I Am A Poet

[leafsailors ghost]

Listen
Its the thousand frogs in the spring night
cascading orchestration of the universes song
I bring you my confused but sincere love
it is all I have to offer
then perhaps in my anger
at love abused
you will see the fire of it.
I am a poet
some one who knows the underpass companions
honor and dignity in the forgotten of folks
now noble in my memory
known them well
no truer friends
come listen I am a poet
I do not ask forgiveness from God
I simply turn to the mystery with grateful love and trust
who are we
little thin dreams among the smoke of the camp fire
I am a poet
come sit with me
let me get my old guitar
come I will play for you

[Brian mclaughlin]

art from the heart my friend, art from the heart.

[saw]

poems are songs in my mind...the reader adds his own music....his own rhythm, cadence, pace, ....the tempo is up for grabs.....the author hears one song, the readers may here many versions of said lyrics....it's a beautiful system.....wide open....as the universe

the poem is the uni-verse......to the author.....but other universes are out there ....

the poly-verse ?

[K2.]

We all get inspiration from different things and that's what drives us and makes us want to write.

K2.

[Ghost]

Listen
Its the thousand frogs in the spring night
cascading orchestration of the universes song
I bring you my confused but sincere love
it is all I have to offer
then perhaps in my anger
at love abused
you will see the fire of it.
I am a poet
some one who knows the underpass companions
honor and dignity in the forgotten of folks
now noble in my memory
known them well
no truer friends
come listen I am a poet
I do not ask forgiveness from God
I simply turn to the mystery with grateful love and trust
who are we
little thin dreams among the smoke of the camp fire
I am a poet
come sit with me
let me get my old guitar
come I will play for you

I hear echoes of Sandburg in this. He, too, spoke of frogs
in the springtime ("the crying of the water", I think is
how he phrased it, or something of that order) and did
so in that folksy voice you employ (with theatrical flares
of the dramatic) with this poem.

Sandburg also played the guitar (though, God knows, he
was a much better poet than musician/singer.)

The first bit of trouble one can run into when
writing poems of this nature is that when one invokes
a voice similar to a well-known poet like Sandburg,
one can get compared to said poet, and most times
those comparisons end up coming out unfavorable
for you. Also, one can invite commentary from and
about said poet's contemporaries for the sake of context
(for instance, someone who wanted to be snarky could
point out that Frost once observed that you should never
call yourself a poet {as the title and voice of this poem
does}, but rather a poet is something that other people
should call you, the implication being that if you have to
state that you are a poet, you might not be a very good one.
Of course, the poem's author {or voice} might be speaking
as {or for} the Poet Universal, but, if so, I think it does so
pretentiously, falsely, as there are poets who do and have
done and will do and feel and have felt and will feel exactly
the opposite of what the poem asserts, yet poets they remain.
All of this to say: it might be an overambitious endeavor, I think,
for you to attempt to define the Poet Universal, or a bit
sophomoric to tout oneself as a poet in a poem about oneself.
In other words: the premise behind the poem itself might be
unpalatable to folks who are serious about the craft {or "art",
if you prefer} and therefore should be written {if you care
about that particular reader} as to either say something new,
or, if impossible, to say something already said but said in a
new way. I don't think this poem does either. I'm sorry.)

I did like:

"...the fire of it."

and

"...in the forgotten of folks
now noble in my memory."

"...little thin dreams among the smoke..."

But other than those turns of phrase, I don't feel the
poem has that much to offer. I think it requires love
for the poet him/herself to appreciate; those who love
you will love this poem, those who don't... may not,
though, if they are polite, you may never know.

I know these comments won't get me very well liked here,
but...you know... I'm only being honest.

If I have offended, please feel free to go rip
my poems to shreds; that is the way of things,
what one should expect.

Peace.

[leafsailors ghost]

You are right.I was stupid to concider my sefl a poet ,my most humble apoligies .

[leafsailors ghost]

or:

[leafsailors ghost]

Now: Honey and salt

shall you taste the whole of it ?

together like truth and love

understanding against forgiven

the red white crisp slice of apples

spread with the honey
mixed with salt

shall you taste the whole of it?

the kiss of the sea in the wind

with the kiss from across time

sweet tears of memory

the mystery cries as only a lover can

our transgressions of the heart

can not be hidden

but with love forgiven

can you taste the whole of it?


[leafsailors ghost]

"I think it requires love
for the poet him/herself to appreciate; those who love
you will love this poem, those who don't... may not,
though, if they are polite, you may never know."

Ghost:
Why would I care to know about those who do not love me? I have no store house for meaness or argument,I can not keep it and would not desire to. I know who you are, old ghost ,and I am sorry for your waste of time in this sad task of yours. I will say ramble on if it is your desire,but count me out , I have other things to do.

[leafsailors ghost]

Note on the poem for all: The "I" in the title is any person who walks the path of the poet I was told I was a poet by a wonderful ancient lady in my home town when I was a sad difficut teenager. She gave me somthing wonderful in doing so .I whant all of you who walk this path to know how gratefull I am that you are poets .True poets are indeed somthing that a poet "becomes" the sad argument as to "good" poetry or "bad " poerty is acidemic and stands outside the gate of what true poetry is for me . I have been told that I was not a poet so many times I could not count them. I have tolled no one , any such thing . Poetry speaks for its self, the reader is part of the poem when it is read ,it is an offering .
Unfortunatly if one gets hit with enough shit it starts to stick ,I try to avoid shit slinging parties for that reason .In my own yard, shit slinging does not play. There is a road , It leads to my yard and it leads away from it , all shit slingers are out bound real quick.Posted.

[Ghost]

Ghost:
Why would I care to know about those who do not love me? I have no store house for meaness or argument,I can not keep it and would not desire to. I know who you are, old ghost ,and I am sorry for your waste of time in this sad task of yours. I will say ramble on if it is your desire,but count me out , I have other things to do.

So, just to be certain:

You would prefer I not comment on your poems
unless I am to praise them or you.

Might you be mistaking "meaness or argument" for mere critique, commentary?
Must I agree with you, love you, to read and consider your work intellectually?
Is critique not welcome?

[leafsailors ghost]

Ghost :
critique
noun
A detailed analysis and assessment of something, esp. a literary, philosophical, or political theory.
You are correct, I do not care if I never read another word of your evaluation, I do not give a rats ass to know what you think.I will return the courtesy . I have never seen that stop you however , this time , give it a try ,ok.

[Ghost]

Ghost :
critique
noun
A detailed analysis and assessment of something, esp. a literary, philosophical, or political theory.
You are correct, I do not care if I never read another word of your evaluation, I do not give a rats ass to know what you think.I will return the courtesy . I have never seen that stop you however , this time , give it a try ,ok.

I respect that.

By the way, your assessment of my "Nightly" was spot-on:

"I think it is an interesting list of beginnings of an number of poems. a lot of it is
reciprocal cast asides recycled. Clever word combinations tie it togeather for a tonal
quality . I see somthing that is supposed to sound like the ring of the poets anvil but
ends up more the buzz of a jigsaw making use of left over puzzel pieces ."

Very astute. I mean that sincerely.

I would encourage you to employ that level of intensity to your own work;
it shows promise; I wouldn't have bothered commenting on any of
it otherwise.

Thank you for this insightful conversation. It has revealed much to me.

I wish you peace.

[Doreen Peri]

Ghost,

This isn't a critique site. But of course, you can talk about whatever you want, as long as it's respectful of the person you're talking to. I encourage you not to offer critiques to those who aren't interested in them. Of course, you wouldn't know if someone was interested in a critique unless you asked them, but in this case, you critiqued the poem and the author's reply indicate clearly that he wasn't interested in having his poem critiqued. So, the best thing to do is to stop critiquing his poems in the future. Also, don't critique his comments, either.

In the future, when you feel compelled to offer a critique, please ask the author first, "Would you like a critique?" and wait for him or her to reply.

Thank you.

- DP
I'm the owner and an admin of the site, btw. We like peace here and I wish you peace.

[Ghost]

Ghost,

This isn't a critique site. But of course, you can talk about whatever you want, as long as it's respectful of the person you're talking to. I encourage you not to offer critiques to those who aren't interested in them. Of course, you wouldn't know if someone was interested in a critique unless you asked them, but in this case, you critiqued the poem and the author's reply indicate clearly that he wasn't interested in having his poem critiqued. So, the best thing to do is to stop critiquing his poems in the future. Also, don't critique his comments, either.

In the future, when you feel compelled to offer a critique, please ask the author first, "Would you like a critique?" and wait for him or her to reply.

Thank you.

I understand completely.

It is only because he offered a critique (of sorts) --a decent one,
I must add-- and without asking first-- on my poem, "Nightly", that
I offered the same to him. I figured that if he gave critiques, he
also enjoyed receiving them. I see that he, indeed, does not, lol.
Pity. But, not to fear, this mean old Ghost is leaving this person's
house; I wouldn't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable about
themselves or their work; I'll rattle my chains elsewhere.

I wish you, in return, peace, love, warmth, always.