Can anyone write a random poem

Can anyone write a random poem?


Do you have any clue?
Its all about you.

In the theatre of your mind
making the poem well rhymed
you never truly knows
how your true intentions goes.

holding you tight in highs and lows
by writing an article or composing a prose.
.

Forgotten the aftermath of disaster
told by your inner forecaster?
Oh, wait, don’t panic your brain
let me tell you again.
.
.
.

you'll be left alone
to survive on your own
buddies will mock, your painful moan
Remember the saying remarkable
work expands to fill the time available
Most of the things are irreversible
heal before the pain becomes unbearable.

Feel the chains of habit
stopping you to take a gambit
try it my way, before saying "God dammit"
Start by getting rid of the inside clutter
take help else do it hugger mugger
Once your vision gets clear
You'll stop complaining of life unfair
As you'll know YOU are the charioteer
who surely gonna make things differ
Now list the things you have to set right
once ask your insight,
Then, give a tough fight
with all your might,
And in between, never say,
you are a neophyte
Just Go on and Expedite
"But, what if, What if,,,"
What "What if" ?
Speak it loud and clear
am filled with so many things to tell you dear.
.
.

"Offo Wait baba,,,,"
"But what if someday, I lose track of my goal,
Day and night goes out of control
miserably affected by public opinion poll.
.
.

when what i do is just think and think
like ruining the paper by indelible ink
when tied across my neck is an albatross
Then, How to come out Boss,
of the huge time loss"
O you Champ, facing the blow
Have you heard of Tony D'Angelo?
First listen his words, later you Google it
"If you have time to whine about it,
you have time to do something about it"
So, here comes the crucial matter
Each time you fall, you just need a trigger
to view clearly the picture bigger.

O beautiful young heart beating with vigour
I'll be always there, as your inside treasure
whenever you feel like quitting
and its all crap your antenna is transmitting
Then try not to look, try not to think
close your eyes, relax, breathe, then blink blink blink
Now, Open your Diary and your turbulence gonna cease
as you'll turn the pages intended to appease
Observe, there have always been times like these.
.
.

Now comes my last words,
command will be in your hand onwards.
.
.

Listen.
.
.

Rather being Undeterred by your own undoings
Recall it's you who gonna change things
Massage your sleeping limbs
Or make use of your strong blue wings
But please Don’t wait for someone to ping
In times like these, no one usually rings
Go alone, and climb the Colorado springs.


::This is taken line by line from the Random Phrase Generator at the Random Word Generator.
I have not changed any words.
I used the first generated phrase (adjective + noun) as the title and added each successive phrase (Adj + noun + preposition + noun) in new line breaks::
bleary remittance
fruity invariant to incense,
egalitarian idealist considering leech,
hushed quicksand among annex,
quartered teller near coagulate.

encroaching springtime out devastation,
harlot prop to cocaine,
muddy knitting within caboose,
enveloping hemlock with regal.

impolite vagary while practitioner,
extracurricular cleanser unlike motorcycle,
amoral contributory wanting medication,
fitter cymbal despite exterior.

predicate squatting with dope,
fore knot towards futility,
tilted factorial toward medallion,
improvised damsel unlike rebirth.

NOTE: I actually like using full random sentences more…
Seaside Leveling
A fog presses the vintage gun,
Before a pipeline cruises this axis,
The official appalls the conceivable convict,
A retrieval vouches her island.

Probing Babble
The symbol shoves a ritual tome,
An expert home grinds the collar on top of whatever liquid prince,
How does a negative stray?
An untidy luggage responds near the suffering machinery.


Here it is:
She…
She’s the flowers,
 But she’s also the rain.

 She’s the beauty of the day,
 But also the night full of pain.

She’s the bright northern star,
 But she’s also the compass in the woods.

 She’s the rustle of the winds,
 But also the soul that broods.

She’s the scent of the meadows,
 But she’s also a cleaved leaf.

 She’s the fireball you’d adore,
 But also the ascent of a precipice.

She’s a puffy snowflake,
 But she’s also the intricacy of a crystal.

 She’s the density of a herd,
 But also an erratic that’s so distal.

She’s the wisdom of a sage,
 But also the chaos of a tornado.

 She’s the innocence of a child,
 But also the disruption of a volcano.

She’s the silence of the darkness,
 But also the warmth of the sunshine.

 She’s the iridescent rainbow,
 But also a stone that has once cried.

She’s the chirping of the birds,
 But also the wandering of a nomad.

 She’s the sparkles of the stars,
 But also the mountains with a clad.

She’s the calmness of the shore,
 But also the vivacity of the tides.

 She’s the crescendo of the music,
 But also the eclipse that haunts the light.

She’s the listlessness of a snail,
 But also the effervescence in a glass.

 She’s the pealing of the bells,
 But also a heart full of scars.

She’s the softness of the cotton,
 But also the sternness of the steel.

 She’s the bliss of the dawn,
 But also the girl that once feeled.

She’s the ethereal cloud,
 But also a beleaguered soldier.

 She’s the emollient melody,
 But also an uncharted island that grew just older.

She’s the glamour of a falling star,
 But also the loneliness that follows.

 She’s the wish of an unrequited lover,
 But also the ineffable sorrows.

She’s a beautiful puzzle,
 But also the cut that makes you bleed.

 She’s the spirit that beseeches,
 But also a body that was never paid heed.

She’s the eyes of an old woman,
 But also the legs of a cripple.

 She’s the touch of an angel,
 But also a smile that can make your veins ripple.

She’s the surreptitious tears,
 But also the sumptuous laughter.

 She’s the leader of her own way,
 But also the sign that guides the path after.

In case if you’d like to check more of my content then do visit here: The Writer Who Lived (@the_writer_who_lived) • Instagram photos and videos


Here you go — after a long time!
A Winter’s Morn
Unlike the Bard,
Who liked the summer,
I'll compare thee
To a winter's morn —
A rainy thunder,
A midnight breeze,
A wild hurricane in
that deep blue sea.

'Cause you're much more,
Than mine eyes could see —
Than words could breathe,
Whilst this heart doth bleed.

(cough) (cough)
Every breath of every day —
Is filled up to the brim,
With your — absence.

Cheers to that.

Battle Worn
There comes a time,
In every man's life,
When he returns,
From that battle
And all that he needs,
Is someone; some — One
Who understands his scars,
And doesn't ask —
How and Why.

Just Another You
Isn’t it strange —
How every person you meet,
Is so foreign on the shell,
But — deep — down,
Is just — the — same.

The same fears,
The same doubts,
The same hopes —
Smiles and tears.

The same craving,
The same deceit,
The same love —
Unrequited albeit!
The Lousy Poet


Here is one self-written poetry of mine and I call this piece A PUZZLE.

There is a puzzle, I dare not to unriddle.

There is a question, seemingly unanswerable.

Is life all about aesthetics and their adoration?
Cause yesterday a lifeless tree held my attention.

Like a lush green tree in the springs is flowered.

A dry sandal tree with infinite fragrance blossomed.

More than the blinking fireflies full of life,
I adore the breathless stars in the dark of night.

I wonder, ls life all about beauty and vigor?
As the lifeless shells at the shore looked like a stellar.

Way more beautiful than the blooming pasture lands,
Sounded the nestlings in a nest made of moribund grass.

More than the cheerful birds flying high up in the skies,
I cherish the waving flag, which is my nation's pride.

We often care way too much, about the essence of life and vigor.

But most beautiful things in the life are missed, for not being so vivacious.

The dilemma stays and the puzzle persists,
As we lose hopes in the darkest moments of life.

Even though we know the miracle of cosmos,
Every dark night us followed by a sky full of sunshine.

by Anjali Chand


Chlo khud hi haar jaate hai
Darasal hm jeetna nhi chahte
Aur tum jeet nhi skti
To chlo hm khud hi haar jaate hai
Sooraj se ik roz wafa kya kr baithe
Hamare chaand ne hmse bewafai kr li
Suna hai chaand ko nya sathi bhi mil gya hai
Ab vo meri nhi uski aankhon m rhne lga hai
Ab jb se hamara chaand taaron me uljha hai
Hmne aasman dekhna hi chhod diya hai
-ved


Do you know “Google poetry”?
You start writting something in the Google research toolbar and you must make a poem with the suggestions that pop.

As an example, if I write “I wish I could”, here is the result:
I wish I could hurt you back
I wish I could be there
I wish I could quit you
I wish I could go back in time
I wish I could die

This one would have been written by someone who can’t fix his/her mind about his/her ex-lover.

If I write “I dislike it when”, here is the result:
I dislike it when Voldemort use my shampoo without asking
I dislike it when Jesus rides dinosaurs in my house
I dislike it when you walk outside and someone randomly throws a fridge at you
I dislike it when a velociraptor throws bananas on me
I dislike it when you walk outside and…
I dislike it when that happens

This one would maybe have been written by someone who has a very hard life.

There is a website if you want more example: Google Poetics.


Since its Christmas today , so would go with that theme only.
.

As the stars gleamed on earth in every home and street
Even the underprivileged hung their socks in search of a sweet.
.

For the fables they read every night were going to come true.
.

Their father earned the livelihood by fixing the shoes with some glue.
.

Rains and winters tried hard but never could bring out his wail.
.

With his sweat wrapped as candies set their happiness on sail.
.

The tiny hands and giggles in the earthen room brought a tear down his eye.
.

He thanked the God for the life as his worries waved goodbye.
.

In those winds of winter , chimney brought flakes of snow .
.

Santa boasted his chest with cobbler’s heartwarming show.
.

The reindeer’s swung their horns and the bells started to jingle.
.

A night witnessed merry as happiness and sorrow bingle.
.

Men like him in every home was the reason why Santa felt real .
.

Our childhoods were built on fables which our parents made surreal.
.

The Gods maybe present in heaven but they reside here on earth .
.

Father fulfilled our dreams while mother gave us birth.
.

Not a single child should sleep with dreams full of food and smile.
.

May all be blessed with our Santa and let the jingle stay for a while.
.


The Gift Of What If
WHAT IF you didn’t have to keep it real
What if you could change your current reality?
The Imagination is a powerful tool
Remember anything goes there’s no rules
WHAT IF life was all you desired?
Feeling fulfilled, happy and inspired
WHAT IF is a magical phrase
Could transport you to a magical place
Don’t focus on what is
Focus on WHAT IF
If things were different than they are
Would you reach for what is or reach for the stars
WHAT IF money was no object?
How would that impact your financial perspective?
This powerful imagination
Allows you to image-a-nation
Begin to live what you desire in your mind
Then watch what happens in a short space of time
WHAT IF you felt that you were more than enough?
Would you take more risks in the game of love?
WHAT IF you could change your dream profession?
Would that change your motivation?
Play the game of WHAT IF in any area of your life
A new reality will emerge whilst your problems subside
You can even change your perspective on the past
Don’t make the past real in your mind unless you want it to last
Things might not change over night
But the power of WHAT IF will make things right
It is up to you to decide what is right for you
Do you know what you want or don’t you have a clue?
When you are feeling stuck and unable to make a decision
Then ask yourself what is my life’s Vision?
What would I want to have on my epitaph?
Start from there and then work your way back
Your wildest dreams will start to surface
WHAT IF you knew that you were worth it!


WILL YOU LOVE ME FOR WHAT I AM
Late nights,long walks,piano chords,
Eyes like flames,stormy voice,words like swords,
Words are true,but world doesn't feel me as I am,
Will you feel me as the way I am,
A dream in eyes,mind in action,
Looking for peace, seeking for satisfaction,
But deep in there I am happy,happy I am,
Will you keep me happy the way I am,
Will praise your eyes,admire your gesture,
Before you speak,I'll get your face's texture,
A one cold blooded, a desperate lover I am,
Will you be mine, as yours truly I am,
Freedom of love,its power is stronger,
Lovers live always,than time,more longer,
"I am beautiful" you think I am,
I'll make you believe,great you are, I am,
One condition I put forward,only one,
I'll accept you as you are for me the one,
Will you accept me as I am,
Will you love me for what I am,
Will you love me for what I am.


Anyone can just make up a poem off the top of their head, but to be truly random about it? Interesting question.
The closest I can come up with is a random poem generator output, like this
The Deadpan And Keen Monkey
A Poem by Anon
Whose monkey is that? I think I know.

  Its owner is quite happy though.

  Full of joy like a vivid rainbow,
  I watch him laugh.
I cry hello.

He gives his monkey a shake,
  And laughs until her belly aches.

  The only other sound's the break,
  Of distant waves and birds awake.

The monkey is deadpan, keen and deep,
  But he has promises to keep,
  After cake and lots of sleep.

  Sweet dreams come to him cheap.

He rises from his gentle bed,
  With thoughts of kittens in his head,
  He eats his jam with lots of bread.

  Ready for the day ahead.

With thanks to the poet, Robert Frost, for the underlying structure.

Thanks to this site.

Quick Poem Generator


S"killed" English
"Anglais ohh anglais, v al speek abaut eit doint v,
Fram d kkarabiean eyelands, til d medeterraneon c,
Anderztandin d wardz, izz like havvin a kup af t,
Heer I tel ya haw v s”KILLED” anglais, veech yo wil paienfulle ce;
Glamarrouz az d grammerr, renownedd az d nauun,
D zstrength af d languagee haz neva lett moi dawnn;
Arrogaant waz d adjectivvve, verzatile waz moi varb,
Moi pretti yang ladi, eit madde moi feeel zuperb;
Szsprouuted fram eeinglannd, seeedead al ova d warld,
V prauudlee zsppeakk anglais verri clearrlee aand bbold;
Pozitiveetee aand kreativeetee inn aur naturee,
Makke aus ann xtraaterrastriall kreature;
Al d peoppl inn d warld, al d ppl inn d hause,
V travvel aaraund tu acheivee ava goaal, Yett ava liffe hazz bekome buzzy az ah mouze;
Vethar yo llik ar yo hatte v zpeak anglais nt onze buut moore thann twize,
Ohhh dea anglaismann wat ah lovvlee langguage, v s”KILLED” itt, as zsqueakky azz a maice;”
Hi guys if you don’t understand few words in this the original is below, have fun!
English oh English, we all speak it don’t we,
From the Caribbean islands till the Mediterranean Sea;
Understanding the words, is like having a cup of tea,
Here I tell you how we s”KILLED” English which you will painfully see;
Glamourous as the grammar, renowned as the noun,
The strength of the language has never let me down;
Arrogant was the adjective, versatile was my verb,
My pretty young lady, it made me feel superb;
Sprouted from England, seeded all over the world,
We proudly speak English very clearly and bold;
Positivity and creativity in our nature,
Make us an extraterrestrial talented creature;
All the people in the world, all the people in the house,
We travel around to achieve our goal, yet our life has become busy as a mouse;
Whether you like or hate we speak English not once but more than twice,
Oh dear Englishman what a lovely language, we s”KILLED” it as squeaky as a mice;”
These words are not to hurt anyone's sentiment, hope you guys had great fun reading :)


Perfect timing for quora to have asked me this while I was writing some stuff.
This is more of a spoken word that was just me being pissed rather than actually holding any cool form of…actual thought.
I’ll only put a short bit out there, something in the middle, just a few of the stanzas.


I don’t understand why I can’t
just sit there and be happy with anything else but an A.

I can’t sit there and draw, write, or do anything
that isn’t a common core concept.

I can’t sit there without opening my grades,
meticulously watching as the percents go up .
1 or go down .
1
Up and down,
Up and down,
Up and down,
Up and down,
Up and— oh, it went down for good,
dropping to a solid 89.
9 at the end of the semester,
locked in and unable to be changed!
Watch as then, I’ll cry burning hot tears of shame,
wondering what the hell did I do wrong
and hurt myself further by repeatedly reminding myself
that I am incredibly stupid and a waste of space, just because
of that singular point of a percentage.

Bang my head on the desk,
stare at the computer screen,
that percentage was everything, now it’s stained me.

I’ll wrap myself in a perpetual blanket of self doubt all because
I didn’t complete the task that was given to me
by someone who is also very good at regurgitating information
and is being paid to help me learn how to be very good at regurgitating information.

There will be nothing in my head but a five word phrase,
I must have that A.

I must have that A.

I must have that A.

And when I do get that A,
after long nights of torture consisting of
skipping plenty of meals,
a couple of days worth of all nighters,
soaking up the textbook’s words like a sponge,
preparing myself with information I will forget
right after the test,
the mantra repeating in my head
like a study anthem of pain,
but is it going to even be enough?
Will that thirst for anything above a 90% be good enough?


Ever gazed afar in solitude
Alleviating from the street lights
And lost in the starry multitude
On those soulful dark nights.

Pondering about the universe
How gargantuan can it be?
Is it boon or is it a curse?
If we were the existence "only" .

What is our purpose of living?
Are we meant for something big?
Does life have a broader meaning?
Or are we part of someone's rig?
Ever felt so miniature,
Under the colossal sky
The only thinking creature
Able of making up the lie.

And the contemplation ceases
Without an apparent answer
Caressed by the worldly breezes
Astral world fading away far and further.


Let me kill the black,
And mix it with white,
Splash us with the ink,
Get a blend,
Envisage the grey.

Grey is not meant to create acedia,
It's rather an aisle,
An aisle towards exit: the vibrancy.

Get a blend.

Envisage the grey.

It(life) can't be painted on white sheets,
The easier the life,
the whiter it may appear
Get a blend,
Envisage the grey.

It's easy to paint a white sheet and make it vibrant.

What about tattered tapestries?
Aren't they beautiful?
What makes them beautiful?
It's definitely not a white sheet.

It's grey.
It's grey.

Get a blend.

Envisage the grey.

-Anjali
PS- I don't think I made it comprehensible enough.
:p
Randomness indeed.


Actually you can… It's not a big deal for especially poetists… their minds keep working around the clock, and they always have it ready in them… Anyone can, if they allow their creativity to take over…


I’m not quite sure just how random this is, but eh.

My fine Quora, you inspire me to write.

I love the way you feed, prowl and torment,
Invading my mind, through day and through night
My meeting of ye was a true blessed event.

Let me compare you to a splendid moon?
You are more gorgeous, divine and charming.

Dear sun heats the darling peaches of June,
And summertime has the touring arming.

How do I love you? Let me count the ways.

I love your sound and personality.

Thinking of your BNBR policy fills my days.

My love for you is of true sincerity.

Now I must away with a blended heart,
Remember my words whilst we're apart.

Okay… maybe not that random.
But can anything truly be random while maintaining and preserving all of the basic syntax of the English language?


Okay….
.
So, lets give it a try.

I would like you to guess my gender through my poem….
.

My random poem is-
My Love
The day I met you , I thought
What a narcissistic idiot you are,
Day and night you care for your beauty,
Which takes my heart out whenever I see you.

You're the one who changed my life,
You're the only who taught me life.

Each beat of my heart is a gift from you.

I know not how am I to repay.

Thou art my life and my strife.

I live for you and I breathe for you.

You're the one who taught me the power of silence.

You're the one who taught me the joy of dancing.

My heart is yours and yours is mine.

With it's each beat I feel your love.

Your love gives and mine demands.

But still I am your servant and you my Lord.

I feel your presence even in your absence.

You're always around me.

Your love always surrounds me.

I am truly deeply madly in love with you.

You gave a rhythm to my heart.

You gave it a reason to pump.

You cleaned my blood and washed my brain.

Now my units shout thy name.

Your smile lights up my soul.

You give me a goal to move ahead.

Your dimple is deeper than my thoughts
You give me a reason to love you.

When you hug me, I feel like I'm in Paris.

When you kiss me, I feel like I'm walking amongst the clouds.

We are two bodies, two souls but one thought.

We are two eyes, but one sight.

Our paths are different but destination same.

Interchanging our paths and enjoying the way.

Destination is not our motive but love is.

Love is not a spot but a journey which we'll cover together.

I was incomplete before I met you.

Still, I'm incomplete but I believe we'll find completeness together.

We are different and yet so same.

We'll live together awaiting death with our souls United.

Thank you!!!!!


Just wrote it.
.
.

URBAN LIVING
The concrete forest is wild and dangerous;
no place for the timid, shy and unadventurous.

Conniving predators feeling murderous,
at times, in their finery, looking glamorous.

In crisp suits, they scout without fear;
potential victims, out only when clear.

It is no place for the weak or the queer,
the lions growl, sniff and sneer.

The city is definitely not for the weak;
tall skyscrapers tower over the meek.

Under a canopy and feeling bleak,
looking lost in the doublespeak.

But they hope and wait and dream;
for a time, when things are less grim.

For a season when it is less dim,
waiting their turn for the jungle gym.


WAPAS na aa saka …woh bachpan…iska koi gaam nahi
Hum woh….
soyii hui yaadein….
phir se jagaa lenge…
Apna khoya… hua bachpan….
wapas paa lenge…
Shayad ….
Zindagi ka yahi saar hai woh….
bachpan hi tha …
Jahan na koi… JEET thi …Na koi… HAAR hai…
Han…Pura hoga ye sapna …
Agar tum mein ab bhi… bakii hai…
THODA…BACHPANA….

#BACHPAN by AKSHAY….
.


I’m sitting in my bedroom
Looking at the peaceful sky
Wondering whether words will come
If they’ll show the truth, or lie.

We all use words so cheaply
Hardly thinking what we say
Spewing rants on social media
Filling hours in a day.

Our modern world is noisy, its hard to really hear
And every word that’s spoken, to truth never comes near
For truth is found in silence
Inside the feeling soul
And true inspired poetry
Makes the broken whole.

But such a poem can’t come quickly
With very little thought
It can’t emerge from vanity
For it will come to naught.

These silly words I’m writing
Are of almost no import
I admit my guilt this evening
For turning poetry to sport.


i love to write poems since school days
This is one of my poems which i had written in 12th grade
MY GIFT
A small little gift
I got from God
A gift that gave me pleasure
Precious than diamond no units to measure
A day we came together
happily living loving each other
but the coin then started turning
And a vampire of fights left us burning
Winds of sadness headed our lives
Feelings were destroyed with bad noise
Little angel in that fight
got many wounds but never said its right
With its innocence it bowed before all
lost its wings and started to fall
never ever thought it will happen
my gift got badly broken
A feeling of apology in my mind
I know my angel will forgive my crime !!!
dedicated to my nephew
-by TP


A person on Quora asks me for an answer,
Oh these requests are cancer,
What am I, a dancer?
How can I write any fancier?
I write for myself,
But draw the line at dense,
So many questions without sense!
Eh? (Don't take this seriously, I'm kidding! Kind of.
)


Ah, yes!
In fact I sometimes go on Omegle to play a poetry game I made with them, it’s simple, as long as you don’t over think it.

It goes like this:
Player one gives player two a word, lyric, piece of poem or song, player two makes a poem out of it.

It’s an association game so what ever feeling you get from it, what ever thought pops up, write it down and enjoy the common love of poetry.

My latest poem that I actually like I had to save.
I don’t save poems I just throw them out to who ever is interested to go through this little game and experiment.

The word was White shadow
and I wrote about real life experiences.

Here goes nothing.

The odds dice against me, the breath shortens and my view blurs to the focus point on my feet.
I stare into nothingness and nothingness stares back, the moment where I Know I've got nothing to lose, I've got at the same time, nothing at all.

The tipping point of either going blind, or fall, to risk it all or to let it all go.
to fall into the hole I would fall eventually.

The breath shortens the view blurs into the focus further along the dream lines.
The lines that blur in my daydreams where magic happens, and magic blurs into reality.

My tipping point, like a white shadow mechanism, to push me, like my guardian angel, the white shadow, that tells me what lies in front of me, in the future.

The white shadow that reminds me of the gifts and miracles in my life from almost losing my right fingers, and the tipping point of dying, the tipping point of suicide and life.
the tipping point of not graduating and loosing a year to graduating and having no idea what comes next.

the tipping point whether you get a chance to pursue your dream or not.

The breath shortens, and finally vanishes, my view blurred into the focus of my feet, to the sky and the fine line between there, and here.
And my brain shuts, the white shadow I see from my closed eyes ,where I usually see black, lifts me into oblivion, the tipping point for me, the edge of my comfort zone, where life pulls me, and kisses me, and comfort greets me well:”see you, maybe not.

the moment I end up always fighting for the miracle, although I never choose, never decide.

The poems are always random but always out of my heart, always unplanned and always open to any thoughts.
It’s a game I like to play because there is simply no easy way of hiding from the truth of who you are.

I like to read people that way.
I like to read people, I like people but at the same time I feel like I need a distance to them, so this is perfect.


I'm more inclined to believe that a random poem is merely a poem that could do with some editing, a bit of serious meditation on what could be enhanced, or still deserving of some further exploration, prior to any consideration of sharing or of publication.
Poetry editors help with what comes their way.
They might suggest a tutorial of some kind, or a web site's web page offering writers some advice concerning the publisher's requirements.
To me, a random poem is one I know could be improved.
It's why I read my poems to track down the errors while I still can.
It's why I also use the grammarly-dot-com service.
I registered there, so I can log in, create a new document, check the text, edit it and copy that version and use it elsewhere, such as submitting a new poem to the poemhunter-dot-com web site.
Study the new poems uploaded each day.
You'll see that some poems could have been improved if edited even further.
At present, some are all over the place.
Make allowance for the fact that some are written by those who aren't fully educated in the correct use of the English Language and that's a fair starting point.
Offer suggestions to the poet and maybe you'll be thanked.
.
.
and maybe you won't.
But if you think you can do better, then prove it.
If all goes well, then it won't be yet another seemingly random poem.
.
.
Who knows, it could be a masterpiece!
http://denismartindale.
co.
uk

http://denis-martindale.
blogspot.
.
.

http://poemhunter.
com


I have just tried it out.

I know that two persons I have compared in the poem are uncomparable.
So think the poem in such a way that you are explaining your parents the importance of friendship in your life.

A POEM FOR FRIENDS….
.

Khuda se sirf yeh he fariyaad karta hoon,
 Ki jisne mujhe chalna sikhaya, unka mujhse bhi jayada khayal rakhna-2
 Lekin jis yaaron ne mujhe bhaganaa sikhaya, unhe mat bhool jana.

 
 Haan yeh baat sch h ki suraj ugte he, pehle apne ammi-abbu ka chehra dekna pasand krta hoon-2
 Lekin uss roshni ke khatam hone se pehle, apne doston se bhi milna psand karta hoon.

 
 Iss baat mein koi shikaayat nahi h, ki mein apne maa-baap ka aankon ka taara hoon-2
 Lekin mere dost bhi uss aankon ke taare ki roshni h, jiske bina uss taare ki chamak adhuri h.

 
 Haan maa mein koi bhi kaam krne se pehle, aapko yaad karna pasand krta hoon-2
 Lekin vo kaam krte samay apne doston ka saath pana bhi pasand karta hoon.

 
 Maa mein jaanta hoon, ki aapke hissab se yaari dosti mein kuch nahi rakha h-2
 Lekin mein kya karun maa,
 Aap mera dil ho aur yaar mere dil ki dhadkan h jinke bina mein addhura hoon.


Anyone can throw words together on paper the same as anyone can slap paint on a canvas.
Poetry is the art of words emerging from your heart, mind and soul that desires to express something beautiful out to the world.
You control that beauty.


The beautiful girl
The day i saw your lovely face
Got my heart to beat at a racy pace
Those eyes as sharp as a mace
fragrance so good, better than a flower vase….
.

My heart went still and so did my feet
Looking at that smile so sweet
I wish you could for a second read
my eyes which wanted to tell so much indeed…
fascinated i was looking at you, oh beautiful Girl…
You got my insides twisting in whirl
When you made your hair in a curl
i still remember your eyes shining like a pearl❤️


Ohh yes!!… And then randomness becomes more random here.
.
and when I am unable to sleep at night, I start writing randomly…like this
It was a transparent coal that I see everywhere,
Blackish gold that I found in the darkening flare,
And the birds that swim in the ocean of joy,
All the floating aeroplanes landed on the sky,
Meanwhile the clouds were settling down in desert,
I captured a moving mountain in square shaped sphere,
My days are moonlit and the nights are sunny,
I make footprints on water and feel dry in rainy.

You must be thinking about the above unmatched fits,
All the contradictory combo makes no any wits,
But I have the one, For he was like storm, playing around,
And turned my life from upside down.

Updated: 08.06.2019 — 5:56 pm

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