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Maria Etre Sep 2024
Maybe my poems
have fallen on deaf ears
to a point
where
they lost
their
voice
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2024
“the voice of poetry in the conversation of mankind.”

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“Even nowadays, most of us have speeches from plays and films jangling around our heads, alongside things that have actually been said. Both contribute to what Michael Oakeshott called “the voice of poetry in the conversation of mankind.” Whether in verse or prose, there are some fictional speeches that, once heard, cannot be unheard. You find that you live with them.”
~from~
Things Worth Remembering: Nothing Is Lost Forever
By Douglas Murray 9/8/24
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the quote grabs the throat, a two handed grip,
but gentling, to ensure it does not go forgot,
or to the bottom the pile, or just another
never truly born, or premature to die,
guised as a drafty passing breeze,
a tickle too fickle, impersistent,
to be a poem unto itself

my thots impure, for I see, I believe,
that poetry is the conversation in all
we do have,
those that lyric wax when
one of the five big guys,
jive, sensory excited, the whiff, taste,
licks the visionary
of the need to be a completed
exegesis, a work to be telling
told

but I am old, my powers weaken daily,
the resistance training recommended,
by brain muscle, fiercer resisted

so reach for the quill,
blue lined sheet,
a cute puppy looking paper,
up for the “surprise” treat
just for extending a paw,
these humans so ease pleased,
you see,
here comes a poem
bout
poetry being bout every any,
even, the great creator struggling
to put out fresh daily,
new &  improved work,
after a six day historic period,
that demanded a poem-alll-day entity,
entitled as a sabbatical day
of rest.

Here I too rest as well,
too many conversations need starting,
fires requiring verbal refueling,
and my own voice hearing a,
“get up, get out of bed,
drag a comb across your head,”
talk, and plant those newly fallen acorns,
and let the conversations produce
giant oak trees,
and
a plenitude of poems


9/9/24
douglas murray voice of poetry lipstadt
Daniel Tucker Aug 2017
Where is the sound
            That once gave meaning
To my name.
It seems lost in the echoes
                    The sound of a
Crying shame.

                     I try to pinpoint the time
Channels I was
Passing through
                    When I could interpret pre-echo
When each syllable
Rang true

                   When my offspring was purer
Relative to
Innate impurities.
                    Girl, boy vastly interrupted.
So much for blood
As a surety.

Belly fire lessens with years.
                     Caution blows back
In the wind.
Flirting with status quo delusions.
                    Slogans & logos
Slowly rescind.

                 Pure thought tainted with church & state.
Leftist & Right Wing views
Scientifically spliced.
                  This new world creation seldom takes sides.
Calculates the outcome & always
Dresses nice.

I’m halfway there, queasy still
                    Rhetorical views beginning to
Make sense.
Cautious malaise on either side.
                       Starch chaffing neck  
Outcome offense.

                       I occasionally hear my voice
That blew with caution
In the wind.
                    Volcano dormant still pushes the crust.
Delusions sicken me back
To the fringe.
Copyright©2017 Daniel Tucker

A poem from the living of my life.
David Hilburn Sep 2024
Prowess, judgment, and bravery
Solitude is a walking hope
Tours of energy, have the world savory
Delighted with peace, a rallying cry of cope?

Delivering the news
Of austerity, the tout of power
Has the future, a fusion of a worlds good
Separate me from a stir of vicinity, baring is how?

Hello since a raging storm, has the voice
A waiting hour, to search forces for voids
Of caring for a wish of simplicity, a unifying choice
To place the service of ourselves, into the light of sorts?

Gifts of love?
Seldom to venture forth, with the arms of fated curiosity
Charisma in a whole ley, of works we dote are us
But a risk of beauty to a chaste, is it virtuosity?

The cloth of voiced persuasion
Halt and eschew the truth, a weary solemnity
Just for peace's argument, is tomorrow a savior's intuition?
Just because willingness has a soul, do we know a nativity?

For the silence of creation, a secret of simplicity
Worthing itself, as a shared host, of what was might
Many and decision, any and intimation, of divine sincerity
Has the moment and the need, of a universal right...

Children grew, with the passion of inclusion...
A habit of vice, to vindicate a victory
That has the voice of dependency, a filial cause to win
The marvel of understanding what will, a patience in history
Total a swallowed pride with the milk of human kindness, and you still get peace's answer
Imaan Asif Sep 2024
and in the moment of silence,
i search for my forsaken voice,
buried somewhere,
far and adrift,
under the summit of sufferings,
the rivers of rage,
under trampled dreams,
under the mottled page,
the voice so aloof,
i have forgotten it so well,
the past of calamity,
only if i had a voice; i could tell
Lyla Aug 2024
Every word you speak
Every sigh, every breath is
Beautiful to me
André Morrison Aug 2024
Breezes flute & waltz
Your timbre harmonises
My lullaby; born
The person whose very voice reverberates your soul
George Krokos Aug 2024
Man's salvation is
compromised by ignoring
the voice of conscience
__
A Senryu written late '21.
Keara Marie Jul 2024
I don’t know how to heal out loud, I’ve nearly died in silence because I tried to have a voice.
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