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Poetry is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.

classic quote by Byron
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lava Lamp

In the half light of the evening
I could almost see you glow, I can tell by the way you're moving,
Time may be right to let you know,
you've got a many coloured halo, the body of venus
a babe rainbow and if I come on any closer, I might fall into your silhouette
but the shape of things to come is constantly changing
so let it, so let it, so let it flow
lava lava lava lamp, lava lava lava lamp
indigo, violet and blue, can we meet where the edge is blur cause I am comin' atcha, like a bug eye heading for the burn
the truth is I can't stay away, no I wanna let you light my volcano
and maybe it's just my imagination, but you never know
because the shape of things to come is constantly changing
so let it, so let it, so let it flow
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
so let it, so let it, so let it ...
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on

song performed by Duran Duran
Added by Lucian Velea
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Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.

Poetry...Poetry...

poem by Akash Agrawal
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An act of poetry

Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry

A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art

Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation

Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:

The pen be our salvation.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The mud volcano Lusi

The world's largest mud dome, also called the mud volcano,
Is located in Sidoarjo, a regency in Indonesia and it is very active
It had erupted also on twenty nine May, only five years ago
Now it gushes forty Olympic pools each day being very emissive.

A mud dome emits helium, nitrogen, usually belches of flammable gas
Through a deepening lake of hydrocarbon fluids, acid water and sludge.
The temperature is as low as the freezing point for its fast-moving mass
It's associated with petroleum deposits looking like dark brown smudges.

The creeks transport amounts of sediment to rivers which flow into the ocean.
This time the Indonesian volcano displaced thirteen thousand families.
For saving their lives they had to leave their home being forced to run
They needed to escape, because the volcano showed an increased activity.

This volcano eruption will dropp to a manageable level in twenty six years,
And Lusi will continue to gush gray mud until it will turn into a bubbling volcano,
And the processes erosion will begin to bevel the mountain but until that the tears
Of people will not stop for those who were killed after Lusi erupted five years ago.

All these years the volcano Lusi, situated in Sidoarjo regency, East Java
Can become highly destructive, even it can sweep up almost everything
Even it is likely to gush gray cold or hot mud instead of usual lava
Thousands of people living there can die or live without saving anything.

Lusi's staying power and its lake of mud has now smothered twelve villages
To an incredible depth of up to fifty feet and just in the middle of this new lake
There is one hundred and sixty four feet real vent and it is not a mirage.
Even it wasn't specified this time that Yogyakarta was hit by another nearby earthquake.

The cause of the volcanic eruption which occurred five years ago was debatable.
Maybe an earthquake caused it, or maybe it was due to drilling a well in the zone.
The Indonesian government blamed the eruption on an earthquake which is contestable
Foreign experts said Lapindo Brantas didn't use the protective casing for its section.

Mud and gas accumulates when sea sediments are trapped in subduction zones.
The mud eruption is a hybrid between typical mud volcanoes and hydrothermal vents.
So, one tectonic plate slides under another, and can erupt out of volcanic cones
From a crack in the ground and this way mud volcanoes have burst on all continents.

Sixty six years ago an earthquake in Pakistan generated a tsunami very destructive
And caused the eruption of a mud volcano on the Makran Coast, in the Sindh region,
Which formed four islands, and everyone could see its gas flames while it was active
And could know about the petroleum deposits, methane, ethane and other hydrocarbons.

poem by Marieta Maglas
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Poetry On The Chin

You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.

You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.

You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.

Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Poetry: What Is Poetry?

Poetry pleases my ears
that words sound in harmony,
but not to a foreign tongue.

Poetry draws a picture
to invite my eyes,
but still puzzles my mind.

Poetry blows with wind,
in water He flows,
shouts in thunders,
and bounces as rock in roll.

Poetry preserves His truth,
in secret codes, simple words,
only reveals to the worthy.

Poetry sings in my ears,
dances in front my eyes,
kisses my lips,
brings fragrance,
that fills my mind
and imprints my soul.

Poetry does not like as I like
as whenever I use as like wrongly,
and it is unfair He uses
correctly all times He does,
but I make Him to like
as I do like anyway.

Poetry tells stories
to company my journey,
writes jokes
to convert my tragedy
into a comedy,
and builds a rainbow bridge
where my dream
and reality meet.

Poetry blinded Homer
with Helen and war,
afflicted Catullus
with his love and hate,
taught Beowulf
how to fight!

Poetry made Li Bai drunk
in magical words,
brought sorrows to Du Fu,

[...] Read more

poem by Laijon Liu
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Lava

Hot lava comes down big monkey goes floatin
On a boiler coming down like rain (oh yeah)
Hot lava cools down [big babble lectric cap(? )]
Going [loco(? )] with the boiling ?
[got lava I mean always take(? )] ready to serve
With the hand.... .... you lost and you found
[got light it goes inside some boulder ....(? )]
He wants nothing but the [tip(? )] on your crown piggy! pi-ggy!
Hot lava, lava
piggy!
[big kick a mule piston banged up and lets boil er(? )]
[like patty and the people in mind(? )]
Big boiler make hot gray matter not ....
Like the [dragon poppin two inside(? )]
piggy! pi-ggy!
Hot lava, lava
piggy! pi-ggy!
Hot lava
Hot lava

song performed by Ministry
Added by Lucian Velea
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Something that pours from the heart

Poetry is something as mystical as the mountains;
shimmering majestically on the rivers in diffused
beams of brilliant sunshine,

Poetry is something as astonishing as the glittering
gold biscuits entrenched deep beneath earth; emanating
a profound glow that blended poignantly with the
atmosphere,

Poetry is something as ingratiating as the hissing
serpent; deluging the morbid ambience around with
overwhelming exhilaration,

Poetry is something as ravishing as the blossoming
petals of rubicund rose; wafting its essence
ubiquitously through all continents of this colossal
Universe,

Poetry is something as grandiloquent as the
incredulously embellished castle; offering an abode to
anyone afflicted by inexplicable distress,

Poetry is something as vivacious as the magnificently
swirling ocean; with each of its tangy waves
fulminating into a blanket of pungent froth,

Poetry is something as magnanimous as the clouds;
which bless the parched soil and ground with
torrential showers of mesmerizing rain,

Poetry is something as resplendent as the fathomless
rainbow; dissipating into vibrant shades of
magnificently animated color,

Poetry is something as exuberant as the cheekily
dancing peacock; incarcerating millions in its
stupendously enamoring swirl,

Poetry is something as innocuous as the new born
infant; touching the hearts of even the most
diabolical with irrefutable ardor,

Poetry is something as soft as voluptuously woven pure
silk; exquisitely binding every religion prevalent on
this planet,

Poetry is something as ingenious as the bubbling buds
of mushroom; evolving into celestial sprouts of
wonderful white,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Dis poetry

Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops
De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots
Dis poetry is designed fe rantin
Dance hall style, big mouth chanting,
Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep
Preaching follow me
Like yu is blind sheep,
Dis poetry is not Party Political
Not designed fe dose who are critical.
Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed
It gets into me dreadlocks
It lingers around me head
Dis poetry goes wid me as I pedal me bike
IÕve tried Shakespeare, respect due dere
But did is de stuff I like.

Dis poetry is not afraid of going ina book
Still dis poetry need ears fe hear an eyes fe hav a look
Dis poetry is Verbal Riddim, no big words involved
An if I hav a problem de riddim gets it solved,
IÕve tried to be more romantic, it does nu good for me
So I tek a Reggae Riddim an build me poetry,
I could try be more personal
But youÕve heard it all before,
Pages of written words not needed
Brain has many words in store,
Yu could call dis poetry Dub Ranting
De tongue plays a beat
De body starts skanking,
Dis poetry is quick an childish
Dis poetry is fe de wise an foolish,
Anybody can do it fe free,
Dis poetry is fe yu an me,
DonÕt stretch yu imagination
Dis poetry is fe de good of de Nation,
Chant,
In de morning
I chant
In de night
I chant
In de darkness
An under de spotlight,
I pass thru University
I pass thru Sociology
An den I got a dread degree
In Dreadfull Ghettology.

Dis poetry stays wid me when I run or walk
An when I am talking to meself in poetry I talk,
Dis poetry is wid me,

[...] Read more

poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
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Poetry is the reason I live

Poetry is the air that I breathe in every minute;
granting me the tenacity to propel exuberantly
forward; each mundane instant of monotonous life,
Poetry is the rhapsodic wind I trespass through on my
way; engendering me to fantasize to infinite
kilometers beyond the sky,
Poetry is the most proudest possession I have ever
acquired; making me feel more privileged than the
gloriously majestic kings,
Poetry is the smile that perennially encapsulated my
lips; granting me the magical prowess of evolving a
mystical paradise; out of sheer nothingness and
bizarre wilderness,
Poetry is my reason to contentedly sleep; blissfully
conceiving the entire beauty of this fathomless planet
in each of my dreams,
Poetry is the royally grandiloquent dwelling which I
inhabit; harboring me like a divinely angel against
the most acrimonious of storm,
Poetry is the perpetual conglomerate of roses which
blossomed in my garden; blending my aboriginal
rudiments more emphatically with the soil; as their
spell binding fragrance tickled my nose,
Poetry is the tantalizing rain that fell with untamed
charisma on my naked skin; igniting the most
obliviously dormant infernos in my body; the highest
point in the sky,
Poetry is the stupendously silken fabric which I wear
to envelop my body; acting as my compassionately
amicable mate for times immemorial,
Poetry is every song I uttered from my throat;
inundating my drearily diminishing soul; with
unsurpassable happiness,
Poetry is the benevolent seed in my mind; which
proliferated at astounding speeds into the tree
called; friendship and solidarity,
Poetry is the blazing volcano of my innermost senses;
which makes me indefatigably feel that I was
euphorically bouncing and always alive,
Poetry is the enigmatic cloud that incessantly hovered
in my eyes; reinstating in me a romantic lovebird;
even as I galloped my last footstep towards my grave,
Poetry is the blood that turbulently drifted through
my labyrinth of intricate veins; instilling in me a
new found ardor as each minute unfurled,
Poetry is the pea***** which always perched on my
window at the crack of vespered dawn; culminating its
vivacious festoon of feathers full bloom; to cast its
impregnable spell upon the languid atmosphere,
Poetry is all the wealth that I could ever assimilate;

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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When I wasn't breathing

When I wasn’t blissfully snoring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
cistern of stupendously rhapsodic and gloriously majestic Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unsurpassably fantasizing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
garden of ingeniously magical and miraculously mitigating Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t superbly adventuring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
an
ocean of bountifully resplendent and timelessly undefeated Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t scrumptiously relishing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
playground of optimistically enlightening and unbelievably royal
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t limitlessly triumphing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cascade of beautifully panoramic and effulgently liberating Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t pricelessly smiling; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
lantern of unendingly vibrant and inscrutably tantalizing Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t gloriously partying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
paradise of eternally vivacious and pristinely redolent Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unassailably inspiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
festoon of incredulously ameliorating and perpetually compassionate
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t magnanimously feasting; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cocoon of symbiotically philanthropic and ubiquitously coalescing
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t ebulliently fornicating; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
mist of wonderfully reinvigorating and blessedly burgeoning Immortal

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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I Dont Write Poetry!

i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...

no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Drunk On Poetry

Poetry surges steadily
Through my veins
I grant it to stream through them
Day in and day out
Sleep and awake
I believe it's a healthy obsession
I get drunk on it
The more I inject in me

My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become addicted
Sometimes I absorb too much poetry
Reading, writing and listening
I become drunk sometimes

Poetry spills from my pen
Inking a piece of paper
And unto another and another
Constantly on every thought
Humorous, emotionally, romantic, tragic
Experiencing in life
Opinionated, factual, abstract
Political, any subject that's on my thoughts
Sometimes I become drunk
The more i inject into me

Poetry I live for
Eat, drink, sleep
Racing through my spirit
Poetry, poetry, poetry
I loose myself sometimes
When I digest too much
Poems that I write
I write for me
I share them with the world
I can't resist this urge
Poetry is what I crave
It happens to be my mistress
I become drunk

The more I inject
My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become so addicted
Breathing in too much poetry
Reading, writing, listening
I'm drunk sometimes

Poetry I write

[...] Read more

poem by R.K. Cowles
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Life-An immortal Love poetry

Life is unconquerably; resplendent poetry of the most
highest degree; incredibly pacifying every
infinitesimal urge of the miserably unfinished soul,

Life is perpetually; majestic poetry of the most
highest degree; royally gifting countless impoverished
souls; with insatiably unending fantasy,

Life is ubiquitously; vibrant poetry of the most
highest degree; triumphantly metamorphosing each
ethereal trace of misery; into a fireball of
ingratiatingly untamed happiness,

Life is marvelously; bountiful poetry of the most
highest degree; beautifully placating every
hedonistically traumatized agony; with the exuberance
of untainted breath,

Life is indomitably; enchanting poetry of the most
highest degree; harmoniously coalescing every organism
irrespective of caste; creed; color or tribe; into the
religion of Omnipresent oneness,

Life is unceasingly; triumphant poetry of the most
highest degree; wholesomely massacring every speck of
the horrifically parasitic devil; with the scepter of
unshakable righteousness,

Life is tirelessly; fantastic poetry of the most
highest degree; iridescently glimmering like the
stream of ultimate unity; even in the heart of
insidiously macabre midnight,

Life is blessedly; exotic poetry of the most highest
degree; inevitably triggering an unprecedented
maelstrom of eclectic fantasy; in every brain on this
planet; enigmatically alike,

Life is irrefutably; sensuous poetry of the most
highest degree; miraculously rekindling every shade of
claustrophobically dwindling expression; with a wave
of undauntedly perennial heavenliness,

Life is astoundingly; impeccable poetry of the most
highest degree; forever erasing the wounds of
dastardly salaciousness; with its eternal mantra of
everlasting mankind,

Life is unrestrictedly; divinely poetry of the most
highest degree; spell bindingly mollifying every

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Life-An Immortal Poetry

Life is unconquerably; resplendent poetry of the most
highest degree; incredibly pacifying every
infinitesimal urge of the miserably unfinished soul,

Life is perpetually; majestic poetry of the most
highest degree; royally gifting countless impoverished
souls; with insatiably unending fantasy,

Life is ubiquitously; vibrant poetry of the most
highest degree; triumphantly metamorphosing each
ethereal trace of misery; into a fireball of
ingratiatingly untamed happiness,

Life is marvelously; bountiful poetry of the most
highest degree; beautifully placating every
hedonistically traumatized agony; with the exuberance
of untainted breath,

Life is indomitably; enchanting poetry of the most
highest degree; harmoniously coalescing every organism
irrespective of caste; creed; color or tribe; into the
religion of Omnipresent oneness,

Life is unceasingly; triumphant poetry of the most
highest degree; wholesomely massacring every speck of
the horrifically parasitic devil; with the scepter of
unshakable righteousness,

Life is tirelessly; fantastic poetry of the most
highest degree; iridescently glimmering like the
stream of ultimate unity; even in the heart of
insidiously macabre midnight,

Life is blessedly; exotic poetry of the most highest
degree; inevitably triggering an unprecedented
maelstrom of eclectic fantasy; in every brain on this
planet; enigmatically alike,

Life is irrefutably; sensuous poetry of the most
highest degree; miraculously rekindling every shade of
claustrophobically dwindling expression; with a wave
of undauntedly perennial heavenliness,

Life is astoundingly; impeccable poetry of the most
highest degree; forever erasing the wounds of
dastardly salaciousness; with its eternal mantra of
everlasting mankind,

Life is unrestrictedly; divinely poetry of the most
highest degree; spell bindingly mollifying every

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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18 Definitions Of Poetry

1) Poetry is what is Beautiful in words –
2) Poetry is the deepest feeling words can tell
3) Poetry is the soul of each one of us
4) Poetry is the morning light after the longest night
5) Poetry is a dream of dreams in a world that needs dreams to be
beautiful
6) Poetry is the Search for God and the Love of God in all holy writing
7) Poetry is Reality itself when it is doing what it should
8) Poetry is you and me and all of us when we are kind to each other
9) Poetry is more than we can say or know- deeper than the deepest
silence and quieter also
10) Poetry is the place we go to in ourselves when we need to cry out loud
11) Poetry is Love words of love and the first spring of the young lovers first
song
12) Poetry is all we are when our minds are right and strong
13) Poetry is what saves us from all the other words
14) Poetry is what ceases to exist when Cruelty comes
15) Poetry is Love and Blessing and Kindness again
16) Poetry cuts through the icy sea within and sends chills down the spine
17) Poetry is what is recollected in tranquility but also tried and tossed in
tempest on the most difficult seas
18) Poetry is open to more than what it has been It is what others have not yet created and will so long as we are human and in search of the Sublime

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poetry Sings

When poetry is anger
It sings to me furiously
Like thunder clashing into the Earth
With vigorous authority

When poetry is comfort
It sings to me gently
Like a mother's touch
Soothing her child from an afflicting pain

When poetry is bitterness
It sings to me harshly
Like back stabbers leaving another
In the cold, because they can't handle the situation

When poetry is driven
It sings to me energetically
Like an underdog, whom start to finish
Strives itself to victory

When poetry is hate
It sings to me vengefully
Coming towards you like a nuclear missle
Intended to dispose of your existence

When poetry is love
It sings to me tenderly
As if an angel are tranqualizing my ears
With their divine voices

When poetry is vulgar
It sings to me villianously
As if I'm it's prize
For the obscene thoughts it deviously conjers up

When poetry is sultry
It sings to me passionately
Like an enticing hot and moist body
Engulfed with lust, provocatively captivating me

When poetry is fear
It sings to me timidly
Like an individual with anxiety towards a phobia
Prefering gone from their conscious

When poetry is courage
It sings to me bravely
Like a patriot who defends its rights
Against the tyrants of his/her nation

[...] Read more

poem by R.K. Cowles
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What Poetry Mean To Me

What does poetry mean to me

Poetry is the air I breathe

Poetry is the words that feed
My soul
To make me whole

Poetry is what makes me blossom
In the middle of spring

Poetry is what grows my garden
And makes it flourish with nature
Beauty

Poetry Is

My magical whim's that supply all my
Fantasy and fills my hopes and dreams

Poetry is the strong desire that keep the
Flames of love burning

In the midst of the hour

And lights up the sky
With beautiful hues of colours

Spreads from one globe to

Another

To swim the ocean deep

Just because of love

Poetry is that and more, which I
Hate to carry this on and on

But

Poetry is the love of our life that visit
Us in our dreams

Poetry is

Me and the worlds that wakes every
Morning to bloom and blossom

Even after the death has played it last

[...] Read more

poem by Carolyn Sears
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This Poetry

This poetry is not poetry

This poetry is not poetry as poetry goes

But is as silent as a man in a rollo neck jumper

Almost reading yesterdays news

This poetry is not poetry

As far as poetry goes

It is neither verse

Or poesy prose

This is a debunking of 'The poetry'

Everyone knows

And so they are not amused

This poetry is not poetry

So why poetry?

If not

Prose?

It is as idle as a man picking his nose

Pondering a wonderful muse

Yet some, are not amused

Infact if this poetry is Not poetry

What right have I to use, the word poetry?

It is a lovely panacea for expressing and de stressing

The individual's points of view

And yet if not poetry

Who says Not poetry

And who is qualified to choose?

[...] Read more

poem by Yvette Smith
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Retrieved Poetry

Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
          Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
          Some have said.
          But the inspiration keeps coming,
          But the memory keeps living.
          Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
          It dies only if it is not poetry
          And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
          Some have said.
          Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
          And nothing more, until that day,
          Until we start thinking he is inspired,
          Until we stop thinking for the poet;
          He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
          So goes the argument.
          Even as we cut from the same tree,
          Even as we speak same universal language,
          You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
          We can never speak from same mouth.
          You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
          So goes the argument,
          If poetry is dead killed by death,
          If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
          The corpse should be in our front.
          We should know how to bury it.
          We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
          If poetry is really dead,
          There is cause to weep bitterly,
          There is cause to think deeply
          For the world has been stripped naked.
          For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
          At the burial we must remain emotionless.

poem by Chime Justice Ndubuisi
Added by Poetry Lover
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