The poem "GOD OF..." is the first one I wrote in the year 1999. As I started writing this poem I just wrote two lines. Then I felt that the first line’s end word is the beginning of the second line. I thought to continue it the same way and end up in an end.
The poem " THE AGED ENGLISH " was written as a love towards the language. Ending the words with age was just a thought I felt at that moment. I like to write poems that is simple & that rhymes.
I would like my poems to be read by people and children especially, so that they feel to get atleast some message of goodness from my poems.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Monday, January 16, 2006
GOOD x BAD ANTONYM
The good is always few & short
The bad lasts for a time so long
The good is simply forgotten
The bad is easily remembered
To strive for the good is hard
To commit the bad is simple
To follow the good is difficult
To follow the bad is easy
The good is always in contraction
The bad is on the move for expansion
The good is never borne by the bad
The bad is always borne by the good
The beauty of good is that the good remains
The beauty of bad is that it perishes
The good will never end
The bad will always begin
These lines may end with an antonym
Do they give the poem a synonym?
Saturday, January 14, 2006
SWEET LITTLE "ay"s
Short and sweet they say
To read it there’s no pay
A time to lay and a time to pray
Oh! To see the beautiful bay
Is there leisure anyway?
Jan, Feb, March, April, May
Each Month can run like a day
While the sun shines, make hay
Be the proverb put the other way
To make the rhyme to stay
On the move, not to slay
You will feel to tell nay
As the length of the poem lay
Before you so do say
I end this unbroken pot of clay
Monday, January 02, 2006
POEM-COMPOSING
Poem writing is an art
Which rattles from the heart
Like the wheels of the cart
Which runs to the mart
Its need is to be thought
That is imaginary thought
It can only be thought
But it cannot be taught
The poets are not in clique
But their poems become relic
The poets' lives are lasting
Their poems are everlasting.
Which rattles from the heart
Like the wheels of the cart
Which runs to the mart
Its need is to be thought
That is imaginary thought
It can only be thought
But it cannot be taught
The poets are not in clique
But their poems become relic
The poets' lives are lasting
Their poems are everlasting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)