Showing posts with label Poet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poet. Show all posts
in my
fragility
i often bereft my very breath of life
of all the wonderment left by dreams--
induce myself
into a tragic, tragic beauty
echoing my heart's sheer deservings
immortal tracings of longing
somehow aurify the crevices left in my soul
by all i have ever known simply
to versify their very essence
to the surface of each willing page
i sense far more in only
the most romantic of poets:
days of yore when the Promethean bard
[Shelly] crossed in his own self
the fine line between heaven and earth,
Keats with his melancholic breathlessness still rests
deeply within my heart;
oh, how they remain my unsurpassed favorites
and so, you see
i am but a humble man whose been bred
completely in the pulsating depth
of poetry
may i pertain to this
forevermore.
i often bereft my very breath of life
of all the wonderment left by dreams--
induce myself
into a tragic, tragic beauty
echoing my heart's sheer deservings
immortal tracings of longing
somehow aurify the crevices left in my soul
by all i have ever known simply
to versify their very essence
to the surface of each willing page
i sense far more in only
the most romantic of poets:
days of yore when the Promethean bard
[Shelly] crossed in his own self
the fine line between heaven and earth,
Keats with his melancholic breathlessness still rests
deeply within my heart;
oh, how they remain my unsurpassed favorites
and so, you see
i am but a humble man whose been bred
completely in the pulsating depth
of poetry
may i pertain to this
forevermore.
"oh, how i long solace enough to release
all the beauty i know i have to offer. unfortunately it doesn't work that way...
i can only offer fragments at a time. now, consider what i had just said and ask
yourself: do you think you could handle all my inner allurement were i able to
grace it in a single poem? would it be far too overwhelming for you? or for
anyone?"-- Robert Anderson
"the treasure trove of a poet is that we
can easily discover a piece of ourselves in the next bewildering voice."
--Robert Anderson
"the discovery of the truest poet
is...
to sense the convulsions of one's
secret self that may propose unrivaled beauty to its admirers." -- Robert
Anderson
"isn't being able to write poetry divine?
imagine an obsession which can alter into insomnia until the fine line between
sane and insane become utterly blurred. i love being a poet!" -- Robert
Anderson
"for every one of my quiet moments i must
leave no stone unturned to repose my sanity; this is as much for me to wed my
blurry soul with my brawling heart" -- Robert Anderson
"i can never think of poetry along the
lines of "better" or "worse" but rather the word i choose is "different". to say
"different" when discussing how one poet may or may not challenge the next can
only mean one thing: there is variety." -- Robert Anderson
"a poetry critic more often than not
focuses on the attributes of no real distinctive worth while grazing through a
poet's soul. maybe their obligation should be to take focus away from the way a
poem is shaped and immerse themselves into the way it can caress." -- Robert
Anderson
when asked of his method to express
himself:
"it's complicated. i want to compose art
and not just scribble whatever might be on my mind down. that's the key to
writing good poetry, i think. i have to "feel" what i'm thinking or else it
won't work for me and i'll just end up throwing whatever piece of trash i wrote
away." -- Robert Anderson
"for boastful intellect should be foreign
in the art of poetry; why do we feel the need to process thought when we write?
we should feel compelled to have the words process us." -- Robert
Anderson
"i've been told that i should be the most
egotistical person out there for my natural ability to express myself. i see it
more as a gift and you mustn't squander your gifts for the sake of
self-admiration." -- Robert Anderson
"Although unveiled it will never be
perceived in similar light by two different people... my soul is a diverse
nudist." -- Robert Anderson
"we poets are all wingéd creature's
flying blindly to an audience who would love to forage off our souls... like as
a moth to the blistering flame is how it generally goes." -- Robert
Anderson
"you're only as old as you are
in soul." -- Robert Anderson
"i'm like the Rubik's cube. colorful yet
complex" -- Robert Anderson
"i am the breath of
life
proposing love's unrivaled
beauty" -- Robert Anderson
"i don't know what i believe in and
that's the truth. read my poetry... i believe in whatever i write blindly
about." -- Robert Anderson
"...and so, i spend much of my time
dwelling on the most beautiful things to preoccupy my heart. how i often pray i
can scribe them in perfect symmetry." -- Robert Anderson
"in regard to the affectionate thoughts
that drown my soul: this enslavement is beautiful" -- Robert
Anderson
"...and through a curious enchantment,
which in time aroused my secret self, i was at once acquainted with my heart's
eternal dreams" -- Robert Anderson
"i loathe the feeling of being confined.
at intervals it turns into an asylum of the mind." --Robert
Anderson
"i have tragedy in my soul but in my
heart... there's love" -- Robert Anderson
"Somewhere in an alternate universe i'm
crying "what if..." over the life i have today" -- Robert
Anderson
"my mother is my arch demon. she haunts
me and i never knew her." -- Robert Anderson
"and as much again i would like for my
soul to find her own, i would rather unveil the reasons my heart impassively
dotes on her abstracted love" -- Robert Anderson
"yesterday i thought of today as
tomorrow
regardless of the fact that my time is borrowed" -- Robert Anderson
regardless of the fact that my time is borrowed" -- Robert Anderson
"i've recognize jealousy in others who've
crossed my path but paid no regard to them. they always claim my poetry's
pretentious or whatever term their little minds can conjure up in that
instant." -- Robert Anderson
"i'm an old soul and not even this fucked
up exterior could deny me my true self's brio. i shine no matter who i am in
life. i suppose this all comes down to reincarnation. i'm stronger than i
seem." --Robert Anderson
"someone once told me that the way i
write is a bit intimidating. for that i can honestly say that i feel like such a
freak. sometimes this thought haunts me so much so that i fall quietly into
loneliness. see, poetry is my way of gaining peace of mind and if you fear my
peace of mind, you give piece of mind to my fear." -- Robert
Anderson
"while standing at the skirts of all my
sanity i speculate whether or not i should jump. ironically, i'd have to be
insane to do so." -- Robert Anderson
"i consider you in a light that i
secretly hold in my thoughts. when i visit this place i find it to illuminate
with an intensity that only intimacy rules. you're beautiful here." --
Robert Anderson
"my muse has altered her visage... she's
ever enchanting and whispered softly to me as an apparition "i am Moira sweet
poet... you shall be my aftermath" then gently crawled into my soul." --
Robert Anderson
"do you think you're just an average
person? i don't believe in "just an average person". i think everyone is
bequeathed something special before they're born and, whether they know it or
not, use it in their every day lives. consider this the next time you look in
the mirror." -- Robert Anderson
"i always thought myself as the first of
a kind. others may say "one of a kind" but i refuse. one of a kind? no, no, no
it seems too much as though that could be anyone. there have been others who
have walked in your shoes before and you are echoing their very individuality.
originality is breathing its last. when an infrequent life is noticed too many
feel they MUST destroy him or her and haters flock. yes, we creative spirits are
hated." -- Robert Anderson
"i watch the night sky while standing
before the ocean. have you ever thought what they both see? while gazing upward
the ocean has a perfect view of all of heaven. and heaven? well, when you
consider what she sees it's like she staring into a mirror. both attuned to each
other only not... heaven is all they both really see." -- Robert
Anderson
as each turn of phrase endures
the fall
from my heart
toward the inviting page
i ponder where they've originated
truly
is it...
heaven?
do i believe in such a thing?
oh no! even-handed answers do not
derive from whence they came...
at least i don't think.
i consider what they may
possibly mean to me
as i bare my unyielding soul
could it be
that i am vacant in the exact moment
i proceed to conjure their beautiful life?
perhaps. but no answer,
no matter the inquiry,
is quite as simple.
and so, i tie all i know together
within the old tree
that sits just outside my window
as i write.
nature itself surely must hold the key.
whimsical winds caress the erect trees
and brim an energy
which we all know except...
not all of us realize.
what is an impossible question? a riddle?
where do i come from and
what am i?
to this i can only whisper
with my fingers tangled in my hair:
"a 'poet' is all i know
i can be."
oh yore, to breathlessness i'll sleep
then pray i bring to light
for one more chance to never weep
my acquainting with the night
so all my thoughts of her are bred
and soon embracing me
is all the musing love i bled
for her soul endlessly
i've lived, i've loved, i've died, i've died
a thousand times before
where all the lifeblood dreams would guide
had taught me to be more
while beauty's still a thing to keep
i've known the truth of life
and so to breathlessness i'll sleep
to hush my moonlit strife
then pray i bring to light
for one more chance to never weep
my acquainting with the night
so all my thoughts of her are bred
and soon embracing me
is all the musing love i bled
for her soul endlessly
i've lived, i've loved, i've died, i've died
a thousand times before
where all the lifeblood dreams would guide
had taught me to be more
while beauty's still a thing to keep
i've known the truth of life
and so to breathlessness i'll sleep
to hush my moonlit strife
i sense
tragedy
in my soul i know,
i know we were meant to be and yet
i'm so damn vacant and oblivious that
you would have never accepted it
(at least not for long)
time seems to drift away;
it's no longer of any concern,
why won't this leave me be...
leave
me
be
and
let me sit here,
so lonely and oh, so much further
from this world
than i have ever been before,
thinking only of you
you must have thought the worse
for my abandonment,
for my fallible nature and
for my ignorance;
i wonder if you can hear me
whisper
how so sorry i am
how could i have been so
uncaring in that last moment?
God, i'm stupid.
i'm stupid because
you were more of a gift to me
than i knew
and now i'm left wondering:
'do you echo my sentiments?'
as i think more, and more, and more;
deeper and deeper,
i wish so much
that i could utter to you,
through these tears,
how truly 'i still love you'
and how...
i will
till hell freezes over
and you're reawakened
'my eternal breath of heaven.'
tragedy
in my soul i know,
i know we were meant to be and yet
i'm so damn vacant and oblivious that
you would have never accepted it
(at least not for long)
time seems to drift away;
it's no longer of any concern,
why won't this leave me be...
leave
me
be
and
let me sit here,
so lonely and oh, so much further
from this world
than i have ever been before,
thinking only of you
you must have thought the worse
for my abandonment,
for my fallible nature and
for my ignorance;
i wonder if you can hear me
whisper
how so sorry i am
how could i have been so
uncaring in that last moment?
God, i'm stupid.
i'm stupid because
you were more of a gift to me
than i knew
and now i'm left wondering:
'do you echo my sentiments?'
as i think more, and more, and more;
deeper and deeper,
i wish so much
that i could utter to you,
through these tears,
how truly 'i still love you'
and how...
i will
till hell freezes over
and you're reawakened
'my eternal breath of heaven.'
what wonder oh, how dainty and how true
the depth and feeling of your little song
what vivid composition through that view
which bled your soul from where true skill belongs
i've traced throughout your genius, my friend
and read, and read again your every rhyme
and love how you can paint the thoughts that blend
to triumph through your muse's life in time
it feels as though you've writ forever, see
the way you can evoke exquisiteness
with that you shine your gift to such degree
that Euterpe must have blessed you with a kiss
thus when this praise aligns within your sight
i hope that you can see how you inspire
and in your thoughts i take more than delight
for how you hail as queen of poet's fire
this sonnet is but second-rate when weighed
in contrast to your faithful serenade
Author Notes: This piece was originally writ for poetess whom I met on another site. Her abilities in the sonnet form is remarkable and I feel so very fortunate to call her my friend. I believe the heroic sonnet is the perfect form to express how much I respect her as a fellow sonneteer and how her inspiring her work is. This one's for you Joyce.
To find out more about her follow this link.
I'll validate my love to a degree
When with my pen I shed my constant aim
To live, to feel, to know what makes me free
Deep in the verses I let pour and bleed
Of beauty and with all I long to know
I'll keep you there for you are all I need
As you invoke in me the faintest glow
Please do not take exception to my heart
When all is known through every word I write
Nor yet deny my passion bares an art
That most may find too mazy to recite
Deliver me from all that haunts me still
Make known the love you swore you would fulfill
By this I undoubtedly enrapture the might
Of my greatest esteem: my fair muse through the night
Whom I desperately evoke by the brilliance of thought
Of my greatest esteem: my fair muse through the night
Whom I desperately evoke by the brilliance of thought
Within this low chamber it's her love I have sought
And by every vow I had gave through each breath
That all my dear dreams may reflect beyond death
Bleed what I write of through my fantasies keep
To span from the joy and the sorrow I weep
So by the bright dealings she holds up so high
I greet the sweet joy that ripples her eye
While the anguish she learned to free from my heart
No longer remains for the fact we won't part
And so it is stated by the wisdom I've writ
Through how she embraces and feeds off my wit
Our bond is our fate, she's my darling, my bride
And the one who ignited my spirit inside
And by every vow I had gave through each breath
That all my dear dreams may reflect beyond death
Bleed what I write of through my fantasies keep
To span from the joy and the sorrow I weep
So by the bright dealings she holds up so high
I greet the sweet joy that ripples her eye
While the anguish she learned to free from my heart
No longer remains for the fact we won't part
And so it is stated by the wisdom I've writ
Through how she embraces and feeds off my wit
Our bond is our fate, she's my darling, my bride
And the one who ignited my spirit inside
through artistry your pen engraves the thoughts you do refine
within your heart to paint what your fair pneuma can design
and by the vitae through the breath of life you dance a dream
which most can say they've always yearned when reading how you gleam
as well as what pure blessings your dear muse awakes by whim
each verse you write but for a chance to gradually un-dim
and by the vitae through the breath of life you dance a dream
which most can say they've always yearned when reading how you gleam
as well as what pure blessings your dear muse awakes by whim
each verse you write but for a chance to gradually un-dim
I feel you are a wordsmith to behold when reading deep
within the tenderness by every poem you wake and reap
you justify the feelings which you hold so deep inside
and let them swirl and turn divinely through your virtues tide
no discomposure can consign to grave your very cause
so by the universe's breath and all poetic laws
you find deliverance within the solace of your lair
to pour the convoluted truth you taught yourself to bear
no discomposure can consign to grave your very cause
so by the universe's breath and all poetic laws
you find deliverance within the solace of your lair
to pour the convoluted truth you taught yourself to bear
while this remains in me throughout each daymy chosen words had not once yet expressed
nor touched upon the things i wish to say
i'll bleed my heart beyond that peaking test
so i may mark undyingly within
about the truth i've always longed to know
quite far before my life shall wear too thin
deep in this book is where i'll pour my soul
What reason would there be to shed a tear
Deep in your soul without the means to say
Just how it stirred you, moved you, brought you near
Your inner worth that often seems at bay
Just how it stirred you, moved you, brought you near
Your inner worth that often seems at bay
Beyond the aid that draws your feelings in
An instant that you wish you could impress
Upon a surface through a tone you'd spin
So lovely that you'd calm your worldly stress
An instant that you wish you could impress
Upon a surface through a tone you'd spin
So lovely that you'd calm your worldly stress
For every time you yearn to paint your heart
Right from the source of your abyssal dreams
Right from the source of your abyssal dreams
There'd be no way for you to know the art
Of graceful verse when nothing in life seems
To bare the view that can arouse your mind
And have you leave your earthly cares behind
"These heavens drown me within your tangle
Of webbed mercy I do adore
Not I, no never had seemed embraced
By the divine language which angels pour"
~Excerpt from the poem "Unconcealed"
~
O once as seemingly a poet whose soul
Wept solely across the distance of yonder
Too unfair, unjust, his lifetime un-whole
Longed for one whose fairness was fonder
O once as seemingly a poet whose soul
Wept solely across the distance of yonder
Too unfair, unjust, his lifetime un-whole
Longed for one whose fairness was fonder
Than those who'd whisper of nothing with grace
To echo his words and guide through with heart
The bearing of life; such life there would lace
With nothing of awe to paint out in part
To echo his words and guide through with heart
The bearing of life; such life there would lace
With nothing of awe to paint out in part
Over feelings as low as the lowest of cost
With things for which he'd always adore
This man whose worth has always been lost
Gave nothing to every thought that he bore
With things for which he'd always adore
This man whose worth has always been lost
Gave nothing to every thought that he bore
One day a maiden as fair as a queen
Took way across his path where he found
To his astonishment the one who he'd seen
Within the idea of the dreams that he bound
Unto his desire on the softest of nights
What soothing expression he saw in her eyes
And with this moment he found in new heights
An end to every ounce of his cries
So quite thereafter in dwelling he took
His quill to engrave with ink into ode
A gesture of love in his poetry book
To claim it was she that heaven bestowed
A surge of worldly affection through naught
Which flowed through him in every mere aim
To win this creature who captured his thought
His heart, his soul which now burn as flame
What mad enrichment it was when they met
So righteous, so pure; O this lies in fate
Life grants the poet no moment to fret
When all with love and feeling create
Such wonder in splendor, what deepened mystique
She impressed and laid upon him so fair
Granting angels a voice for she would bespeak
Of how the gesture he made was so rare
For she'd once known a pain that revealed
To her a loneliness which caused her to weep
So here the poet who remarkably sealed
In the poem a love she'd tenderly keep
Would not give chance to any who dared
To cross her path with intention of harm
For he would die if ever she flared
and ceased to where no beauty would charm
Their years and years of undying in love
Set no limit to wherever they've gone
This poet, his queen for always thereof
A passion that mirrors the heavenly dawn
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