the art of poetry

the art of poetry

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

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Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

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Summary

This is an emotion-packed piece of art artistically weaved without blemishes. As is the title, the poem is a perfect definition of perfect poetic rendition
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Summary

This is an emotion-packed piece of art artistically weaved without blemishes. As is the title, the poem is a perfect definition of perfect poetic rendition

Chapter1 (v.2) - The Art Of Poetry

Author Chapter Note

About The Author
Terfa Meshach is a graduate of English from the Benue State University, Makurdi, Nigeria; he has Masters Degree. During his service year, he was the President/Editor-In-Chief, Editorial Board, NYSC Katsina State; and the Editor-In-Chief, National Association of Catholic Corpers, Katsina State. He is the Author of Teaching and Understanding Made Easy, The Super Hero, The Local Champion…Segmental and Suprasegmental Phonemes, The Intellectual Saviour, and the co-translator of the novel – The Legacy of our Forefathers. He is an Awards Winning Novelist and Best Critic, External Editor, Writers’ League, and the Editorial Consultant, The Quarry, Gwarinpa, Abuja.

Chapter Content - ver.2

Submitted: February 07, 2017

Reads: 142

Comments: 1

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Chapter Content - ver.2

Submitted: February 07, 2017

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THE ART OF POETRY

She eventuates by herself

Placed she is and off the shelf

All presentations in great style

At other times, also in regrets guile

 

Her beauty, expressions define

Her duty lists to stay forever fine

She is pretty and still in perfect line

Time and again agitatedly supine

 

From out of her, sounds

The distinction of ‘feel-harmonic’

Perception that with time abounds

By nature raw, mechanics and bionic

 

Orchestrating the birth of creation

Wording the very generation

Of all from deep inspirations

Things being, and seen, not apparitions

 

Presents children with consummate passion

At work and play never ere to shun

Whether domiciled or abroad on a mission

She supports each child’s decision

 

With the ambience of acquiescence

She is mindful of all essence

In in-choices sublime and condensed

Meek, quick, and in sleek sequence

 

Friends with choreography

And neighbours with catastrophe

Allies with curiosity

And collaborators with photography

 

She in reality is captured clearly

In cohesion loved and held dearly

In truth adored and honoured fairly

In elevations celebrated cheerily

 

By her you may find real chemistry

If you only appreciate her artistry

You may of course feel her sophistry

Or maybe get perplexed by her mystery

For, all said and done, she is, the art of poetry

Poetry Is Often Abused

You are poetry; again and again it’s true

The spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings

Recollected in equanimity, as William Worlds worth, too

Knew when he prophesied in his definition and dealings

 

You are poetry; again and again it’s true

This is why I said in My Art of Poetry, too

That you eventuate by yourself

Placed you are and off the shelf

All presentations in great style

At other times, also in regrets guile

 

You, in reality, are captured clearly

In cohesion loved and held dearly

In truth adored and honoured fairly

In elevations celebrated cheerily

 

By you I often find real chemistry

Because I appreciate your artistry

And aptly know and feel your sophistry

Even as I do get perplexed by your mystery

 

Your beauty, expressions define

Your duty list to stay forever fine

You are pretty and still in perfect line

Time and again always agitatedly supine

 

But you have been misrepresented

By those who do not know you

Through their mundane lines presented

And called poetry, and so thought to be you

 

You can never be just a hole for their dick

For them to rap shit of lines on the stick

And ask you to marry them as a housewife

Not in the hereafter nor in this present life

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mother Nature

It was my hand

I first give, understand

The mystery of giving

Complemented in receiving

 

Then I was told I was a fish

That needed to be saved

From drowning, I wonder or wish

Right if they were, so paved

 

A way for a whatever judgement

They passed fairly a measurement

Undone to an unborn child

Thought as so endlessly wild

 

In my heart I stifled a smile

So incidentally thought a sigh

How so right they were

That I am now pivotally here

 

A fish that is saved from drowning

A fit in their minds worth crowning

A cap anodic ahead above all heads

Around Mother Nature angst dreads

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Best Big Brother There Is

(Dedicated to Jacob Adagu)

I aren’t a painter but I’ll paint

A portrait of you as a Saint

I aren’t a pilot but I’ll fly high

To let heavens show your life file

 

I aren’t a doctor but I can stitch

The world’s wounds as you teach

To diagnose without blemishes

The best life can offer is my wishes

 

That you remain humble and still

In perfect line even with a sage’s skill

I have woven fabric letters up the hill

Of excellence racing fast the trademill

 

Before you drowned me in money

You taught me how to swim in money

With the tacit knowledge to disregard

When I must disregard with realm regard

 

You are the best big brother there is

Who knows how to heal where there is

Pain; you hear even the silent voice

Of my soul


© Copyright 2017 Terfa Meshach MC. All rights reserved.

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