CULTURE

The End of Verse?

A recent NEA report finds fiction reading on the rise, while readership of poetry has dropped significantly. Is an art form dying?

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  • Posted By: charlesthepoet2003 @ 11/11/2009 1:07:51 PM

    ========================================================
    YOUR LOVE WILL ALWAYS BE IN MY HEART.
    ========================================================

    I'll cling on to Your love
    in My heart;

    I won't let go of Your love
    in My heart,

    Your love will remain in My
    heart forever;

    I'll hold on to Your love
    so tightly as though it was
    made of gold,

    Your love will always be My
    treasure;

    I'll seal up Your love
    in My heart,

    I'll cherish Your love in My
    heart forever;

    Your love will always be My
    keepsake in My heart,

    Not even death itself can
    separate Your love in My
    heart;

    And I won't let Your love
    wither or fade away in My
    heart,

    Your love will always linger
    on and on in My heart;

    Your love will always be in
    My heart forever.


    ========================================================




    Do A Web Search On:
    Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
    charlesthepoet2003
    =========================





  • Posted By: charlesthepoet2003 @ 10/25/2009 12:01:15 PM

    =================================
    Where Is The Love.
    =================================

    Hatred had kill all of the
    Passengers on flight
    ninety three;

    In the field just outside
    of Shanksville Pennsyl-
    vania,

    An eleven year old little
    girl kept on asking where
    is the love;

    She says with tears in
    Her eyes Oh God where
    is the love.

    Hatred had kill Those
    teenager Students at
    Columbine high School in
    Colorado,

    An eleven year old little
    girl kept on asking where
    is the love;

    She says with tears in
    Her eyes Oh God where is
    the love.

    Hatred had kill Those hard
    working People at the World
    Trade Center in New York
    City,

    An eleven year old little
    girl kept on asking where is
    the love;

    She says with tears in
    Her eyes Oh God where is
    the love.

    Hatred had kill Those little
    innocent Children at the
    Alfred P. Murrah Federal
    Building in Oklahoma City,

    They were God's little Angels
    here on earth;

    An eleven year old little girl
    kept on asking where is the
    love,

    She says with tears in Her
    eyes Oh God where is the love.

    Hatred had kill Those good
    men and women working at the
    Pentagon in Washington. DC;

    An eleven year old little girl
    kept on asking where is the
    love,

    She says with tears in Her
    eyes Oh God where is the love.

    ==============================



    Do A Web Search On:
    Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
    charlesthepoet2003
    =======================



  • Posted By: charlesthepoet2003 @ 10/03/2009 8:05:04 AM

    ===========================================
    Could It Be That God Loves Beauty.
    ===========================================

    Could it be that God
    loves beauty as
    much as I do;

    I love to watch that
    sweet and lovely
    gentle creature, of
    that pretty butterfly
    come alive;

    As She is only a
    year old barely
    crawling around
    here like a
    helplessly little tiny
    caterpillar,

    Of trying to crawl
    out of Her tiny
    cocoon in the
    Spring time;

    Now the years has
    been very graciously
    to Her through the
    years,

    As She has just
    turn eighteen years
    old just recently; of
    crawling out of Her
    tiny cocoon in the
    Spring time.

    Could it be that God
    loves beauty as
    much as I do;

    I love to watch that
    sweet and lovely
    gentle creature, of
    that pretty butterfly
    come alive in the
    Spring time;

    As She comes
    crawling out of Her
    tiny cocoon in the
    Spring time,

    Of spreading Her
    little tiny wings and
    flying around here
    like an Angel on
    earth;

    And could it be that
    God loves Her lovely
    gracefulness, of Her
    delicately femininity
    Personality charm
    as much as I do.

    ===========================================



    Do A Web Search On:
    Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
    charlesthepoet2003
    =======================




  • Posted By: charlesthepoet2003 @ 10/02/2009 12:38:08 PM

    ====================================
    Your The Flower Of My Heart.
    ====================================

    To Me Your the flower of My heart
    that has bloom and blossom so
    lovely; and its no wonder that the
    humble bee keeps on buzzing
    around Your sweet lovely heart.

    To Me Your the flower of My heart
    Your sweet lovely smile has bloom
    and blossom so lovely and so
    beautifully, and its no wonder that
    the butterfly has found a new home
    in Your sweet lovely heart.

    To Me Your the flower of My heart
    that has flourish so lovely and so
    beautifully just like a sweet lovely
    pretty little flower in the garden;
    and its no wonder that the
    humming bird keeps on singing
    You a new song to Your sweet
    lovely heart.

    To Me Your the flower of My heart
    and its no wonder that it brings joy
    to My heart, to watch You bloom and
    blossom into that sweet lovely pretty
    little flower My dear.

    ====================================




    Do A Web Search On:
    Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
    charlesthepoet2003
    ========================



  • Posted By: charlesthepoet2003 @ 10/01/2009 12:11:02 PM

    ==================================================
    When Ever I Ponder About Stems.
    ==================================================

    When ever I ponder about the
    roots of the Stems below the
    ground;

    I keep on thinking about You
    as the Stems begins to Spout
    out in the Spring time,

    As the flowers Starts to grow
    in the month of June;

    Each time of the year
    it reminds Me of You,

    When ever I ponder about Stems
    I keep on thinking about You;

    As the morning Sun rays comes
    out as it brightly shine on You,

    Each time of the year
    it reminds Me of You;

    When ever I ponder about Stems
    I keep on thinking about You,

    As the Spring breeze gently
    blows against You very softly;

    I can see God's loving grace
    pouring down upon Your Spirit,

    Each time of the year
    it reminds Me of You;

    When ever I ponder about Stems
    that grows from the ground,

    I keep on thinking about You
    of how lovely Your eyes and
    Your smile looks to Me;

    Each time of the year
    it reminds Me of Your
    lovely sweetness,

    When ever I ponder about Stems
    that grows from the ground;

    I keep on thinking about You
    of how lovely You have bloomed
    and blossomed from that small
    tiny little seed of that Stem,

    Each time of the year
    it reminds Me of You;

    Of what a beautiful and
    pretty little flower You are,

    And baby Your mine sweet
    pretty little flower forever
    more;

    When ever I ponder about Stems
    I keep on thinking about You,

    Each time of the year
    it reminds Me of You.

    ==================================================



    Do A Web Search On:
    Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
    charlesthepoet2003
    =======================






  • Posted By: charlesthepoet2003 @ 09/25/2009 11:13:20 AM

    =============================
    She's Having All That Fun.
    =============================

    She went to the corner drug
    store to purchase a box of
    tampon;

    As She red the instruction on
    the box,

    The instruction on the box of
    the tampon told Her all what
    She can do;

    She can run, She can run;

    She can play a game of
    tennis,

    She can play a game of
    hop scotch all day long;

    She's having all that fun
    and it only cost Her a dollar
    and a quarter with a coupon
    to have all that fun,

    And She does it all with a
    smile on Her face;

    She can play a game of
    bowl,

    She can even ride a bicycle
    on a Sunday afternoon in a
    park;

    She can dance, She can roller
    skate;

    She can swim, She can ice
    skate too;

    She can toss and turn all
    night through,

    And She does it all with a
    smile on Her face;

    She's having all that fun
    and it only cost Her a dollar
    and a quarter with a coupon
    to have all that fun,

    She can sky dive with the
    best of Them;

    She can ride a horse to
    town,

    She can water ski off a lake
    shore on a sunny Sunday
    afternoon;

    She can walk Her dog to the
    park,

    She can even sit down or
    stand up or take a bow at
    the end of the day;

    And She does it all with a
    smile on Her face.

    =============================



    Do A Web Search On:
    Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
    charlesthepoet2003
    ========================




  • Posted By: charlesthepoet2003 @ 09/24/2009 2:19:40 AM

    ===============================
    I Go Banana Over You Babe.
    ===============================

    You got the cutest buns babe
    just like Sara Lee buns;

    I go banana over You babe
    Your Eyes is as blue as the
    blue heavenly sky babe,

    Your my cup of tea babe
    Your hair is as golden
    yellow as the sunlight babe;

    Your so cool as a Cucumber
    in mid July babe,

    Your lips is as red as a bowl
    of cherries babe;

    And Your so fresh as a
    tomato babe,

    I go banana over You
    babe;

    There's nothing cheesy
    about Your life style babe,

    Your the cream of the
    crop babe;

    At times Your such a
    peach to me babe,

    Its no wonder that I go
    banana over You babe;

    You got the cutest buns babe
    just like Sara Lee buns,

    Your so sweet and lovely as
    molasses babe;

    But sometimes You can be as
    cold as a fish babe,

    So don't clam up on me babe;

    Your so fragile as an egg
    babe,

    Your so squeezable as an
    orange babe;

    And its no wonder that I keep
    on going banana over You
    babe.

    ===============================



    Do A web Search On:
    Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
    charlesthepoet2003
    =======================



  • Posted By: charlesthepoet2003 @ 09/23/2009 6:53:11 PM

    =============================
    You Keep Me A Hopping.
    =============================

    You keep me a hopping on my
    feet all day long like a Mexican
    jumping bean;

    And the birds thinks that I'm a
    grasshopper the way I'm a
    hopping around here like a
    grasshopper all day long,

    And I'm getting jumping
    hopping mad as a mad dog in
    love over You;

    But it seems that You have
    gotten everyone around here
    a hopping over You at Your
    finger tips,

    From a Mexican jumping bean
    to Charlie the tuna;

    The Mexican jumping bean is
    a hopping over the Kangaroo,

    The Kangaroo is a hopping
    over the Jack rabbit;

    The Jack rabbit is a hopping
    over the leaping Frog,

    The leaping Frog is a hopping
    over the grasshopper;

    The grasshopper is a hopping
    over little jimmy the Cricket,

    Little jimmy the Cricket is a
    hopping over the skipping
    stone;

    The skipping stone is a
    hopping over Charlie the
    tuna,

    And Charlie the tuna is a
    hopping over the waters;

    So sorry Charlie you gotta
    do one better then that,

    Cause I just open up a brand
    new can of worms;

    Of skipping, jumping; leaping
    and a hopping over heel in
    love for my sweet little darling
    dear.

    ===============================



    Do A Web Search On:
    Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
    charlesthepoet2003
    =======================





  • Posted By: charlesthepoet2003 @ 09/23/2009 3:00:02 AM

    =======================
    I'll Be Your Gopher.
    =======================

    You got Me going
    for this and that;

    You got Me to be
    Your gopher,

    I go for Your
    sweet lovely smile;

    I go for Your
    sweet lovely kisses,

    I go for Your
    sweet smooth
    talking ways;

    You got Me going
    for this and that,

    You got Me to
    be Your gopher;

    You got Me
    digging My way
    into Your sweet
    loving heart like
    a gopher,

    And I'll keep on
    digging My way like
    a gopher;

    Until I have broken
    through Your sweet
    loving heart,

    I'll be Your gopher
    and I won't get tire
    of being Your gopher;

    I'll go for Your
    sweet lovely smile,

    I'll go for Your
    sweet lovely kisses;

    I'll go for Your
    sweet smooth
    talking ways,

    I'll be Your gopher
    that goes for all
    of You.

    =======================



    Do A Web Search On:
    Charles H. Miranda -- Or.
    charlesthepoet2003
    ======================




  • Posted By: Kathryn Byer @ 07/03/2009 9:31:43 AM

    Enter Your Comment If poetry reading is indeed on the decline, you Newsweek, must take a share of the blame. You never give poetry any notice, aside from the excellent piece on Kay Ryan. I can count on one hand the number of reviews of poetry books I've seen over the many years I've subscribed to Newsweek. Give more notice to the art and maybe more people will pay attention. Kathryn S. Byer, NC Poet Laureate

  • Posted By: Beaky Roberts @ 04/09/2009 12:07:19 AM

    To confess, I am a forty year old obscure Asian American experimental poet called Bhanu Kapil (BK...Beaky...don't know how to explain the Roberts.) And I don't know what came over me when I read this article about how poetry is dead. It turned me into an instant poetry machine. In ancient India, there were competitions where the king would give his court a line, the end line, and the poets, who were also musicians, would try to come up with the poem, which was also a song, that might "meet" that line. Perhaps we should do that in this country. Probably we already do and I just haven't been to Wisconsin yet. In my case, although I write books that my neighbors, here in Colorado, can't read all the way through, I have a secret longing to write demented rhyming poetry off the cuff. That is why I wrote my poems straight into the Newsweek comment box. Hmmm. In the unlikely event that anyone is reading this, you should come to the Summer Writing Porgram at Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado, this summer (as opposed to next Winter, when you would be confused and much too late.) It is a month long festival of writing of all kinds, with poetry at its heart, I guess. What is a heart? You would be writing in a lineage of intensity and pleasure. It gave me pleasure, for example, to write these Hallmark/slightly disgusting couplets. I'm particularly fond of the chicken stanza. Poetry is just a way to be completely alive, instead of, like, two eighths alive. Something opens up, and you step in, and it zips up behind you, like the sky.

  • Posted By: Beaky Roberts @ 04/08/2009 11:57:35 PM

    My name isn't Beaky
    It's a pseudonym

    This I am neither a her
    Nor a him

    I like being Beaky
    It resembles a hawk

    Or my Aunty Matilda
    Who used to eat chalk

    I think it was rickets
    Or maybe the flu

    If I am not Beaky:
    Then who are YOU?

  • Posted By: Beaky Roberts @ 04/08/2009 11:53:04 PM

    To continue, I want to consume lemon tarts
    But not fast, so as to avoid Les Fartes.

    I want to lie down in the sun and drink
    Orange Squash until, at the brink,

    Of Satisfaction, I find that, after all,
    I'd be happy with something really quite small

    Like a segment of satsuma, or a grape,
    Or a nibble of a chicken, just at its nape,

    Though that's horrid and eating should really
    Be fun. And the texture...not mealy.

    This is a poem written by chance
    On a boat headed for Northern France

    (Where the croissants are,
    And of course Le Bar)

    And I hope that it makes you feel hungry and glad
    And not, like most poetry, pathetically sad

    Or elated, or calm, or as if you could jump
    Into a lake with a splash or a schlump.

    Is schlump a word? Hmm, to re-think...
    Maybe poetry deserves more than a blink.

  • Posted By: Beaky Roberts @ 04/08/2009 11:45:48 PM

    I want to eat eggs on toast, and a cow,
    Not a cow but a bat (sauteed!): but how?

    I want to travel to Istanbul
    And eat puffed pastries until I am full

  • Posted By: Can Stan @ 04/06/2009 2:14:08 AM

    I blame Flarg and Conceptualism for poetry's decline :(

  • Posted By: jeanmichelhatton @ 03/30/2009 9:19:34 PM

    pillow and more.

    I think I'll keep
    you

    tomorrow and today
    and this minute

    I'll think a naked sketch
    of you under my gaze

    as it grazes on your back
    along your spine

    recites a contour
    and a song without lyrics

    I will sleep
    near the source where
    I

    know you stay.

  • Posted By: jeanmichelhatton @ 03/30/2009 9:17:39 PM

    pillow.


    I think I'll keep
    you

    tomorrow and today
    and this minute

    I'll think a naked sketch
    of you under my gaze

    as it grazes on your back
    along your spine

    recites a contour
    and a song without lyrics

    I will sleep
    near the source where
    I

    know you stay.

  • Posted By: QueVivaPoesia @ 03/30/2009 4:24:38 PM

    A best seller of modern American poetry sold at a bookshop is about two to four copies a month! A good seller is one a month. This is done without benefit of the poet being present on site after a reading/reception. Poets sell their books best during the course of a open reading/reception. The late Chicano poet from Michigan, Trinidad Sanchez Jr., sold over five thousand copies of his Why Am I So Brown? almost out of his tote bag at ten dollars a copy of his perfect bound book to mainly working class Mexican Americans and other Latinos in the Midwest and Southwest over a eight year stretch. It was written in both English and Spanish and had a few illustrations, did that help its sales? But Trinidad made it a weekly practice to take his poems and go to where the listeners/readers were available.

  • Posted By: chicagopoetry @ 03/30/2009 2:50:03 PM

    If poetry is so dead then why do Ihave to spend several hours every day updating my resource guide, ChicagoPoetry.com, just to keep up with it all? I think the author of this article has never heard of a poetry "reading"

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