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Authenticity is not Art.

Authenticity is not Art.
Reality as such is not Art.
Art should highlight something
From the remaining in shape.
Art should pinpoint something
From the remaining in acts.

Narration of occurrence
And rendering of incidence
In authenticity
Without any artificial twists
Will render the Art
Lifeless and spiritless.

A cartoon is a perfect art.
It differs vast from the real
And yet reminds of the real.
Imaginary is an art.
Romanticism is an art.
Don’t mar the art with authenticity.

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poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Bus Stop

Little black strip, meandering through the valley's and dales;
Cut through the huge mountains and meadows lush green.
Lifeline it is—no romanticism
Serpentine it looks through ariel looks
Serpentine it is those who wait in the early hours
Young and old and of course in the age group of ours
Stare eagerly on either side
Wait eagerly for the real lifeline
And when it comes at last
A wave of human race with their lives at stake
Young one's wriggling through the legs
Experience stands at bay
Unwillingly watching the two generations fight

poem by Sanjay Mehta
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Valentine’s Day (An Acrostic)

Victory to all hearts at love;
Amazing words of love exchange;
Love fills the air everywhere;
E-mails sent in lovely hues and tones of love;
No one’s exempt from love’s phenomenon;
The whole world celebrates ‘lover’s day, ’
In gaiety, romanticism and togetherness;
No one need covet persons at love;
Every person needs a lovely time;
’
Say, ‘I love you’ to someone, if you can.

Dance and sing to tunes of love;
Awaken emotions in Cupid’s style;
You are a valentine on earth to someone!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-13-2009

poem by John Celes
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Invoking The Simple Symbols To Understand Some Complexities Of Our Lives...

to simplify what so many of those who do not wish to understand
we invoke the most common symbols

for this universal kindness the sun has to do with all day shining
with compassion the moon makes a good substitute for light and coolness

and romanticism, and to have available music that is free and
all giving, we invoke the river, and the majesty of seven waterfalls

like the Niagara, or the Yellow River

some pearls of temporary beauty for the dews of the leaf,

the silence of the worms, the system of the red ants,
the muteness of the fish inside a bowl of clear water in the living room of mother.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dead Poets

I envy the dead poets
Those idols I aspire to
Someday become compared
How beautiful their words
Still speak in the years after
They are revered and admired
Held aloft in such acclaim
And all they know is peace
The silent rest of the grave
Where flowers are laid

They spoke of such love
And passion I felt in me
It was as though they saw me
And decided to paint my dreams
With flowing verse I slept
How maidens so fair danced
And birdsong soared upon high
Ode to the beauty
That they gave to me

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poem by Matthew Holloway
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Culmination of Visions

Romanticism dreamt is disenchantment
and death, a problem countered by realism,
left-brain thinking enriches us immensely,
combined with right-brain intuition we are
moreso free than ancient people as we
access their wisdom

Story, ideal and dream enriches life,
improves relationships, imbues reality
with symbols, deeper meaning, every
escapist fantasy thickens reality into
a multidimensional tapestry; this is
why you are my friend, though cynical
you never scare me

Offering understanding never thought
possible, fantasy pales in comparison
yet enabled me to accept a fairytale in
my life: you created a safe channel by
which I can relate to the most admired

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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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The Last Of The Romantics

Romanticism is dying away,
Those of us it was bred into are
Being snuffed out of society
The days of practicing propriety have come to an end
So slowly we dwindle away
We are the last petals on the red rose
Drifting away one by one
Our profession, that of the helpless romantic
Is no longer wanted
We are no longer wanted
We are no longer needed
Our deeds were not heeded
Common courting of the day consists of
Getting torn up then tearing that ass up
There is no more wining and dining
Or the holding of doors and pulling out chairs
Candle light dinners, or nights spent under the stars
The era of the “gentleman” has come to an end
Passion and compassion seeped out of society as drugs took their place
So where did all the poets and the playwrights go?

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poem by Christopher Taber
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Nature In Its Versatile Patterns...

Nature in its versatile patterns...
Questioning intellects...
Ever seek...
Her brilliance remains unconquered ages after
It's beautiful poetry...
Songs of love...
Music, designs who with flawless perfection...
It's Dances in motion, stillness after
Magical grace, entice, soul seek.
Sciences, of stars,
Oceans beyond,
Beneath its bed,
Beneath the ground,
Across the sky
Worlds lay in darkness, my ignorance...
Mathematical wonders in its abstract nature, seeks wisdom, in a passive thought flows in the heart of universe, cold beauty,
Deep in its sense...not appealing to soul of Romanticism its sensitivity, yet lies in it unapproached...
It's perspectives of art, magnificence of architectural glory,
Vistas beyond stretch,
Over delicate angles set and perfect symmetries...

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poem by Lama Abbas
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To Vienna

Grand beautiful city
Of the blue Danube,
Beauty of yours
Is still the same,
Your blue river,
Your Balconies
With their Roman
Engraved Paintings
Are still stretching
Their necks
To view
Those who pass
By your vivid cafes,
Life with all
Of its gleaming gestures
Neither recall
Nor awake hope,
Inside my soul,
I'm not the same,
Whom should I blame? !

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poem by Nadia Abduljabbar
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~ Ma Mama Ma Mama Ma Maaaa! ~

~ Ma Mama Ma Mama Ma Maaaa! ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
23 November 2010

Into ~ After reading several comments I humbly give backdropp of this poem.

In poetry much experimentation are going on and critiques are categorizing in various ways like Realism Surrealism Modernism Romanticism etc.

To be honest no poetry can be canopied under one canvas and there will be pits where other flavors fill up.

Here I’ve used Satire Rasa [please Google for meaning] in anxious canvas ~ niv

Is Poetry
Frame n’ fill
Or
Fill n’ frame
Or both or none

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poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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