The Joy Of Writing
Why does this written doe bound through these written woods?
For a drink of written water from a spring
whose surface will xerox her soft muzzle?
Why does she lift her head; does she hear something?
Perched on four slim legs borrowed from the truth,
she pricks up her ears beneath my fingertips.
Silence - this word also rustles across the page
and parts the boughs
that have sprouted from the word 'woods.'
Lying in wait, set to pounce on the blank page,
are letters up to no good,
clutches of clauses so subordinate
they'll never let her get away.
Each drop of ink contains a fair supply
of hunters, equipped with squinting eyes behind their sights,
prepared to swarm the sloping pen at any moment,
surround the doe, and slowly aim their guns.
They forget that what's here isn't life.
Other laws, black on white, obtain.
The twinkling of an eye will take as long as I say,
and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities,
full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.
Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so.
Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,
not a blade of grass will bend beneath that little hoof's full stop.
Is there then a world
where I rule absolutely on fate?
A time I bind with chains of signs?
An existence become endless at my bidding?
The joy of writing.
The power of preserving.
Revenge of a mortal hand.
poem by Wislawa Szymborska
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Dedicação
sometimes i do not like to write
even a word
i hate it when a time like this comes
to me
like a friend i detest for betraying me
and my secrets
i go places
to forget find me some green grass
and blue skies
i embrace the silence of the
hibernating fish in mud
somehow, this dedication comes
a fealty to word
a sense of i cannot be without it
i go back again
to my room
my head so full
my mind dancing again like a crazy bee
to the petals around me
so here i am
again writing for you
these lines are lovingly written again
i could have written one simple word:
hello.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Page Break
Page Break
By: Amanda Johnson
Im falling onto a blank page
with nothing to stop my fall
im not filled with happines or rage
or any emotion at all
theres no ballad written beautifully
nor pictures shining bright
no pencil, pen or marker
touch this endless sea of white
the closer i get the more i cry
i see no love and i ask why
you dont declare just how you feel
nothing proves your love as real
you share with none
what we've become
instead you keep me hiding, waiting
ive landed in the world of snow
the land where no real feelings show
i walk around just to fine
all of this wasnt just in my mind
i lift the corner just to see
a note that you have written to me
it reads i love you very small
why do you even bother at all
this shows the truth
you just arnt real
you wont commit
or even feel
poem by Panda Parks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home Alone Happy Without Working Computer
Home alone happy without working computer
I take my pen in hand
And slowly write these words –
Let the world click and paste and post
I am out of it for now-
I have before me an evening of any book I like
Of any page I want to write
-
Peace of Mind is one place of attention at a time-
Here weighing each word as I write
I am at home with my inner self-
I hear my own thoughts
I correct them at my own pace.
So many words and so many pages
Have been written in my life-
Now in this one
I am wholly at home
Peaceful, quiet happy
Each word a small blessing
As I write it-
This is the only poem I know
The only page I see
The only place of attention
I give myself and my soul to
At this moment.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whispers In The Wind [How I Write]
The words I write
Are just whispers in the wind
Coming home to greet me
Like an old friend
Swirling around in my head
Waiting to be set free
From my mind to my fingertips
On paper they must be
Written down before they're gone
Oh Lord how can this be
Word by word they hit the page
In an order I do not know
But once all are written
They are where they all should go
Telling a story in magnificent words that
Jesus whispers to me
poem by David Kush
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Book
My life is a leaf
Bind together in a book
Written
With sweat and blood
Pages after pages
With the taste of Pain and joy
Every emotion
Big or small
Fully charged
Packed and sealed
Every incident
Recoded in details
For the experience
Good or bad
If you want to learn
Whether there is any love
For you and mankind
You just need to turn
The page number twenty one
Chapter after chapter
Written with mixture
Of success and failure
If any one
Written badly
And Tastes sour
It is my life
Full of blood and flesh
Please pass on to another
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Adrian (feat. Elvis Costello)
Adrian - don't you understand?
Fools like us are always dreaming.
And when you go to bed
And cover up your head
It's better if you try to stop remembering.
And the world is slowly dawning
To wake up to a new clear morning.
Some of them just half your age
Get written off, page by page...
Adrian don't you understand?
Fools like us are always dreaming.
And when you go to bed
And cover up your head
It's better if you try to stop remembering.
Some of them just half your age
Get written off page by page...
And the world is softly sleeping
While your fears are in their keeping.
All the planet's making haste
To blow to bits in outer space...
Adrian - don't you understand
song performed by by Eurythmics
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Pipes Are Still: The Poets Lament
I have given what I knew to give
placed my 'x' on the written page
yet the written words there have proven to be incomprensible
to those I had written them for.
I place fruit on the table
for mouths which sour
and see them brown-spot and fade;
I lift my heart strings
allow my music to sing
and yet receive back only half notes
but I none the less complete my songs
in my own head; lay them out allowing their blood to let.
Mark my pages lonelier than they should be
for consummation and soul-singing is sometimes that goal which eludes
and the fault lies with no one, except blind chance and cringing solitude.
So like Pan we all sometimes play our pipes, wander in the woods
hoping yet
our songs will resonate a yore
in time
among those souls
who wander the woods of life
after we are gone.
Til then
let's take solace
in lonely climes and solitary writings
comforted only by our own song
even if we are the only ones whom
by them
are heard,
heeded
and loved.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Do Not Forget My Name
Do not forget my name
It is written in every page
We all have a debt to pay
When you face him at
The other gate,
How would you say
You spent your days?
And it would be a shame
If you are taken the
other way.
Limbo, shall hold no
man hostage
Christ had done all for
our own sake.
He has taken the pains
To show us the way
It is now left for us
to chose our fate.
But surely it would
be a shame
If you're taken the
other way.
That is the end,
I have finished the poem.
tho' it is not long
I do not like to say much
We all are adults
It is best we learn from
our wrong.
But do not forget my name
It is written on every page.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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The Red House
On the wide fields the water gleams like snow,
And snow like water pale beneath pale sky,
When old and burdened the white clouds are stooped low.
Sudden as thought, or startled near bird's cry,
The whiteness of first light on hills of snow
New dropped from skiey hills of tumbling white
Streams from the ridge to where the long woods lie;
And tall ridge-trees lift their soft crowns of white
Above slim bodies all black or flecked with snow.
By the tossed foam of the not yet frozen brook
Black pigs go straggling over fields of snow;
The air is full of snow, and starling and rook
Are blacker amid the myriad streams of light.
Warm as old fire the Red House burns yet bright
Beneath the unmelting snows of pine and larch,
While February moves as slow, as slow
As Spring might never come, never come March.
Amid such snows, by generations haunted,
By echoes, memories and dreams enchanted,
Firm when dark winds through the night stamp and shout,
Brightest when time silvers the world all about,
That old house called _The Heart_ burns, burns, and still
Outbraves the mortal threat of the hanging hill.
poem by John Freeman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blank Page
Blank Page
This new blank page, a word processor page, I cannot touch. I ought to leave it this
way, just look at it and dream of what I could have written on it. If I delet the words
I have written now, it will be blank again, no history, no crumbled up sheet of paper
in the wastebasket. For now it is too late but I might erase it when I come to an end.
My wife was in Johannesburg once for surgery, being born in Congo but light skinned
and travelling on a Portuguese passport, she boarded a bus for the blacks.
Great consternation, she was told by police to go on the white only bus since she
was Portuguese. Racism and anti Semitism are so stupid, it makes no sense, one race
thinks it is superior to others. Now it is the Moslems who are feeling the surge
of ignorance. We want them to be more like us and not Insist of doing their own things.
In Israel, for instance the European Jews feel vastly superior to Arab Jews, This in a state
that is an artificial construct. The culture of Europe in the Middle East. We know Israel,
as it exist today must come to an end. So there I said it, this white virtual sheet has been
befouled by an opinion no one wants to know about. So what do I do know? Erase this
page so it is blank again and I can write about the moon?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Adrian
Adrian - dont you understand?
Fools like us are always dreaming.
And when you go to bed
And cover up your head
Its better if you try to stop remembering.
And the world is slowly dawning
To wake up to a new clear morning.
Some of them just half your age
Get written off, page by page...
Adrian dont you understand?
Fools like us are always dreaming.
And when you go to bed
And cover up your head
Its better if you try to stop remembering.
Some of them just half your age
Get written off page by page...
And the world is softly sleeping
While your fears are in their keeping.
All the planets making haste
To blow to bits in outer space...
Adrian - dont you understand?
song performed by by Eurythmics
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Leisure
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
poem by William Henry Davies
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Same Old Tunes
I sat at my piano tinkering with the keys
and the same old tunes came back to me.
Melodies I had written long ago
that seem to haunt my soul.
It was the rhythm of my life
as the scales moved up and down.
After years of writing ever-haunting melodies
like my life, they drifted away from me.
The comparisons were striking
with the events of life’s ups and downs
and for a few minutes,
I found myself trying to capture
what once had been.
There were no lyrics in my head
to fit to a happy tune.
Only the black and white keys
that lay beneath my fingertips,
playing out the same old tunes
I had written in life and song
all those distant years ago.
13 November 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Art
Life Art
I want to write you a poem.
One that contains no verses
no words
how long it will be
I cannot tell.
It will be a poem that you can see through
yet it will shade you from the sun
a simple lyric
as complex as a crossword
I want it to be something
that you carry through your day
every day
I don’t know if I can write that poem
Or if indeed that poem can be written at all
So instead I am with you
Of you
And slowly together
we are writing our very own poem
Not on a page
Or in a lost notebook
But in the café
and in the street
At a table
In our bed
Every day we add another line
another image
another verse
and I know that with every word that we write
I want it to be the longest poem
That has ever been written.
poem by Andy Houlihan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pages of Life
Yesterday's page has benn written
it is over.
Tomorrow's page has to be written,
it is still has to come.
But,
Today's page can be written,
only by you.
It is only yours'
so, live the best today by correcting your past pages
and making ways for your future roads.
Life is yours' and live it to the fullest.
Today,
never think about past,
erase them from your mind,
think about future,
by writing your today.
poem by Yashika Goyal
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The Blank Space Inside Us
there are blank pages
some say that it is a must that something must be drawn
words to be written
thoughts to stifle, capture,
stuffed,
there is a day that you prefer
to keep a blank sky
a dark sky without stars
no light
when you close your eyes
you are at home with this blank page
words become
invincible
but they are all there
perfectly correct
well viewed by the eyes of your heart
somehow you go beyond
your every
day fences
move away, jump and run towards
an island of light
a patch of green grass
still no stars
pure blank
it is when you do not believe in the power of thoughts
when what preoccupies you
is nothing when you are finally one with all
space
it is too peaceful to even dropp a word
like a pin on
a shiny floor of tiles....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Meaningless
Sometimes you do things for others
never realising what it does to you.
It feels as if you’re helping them
then realize what it has done to you.
You get lost along the way
withdrawing from the world
and no longer having anything to say.
Gone is that, that nurtured you
as you turn your back away.
Your world becomes a blank page
with just one word written on it
and that word is despair.
You no longer have anyone
to talk to and share your ideas.
You recede into apologies
for nothing that you’ve done.
The comfort zone you once had
is gone never to return.
You slip into boredom that you once knew.
Your life is filled with images,
which are meaningless to you.
Your stuck in a world
that is neither happy or sad,
but which is meaningless and empty.
Your creativity has all but ebbed away
and shrunk back into the void
that once controlled your life
and looks like doing it again.
You wander through each day
devoid of the things you need
to carry your life through. It happened why you ask.
The answer is not so readily available.
Slowly you fall into loneliness
where no thoughts are written down,
sliding into an empty world
where your voice is never heard
and no voices come back to you.
The world of desolation
where you are no longer an individual,
but just another empty drone.
Your emotions have been drained away,
your feelings are now gone.
You face each day without caring
whether it will be your last.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blank Page
Blank page leave me be!
Blank page please stop taunting me,
reminding me of what I have failed to do.
Oh how I long to fill you,
to take up your very last line
with creative, riveting lyrics of mine.
Blank page stop harassing me!
I wish to show you my thoughts,
desires, emotions and all.
How difficult it is to answer your call.
Blank page how sweetly you whisper
tempting my pen to caress your paper.
I immaturely expect the verses to flow
then I realize that my thoughts are much too slow.
Blank page so often you defeat me
teasing and challenging until hours later
all that is left is the tiny dot
where my pen merely touched your paper.
poem by Shaqueena Celestin
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Open Speech
Good friend of mine, you feel with me—
Your blood grows hot by sympathy
With something that I say or do;
Then speak—I want a word from you.
Let not the silence wrap you round
While you are living over-ground.
They say that earthly years are few;
Then speak—I want a word from you.
Perhaps I pass you in the street,
And when our eyes a moment meet,
I wonder are you wishing too;
Then speak—I want a word from you.
Are you, too, longing for a sign,
Yet fear to stretch a hand for mine?
What other am I writing to?
Then speak—I want a word from you.
Some way our thoughts together run,
Since both lift brow toward the sun
Beneath the self-same vault of blue;
Then speak—I want a word from you.
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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Never Written
to write
hungry to write
and over
a lifetime
to have written
so little
less than
two years
writing
if compressed
into full time
writing
to have said
to have written
so little
when thought
so much
deep thoughts
never written
never recorded
never achieved
never expressed
never articulated
never illuminating
what a waste
modern sibyl
only whispered
briefly
self paid time
a fireflies flight
poem by Terence George Craddock
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