I used to write novels and little stories and compositions and I - but I put them away because I started acting when I was 17. So there wasn't much time.
quote by Joan Collins
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And I used to write novels and little stories and compositions and I - but I put them away because I started acting when I was 17. So there wasn't much time.
quote by Joan Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Change Of Time!
A change of time changes everything in life!
Glorious poetry turned into prose for use earlier;
Stories, novels and articles ruled prominent;
With the coming of computer poetry resurrected!
Now everybody enjoys indulging in poetry for fun;
Articles, stories and novels are superseded by poetry!
Many poetry websites entertain new poets daily;
Many enjoy poetry reading and writing at anytime!
Poetry has become cheap product for all to use;
Nobody thought that such a thing could happen!
Nobody buys poetry books but novels and magazines;
Is poetry a use and throw material only in market now?
The things that cannot be expressed in stories, novels
Are done in poetry to satisfy heart, thought and spirit!
poem by Ramesh T A
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My Last Poem
Soon the time will come
when I will write my last poem.
It is a matter of choice
than a matter of necessity.
I have almost reached the maker
when I will stop for a while
and do something different
in stories and novels.
I am not giving up completely
as I will write one
from time to time,
but not as I have been doing
in every spare minute I get.
Instead, I will write them
when the urge catches me,
but I haven’t reached that marker yet.,
so you’ll just have to suffer me
a little longer more.
29 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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But at the same time, I have trouble keeping things out of books, which is why I don't write short stories because they turn into novels.
quote by Jonathan Coe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Do You Write Poetry
There is a question I am often asked,
of which I have no answer for at all.
The question is a simple one,
how do you write poetry?
To be honest I haven’t got a clue.
With me the words just trickle out
one after the other,
if they rhyme that is great
and if they don’t, I just scratch my head.
I cannot tell anyone how to write,
for me it’s just a natural thing.
I write almost everything,
novels, short stories, poems and songs.
I have even written a couple of plays,
but that was a long, long time ago.
However to tell anyone how to write,
I would not know where to begin.
The answer I give to the question is simple;
write whatever you like good or bad.
It’s yours and be proud of it
no matter what anyone else has to say.
The more you write the better you will get.
However, the most important thing
that you should always remember and that is
that you write, write, and write!
9 November 2011
poem by David Harris
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Why Do I Write
People often ask me why do I write,
unfortunately I have no answer.
I started when I was eighteen
when my then girlfriend
said we were through.
I said to myself
if the Beatles can do it why not try it.
I was lonely with nothing else better to do
and it all progressed from there.
The more I wrote the better I got
and now I don’t even think about it
as the ideas just come to me
and I write them down quickly before they pass.
When I started, my parents said
it was just a passing phase,
but here almost half a century has gone by
and that seems like some long passing phase.
Of course as I progressed, I experimented
with poetry, short stories and novels,
now my back library seems endless
and still I write more and more
jumping from one subject to another.
If I knew why I do it,
I’d bottle it and sell it
probably making a fortune on the way.
Sadly, the answer eludes me,
all I know is, I just sit with pen in hand
and the words come automatically
with line following line until I am through
no matter what facet of writing I am working in.
I never question myself about it,
but just let it happen and feel happy that it does.
Maybe sometime in the future
some scholar will give an answer to why I do it.
24 April 2011
poem by David Harris
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In effect I am not a novelist, but rather a failed essayist who started to write novels because he didn't know how to write essays.
quote by Jose Saramago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer Of ‘63
Everyone will have a year
that they will never forget,
for some reason or other.
Mine is 1963
and the summer of that year.
The year started normal,
but before it was over
my life would change.
Something would possess me
and never entirely go away.
I was eighteen at the time,
no steady girlfriend to call mine.
Then one day with my wages, she came.
I smiled and for some reason,
I wanted to go out with her.
A few weeks later, I got the chance.
I bucked up enough courage to ask her out.
So then, it started my first big romance.
Her name was Joyce Knapp,
but she liked to be called Joy, I remember that.
From June to September,
our romance grew strong.
Then one day it was over as sudden as it began,
with her immortal words one night.
I love you, but I don’t want to hurt you
so I’m packing you up.
We parted; a lot of tears filled my eyes.
She said we could see each other,
but I said I’d rather not.
Just one clean break
and tell everyone we were through.
So off I wandered broken hearted,
looking for someone to ease the pain.
It wasn’t a someone that did it for me,
rather a something you see.
A turning point in my life.
In 1963, the Beatles were all the rave;
everyone wanted a link,
to associate themselves with them.
I had my link in my birthday June 18th.
It is the same birthday as Paul McCartney.
The year maybe different, but never mine,
we share the same month and day.
So I said to a friend of mine at the time Ian Freeman,
why don’t we write a song together.
I know a little about music.
A date and a time was made
and we’d meet at my house.
We were going to write, a number one best seller,
but what came out would make glass break.
A much dreaded Shake Little Baby, Shake.
It never got further than the lyric stage,
a right little stinker to ever grace a page.
We went on to write another would you believe,
called Little Wandering Girl.
I think she is wandering still.
Ian had had enough and I didn’t blame him,
but I soldiered on through songs,
short stories, novels and poems,
to where I am now.
So now, you see how it started for me.
A long time ago in the summer of ‘63.
I have only one regret you see.
I never got a chance to thank,
Joy and Ian as I lost contact with them.
I hope they may read this one day, and contact me
so I can thank them properly.
20 July 2007
poem by David Harris
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A Revolution Poetry Is....!
Are you writing words of rhythm according to thoughts?
Or are you coining words of thoughts according to rhythm?
Or are you writing poetry both working at the same time?
Asking so, if they ask me how to write poetry, what shall I say?
Poetry writing is natural, spontaneous expression from heart!
How can this be taught to anyone to write poetry ever at all?
Poetry is a spontaneous flow of words direct from heart ever!
I wonder many a time how am I writing poetry at all ever!
But this is happening to my great surprise since longtime!
Due to engagements ever poetry only I am able to write
Though my aim in the beginning was writing stories.....,
Novels, short stories and nonfiction articles of criticism!
Poetry books too I have completed writing so since long
But what a pity there is no reception for poetry books...!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Faded Pages
Recently I started retyping
a manuscript of short stories
I had written twenty years ago.
The pages were faded;
too much time being opened to the sun.
As I typed, I smiled
at the things I had written
and the dialogue I had created.
The stories are about a cat
and looking at the world
through his eyes and thoughts.
I had even created him a language
that I had to write a glossary
at the back of the book to explain
what some of the phrases meant.
There is a vast array of characters
and most have a funny turn.
I also remember what prompted me
to write the stories long ago.
My original intention was to write
one story and one story only,
but a friend of mine at the time
persuaded me to write another and another.
Before long, a volume was finished
with enough stories to start another.
From a one off story I have written over sixty now
about the cat and all his friends.
Now as I flick through these faded pages,
which I haven’t read in years,
I find myself being reunited
with many long lost friends.
26 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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My Friend Oliver
My name is Roberts,
a reporter I used to be;
until one day I was sent to interview
an interesting man
whose name was Oliver Cyriax.
It was many year ago
that I first met him
and much to my surprise
he asked me to be his official biographer.
He stood against a fireplace
with his briar pipe in his hand.
He then went to tell me
stories from distant lands.
He wasn’t adventurer, but a ghost hunter of sorts.
I sat there in amazement
at all the things he said.
Those stories weren’t for recording,
at least not yet.
They were told to explain to me
of the kind of life he lead.
His career if you want to call it that
started in the middle 1800’s
on a Tramp Steamer
and lasted for more than half a century.
The strange things he saw
at times made my blood run cold.
He seemed a very quiet man
who was content with his life.
He did not appear to be someone
you would expect for the job that he did.
He smiled when he spoke
of a couple of amusing tales
he had been involved in
and looked sad at others
which had taken something from his life.
He related tales of horror,
which made you, shiver when he spoke.
He related tales of mystery
of which some were never to be solved.
He told me how he had lost friends
with their encounter with the unknown.
When he finished speaking,
I told him I would be honoured
to become his official biographer.
Therefore, started a thirty odd year friendship
that I hoped would never end.
From time to time, we would meet
and fresh new stories he would tell,
right up until the time
he retired and moved away.
I got a letter yesterday
to say he was happy now.
He was far away
from any ghostly goings on.
I write this as an introduction
to a character I’m going to write about
as I delve into his casebook
and tell the world
about the strange things that he did see.
poem by David Harris
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I did not have a chance to write novels until my youngest child started school fulltime.
quote by Anne McCaffrey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mistake I Made
There is a question I ask myself repeatedly.
Why did I become who I am today,
a writer of songs, poems, short stories and novels?
In reality, I do not know, but I tell everyone who asks
it was simply a mistake I made.
Many will say I had it in me,
that I was born to do it.
Remembering how it started
I am not so sure of that.
It started with the words to a friend
if they can do it why can't we.
Now almost fifty years have passed
from that fateful day I picked up the pen.
If asked what I have achieved
in all that time of writing.
I would answer there is plenty,
but none of it is money.
My rewards for my writing
is bringing a smile to someone's face
someone whom I might never see.
The inspiration I have passed on to others,
but the best of all to me are the numerous friends
I have gathered from around the world.
poem by David Harris
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Dear Friend
i always love to write, as early as
gradeschool when we were classmates
while you were playing and chasing and stumbling
i just sat on the grass of the playground under a tree and scribble anything
and read a lot about some stories with lots of pictures
and colors of fairies and kings and queens and butterflies and bees,
i do not stop writing, in fact, writing has become my life
that without words i may die an instant death
i dream that i have written novels and stories and lots of poems
i wake up with some ideas like some seeds that i want to sow
and grow in the field and see them become shrubs and trees and forests
and i keep on this life writing and writing and writing and writing
for writing's sake and i wish i may live longer so i may write
some more, some sequels of my love stories and suspense thrillers
and write finally all the poems that are inside my mind
hanging like ripe grapes and creeping like vines on my fence
as i am writing now as you always want to read me
until such time my friend that i will die, or end my life myself (who knows?)
(i will not talk about it now, it is something bizarre and makes me
shiver, but who knows, well you know, all are but possibilities and nothing
but possibilities in this vast wide world of realities and dreams)
there is something i must say somehow
there is something that i must have forgotten, i have not written about myself
i have always written about them, about you, about the world,
please do not refuse me, stop playing with your life,
gradeschool ended
a long time ago, i have one and ultimate request:
write the story of my life, because it is you who only knows about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Some Stories
some stories
about ourselves
are also the stories of
themselves
and then we write
these stories and
pretend that these are
but some short stories
from our mind
now in different names
and places
we read them and then
we wish that some of
these short stories
are not true at all
sometimes for those
we want to be
we want to believe
them to be true
wishes and hopes and
regrets, what if? what if i
chose that rather than this?
we poets write about pain
and joys and we tell sometimes
that we only fake them
deep inside we are silent
we prefer just to be left alone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It wasn't until my senior year in high school that I started acting.
quote by Steve Buscemi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I first started to get into writing, it was via music. I'd generate ideas for songs that would turn into stories, then they'd turn into novels. I was biased toward music.
quote by Irvine Welsh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True stories, autobiographical stories, like some novels, begin long ago, before the acts in the account, before the birth of some of the people in the tale.
quote by Harold Brodkey
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Well my taste wasn't very good when I first started out. But later, when I began to appreciate the art of acting, I would say the actress I most admire is Vanessa Redgrave.
quote by Ellen Burstyn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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