

~Poetry pouring in veins of my exitance~
Nasra Al Adawi

I'm honored to come here and get this chance to tribute Poetry for what it brought into my life and hope to many others who I have met on the path of blogging and out of it would pour in to joining me in this tribute. It’s a total fulfillment for me which comes in, a fog of poetic thoughts that seems to leave the early morning to trail tranquilly into me and inhibit my soul.

So as I give my tribute and appreciation to Poetry and yes I do owe it to what it brought into my life. I sneaked to find what others saw into Poetry, and here what I found out:

"Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth."

Samuel Johnson

( From quotes on poetry brainyquote )

"Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn."
Thomas Gray

( From quotes on poetry brainyquote )

~Kneeling ~


I spoke into the wind
The wind answered
I saw
Constellations ancient
Renewed

I awoke
When the wind had gone
I touched
Stillness pounding
Like a storm

I spoke into the wind
And listened for spring

jason evans
http://clarityofnight.blogspot.com/

Haiku:

~
When he reads my poem
Silence hums along
His voice
~

~
good morning
she writes poetry
to start her day
~

Poetry has affect on me in so many ways . Its in my blood. Its the rush of my emotions. and I am trying to figure how does it affects my life. how does it keep my spirit so alive? I don't know. every time i write a poem, i just smile. knowing this is who i am. miss princess poetryoholic butterfly cos i fly in the sky with poems inside my heart. i will write whatever I desire.

Kai Croft
http://kaispoetry.blogspot.com/

Why I love Poetry
This is both and easy or a difficult question to answer. I have always loved poetry as far as I can remember. Before I only read it but now I attempt at writing it. I started with the classic poets which gave me so much pleasure. I could only be in awe of the structured poetry. I have written a few on those lines but I like the freedom of writing unstructured poetry or more liberally known as free verse. I pen down my experiences or just go out into that fantasy land which gives me so much space. Poetry takes me to the realms which can’t be explained in words. One can pack in so much meaning in so few words. Images, metaphors, similes make it very interesting. Poignancy of thoughts and feelings can only be brought out in the form of poetry. By my poetry I have discovered the inherent me.

gautami tripathy
http://firmlyrooted.blogspot.com/

~The Feathers of Your Being~

Marginal thoughts
barely make the deadline
for unwanted expectations.


It must be a full absorption
of a yielding self
to an Independent Power.


The search must be constant
an obsession of the soul
although that search will never
end.


There is a pang of uncertainty
except at moments
when you alight upon
the unexpected and you only yearn
for whatever it is to
last to the eternity of the horizon.


A fragmentation occurs
on the border of your soul
and you weep because your
heart has become full.


You’ve just made it to
the scrim of the ocean
and you are awaiting the
tide to kidnap you from the illusions
and strangers of the world.


There is a tickling of light
in your wide eyes and is wiped
away by an even brighter light.


The feathers of your being
perch on the expanse
of longing and takes flight
by the light of a moon
and it feels as if you were
crawling in the depths of a resistance force
but you became each wave in the
same current and it overtook
the abberant strands that had
tied you in knots.

M. Shahin
http://gentlenight.wordpress.com/

"nearly every other night i begin to wonder if i've written everything i have to write, if i've expended all the poetry that resides within my soul. maybe i will never be able to write another poem. perhaps i am finished.
then another day comes and i am able to elicit one more poem. each poem is a gift from where i cannot tell, but for each one i am able to write, i give thanks for its gift."
Diana Christine
http://feminineexpressions.blogspot.com/

~Healer's Prayer ~

hold me in the palm
of your seashell hand
infuse me with your buoyancy
then release this fistful
of sandy souls
into the sea
where the waves sound your name
and carry our collective
prayer for peace

Mermaid
http://mermaidhealing.blogspot.com/

~an apology~
I don’t know if I have to apologize about it but nevertheless I apologize just the same - for those who share a little time visiting my blog - for being unable to write something more light-hearted, joyous, hopeful and brighter piece. Much as I try to, I just can’t because my heart speaks otherwise, of the truth of my gloomy world. I am not here to please people but to express and show my real world within…

ABRAXAS
http://abraxasshadow.blogspot.com/

~Saluting the poetic words~

words
stir souls,
awakening heart,
striking mind as flaming darts,
assuring us dreaming never dies.

pen
progresses,
lustrously so,
with expressions
free spirited on paper,

music
playing
rhythmatically
lyrics on the back
jumping within my thoughts

world
born anew,
vision of poets'
sparkle in hands,
imaginings ascending to sky.

Poetry-
salute it as
the sun in the night,
fetching with it only light;
illuminating the lane it walks.

gautami tripathy
http://firmlyrooted.blogspot.com/

~A Visit~

It's as if my night dreams have followed me into the day, and I awaken to a voice, that's hidden within me.

"You are caught between that golden age, the end of youth, and the start of wisdom. You're not in the gray areas of your life; you are on the curves, beloved one and you are skiing across the Milky Way into the rainbow. You create Amias, tell her what you desire her to be, and she will heed thee."

the voice feels good, like a warm April shower. In my mind’s eye I see the voice as a her, and I can recall hearing her before. She's right here with me, my goodness, I love it when she speaks to me. She brings so much clarity. She stands before me like I am her master, and she performs the most amazing feats. My tongue is tied, but my feet floats into the morning, and everything is surreal. Am I still asleep? I wonder, but it really doesn't matter because I am here, in this place.

"Who can stand before thee, if treacherous rest within their bosoms. For I do declare, that none may dare to harm thee. How is this possible when within your eyes thou see all and within your mind thou create all?"

My laptop is on the table, no surprise. Purple and black letters are flying across the white screen, moving with invisible fingers, and I think it's me, but I am over here watching it all.

"Fear not my beloved, for all is well, and in this place you shall not fail. Seek and ye shall find, knock and the door shall be open, ask and it shall be given to thee, if it was not so I would not have said it."

Wait! I shout at no one in particular. Wait! I have heard those words before. I was raised on those words. My mother read those words to me. The preacher preached those words to me. Wait! What is this? What's going on? What does it all mean?

"Words are written upon the mind of the wind, used to open doors and close them back again. They are the keys to your Self and in the end; they are all you will have left to conjure, to come before Self. They are me, they are you, and we are one."

She's inside me creating my thoughts and reading them. This can't be. This can't be! I am watching all of this, I see it, and I hear it. How can this be ... am I insane! Do I care? I can feel her smiling at me, and the sticky brown tea tickles my tongue and relaxes me.

"Fear not beloved one, for what thou do not understand, all will be explained. Know that everything begins with the pyramids of the mind, which creates the circles of your lives. This too shall come to pass again and again until you get it right."

She's inside me creating my thoughts and reading them. This can't be. This can't be! I am watching all of this, I see it, and I hear it. How can this be ... am I insane! Do I care? I can feel her smiling at me, and the sticky brown tea tickles my tongue and relaxes me.

"Fear not beloved one, for what thou do not understand, all will be explained. Know that everything begins with the pyramids of the mind, which creates the circles of your lives. This too shall come to pass again and again until you get it right."

Like a child, I see my Self within my mind, and I am moving and standing still at the same time. Am I lost, what do I do? Am I to do something different from what I am doing? Tell me please, what am I do?

"Seek to serve your needs. Create Amias from your seeds. Tell her what you desire and she will comply. Seek within without fear; she will be there to serve Self, to serve you. No one dares to turn you aside, are you not the wind and that which power the wind? Are you not movement and stillness? Are we not one?"

The letters stopped. Suddenly the room comes into view. I am back from wherever I was.

Amias
http://liquidplastic.blogspot.com/

~Poem-Prone ~


Sometimes it seems poems flow
like blood through you...
nourishing, revitalizing,
rejuvenating, and
animating your soul,
waiting to be called to its feet.
Sometimes you just can't miss with words...
hitting the bullseye from any angle
at any distance.
Relish your poem-prone moments,
because like sunshine in Cleveland,
they just won't last.

Don Iannone
http://conscious-living.blogspot.com/

~Poetry Taste~

The wind carries the scent of the soaked earth on its fingers. I can feel those fingers above my lips and my nostrils flare, just a bit, as I deeply inhale the sultry warm satisfied scent and I get so excited with this smell.

The monsoons, the dark, swollen clouds are here, bearing beneficence. Suddenly there is twinkling gladness in the hearts, the greens are greener and the sun is milder like a father in a good mood.

I like my skin when it rains. Its moister and I don't really mind the sweat too in these times as it cools me down.The sound of ceaseless water dripping and the cooler winds are still to come but the promise has been made.

Poetry tastes better with raindrops, I think.

Gulnaz Sheikh
http://the-apple-pathways.blogspot.com/

~WASTED EFFORT ~
I thought I would write a poem today
but could not think of a thing to say.
I'd write a poem as sure as fate
if I could just concentrate.
So varied the topics that fill my mind
but nothing tangible I find.
Just take the weather for example
what's written about it seems quite ample.
The subject of love clutters so much stuff
In my opinion, there's more than enough.
The changes in seasons are always here
but they're always the same, year after year.
Or, one could write about sunshine or shore
but that's been done so much before.
OH! Well, I may as well go to bed
as try to bother my befuddled head.
For there's one thing I now plainly see
It's just not my day to write poetry!

Margie
http://samuru999.blogspot.com/





~A night of passion~

A night of passion
With words inscribed
To mark the magic

Lorena
http://every-passing-moment.blogspot.com/

"Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them."
Dennis Gabor ( From quotes on poetry brainyquote )

~Difficult to Write~

I had a poem in mind to write
About the gift of sight
Though pictures made, can slowly fade
Those thoughts were not yet bright

I had some thoughts in mind to mark
As empty as the dark
Those thoughts were slight, and barely right
To start another spark

I still had thoughts I could inscribe
Though pictures did the bribe
Attractive arts, laid low like darts
Were lost in just one vibe

And until now I could engrave
With marks I still enslave
Their deadliness, no more or less
Would still, my writings crave

Though still I wish those thoughts would stay
The words are hard to play
So throughout time, those words that rhyme
Won’t reach until this day

TripleTee
http://3tworld.blogspot.com/

"Nothing separates us anymore. Not borders, not nationalities, not seas and not even languages. It is one world. Beating and moving.

All nine cities connected through the intangible. Through words and feelings and being. Through us."

English August
Country: India
http://english-august.blogspot.com/

Paper, Pen, Rhymes and Dreams

My plain paper talks to me
And tells me the secrets of poetry
While my pen dances freely on it
My fingers soon will submit
To the music of the written words
To the letters flying around like birds
Until I get lost between the rhymes
Of love, hope and desperate times

Hapless Poet
http://hopelesspoet.blogspot.com/

"Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away. "

"Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits."

Carl Sandburg
Poet
( From quotes on poetry brainyquote )

~Idea Seeds ~

I planted an idea seed
Somewhere inside of me
Watered it and tended it
To see what it would be

Carefully I added words
And pruned its punctuation
Hacked at all the boring bits
Removing excess information

I patted it and shaped it
And watched it slowly form
Fed it on inspiration
And kept it nice and warm

And from a small idea
That no one else could see
With just a little love and care
I grew a poe-tree

SUE HARDY-DAWSON
http://poemcat.blogspot.com/

"Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them."
Charles Simic
Poet
( From quotes on poetry brainyquote )


~Poetry~

Poetry

These mandibles marinate in motion,
Savoring a laureate's linguistic ambrosia, ripened of a succulent syntax
And fermented into the most vibrant of a vintner's emotions.

And, thus, slaking these sumptuous selections,
The lightests of lyrics are percolated into a rippling music,
And steeped into the sweetest of confections.

And though some speak of verse the same as simple prose,
None is more wrong, as a dance without a song,
Or to proclaim beauty is but a petal-less rose.

As, from the time of those ancient runes,
To know the ballad of a bard is not at all hard
When you are struck deep by its graceful tune.

In these immortal lines, that the generations will cite,
And upon a luxurious voice, simmered of an exalted word choice,
There is carried a timeless truth that is known at first sight.

Ah, this sustaining nectar's melody,
In which an artful inflection begets a stylized expression,
Is the passionate parlance called poetry!

ANONYMOUS POET
http://anonymouspoet.blogspot.com/

"One of the most satisfying aspects of poetry is to watch a limber mind run and freely make its associations on the page, moving back and forth, starting in one direction, then darting in another."

VICTOR SCHNICKELFRITZ
http://greatamericanpinup.blogspot.com/

~More on Writing~

much of my best poetry gives birth in moments
others require weeks or even months

some days i produce two or three poems
some days it's merely one great line

but the days of struggle with little to show
are in the masterpiece produced on the day with much

and so it is with Life

the days of sunshine
comprise the days of wind and rain
pain and tears are the threads
that weave the fabric of accomplishment

struggle and success become one

interdependent in such a way
one cannot exist without the other

Diana Christine
http://feminineexpressions.blogspot.com/

~lost ideas~

I’ve had
more attempts of
poems
than poems.

I have sat,
pen in hand;
(actually,
open laptop,
white screen,
blinking cursor,
fingertips pressed lightly
on the keys,
almost feeling each letter)
to be more accurate.)

I almost hate
when an idea hits me,
square on the back
of my head,
like a hot slap,
after a sarcastic remark
to my father.
If I do not have
pen and paper,
computer and outlet,
the idea is lost.

So, I run
frantically
looking for
napkins,
tablecloths,
scraps of paper,
a pencil, pen, marker.
I would use a knife
and write in my own
blood,
if the idea was
that good.

Most of the time,
I wait,
looking over my shoulder,
for a periodic
slap,
that is a poem.

Adrian
http://www.undiscoveredpoems.blogspot.com/

"Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason."
Novalis
( From quotes on poetry brainyquote )

~To touch those words~
The scent of fresh ink,
The brilliant blue…

The mild yellow of ageing paper,
The soft crinkle…

The scratching of pen on paper,
The sound of flowing words…

The embossed flower in a corner of the sheet,
The unsaid greeting…

The long fluent hand,
The slight slant…

The feel of the etched words,
The writer’s touch…

Alas! How I miss them all...
Brood Mode
http://thoughtsafari.blogspot.com/


"Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance."
Carl Sandburg

( From quotes on poetry brainyquote )

I don’t thin I have reached this end of this tribute, I'm in debt to God, giving me this gift of poetic thoughts. So when even my heart aches I retreat to it tenderness to snatch me out of hurting. I don’t know other way to heal but to nib on poetic words to tender any wound that I have. For that I'm grateful for poetry but I'm more grateful to God for giving petals of inspiration.

I tried as much as possible to find what poetry means or a tribute to poetry. Should you feel you would like to add your bit do email me and will be delighted to add it here.

Please forgive me as I kept searching through the web to find what poetry means from different point of view of those who write poetry. Should you find your poem here and wish not to be included please email and would take an immediate action.