In one sentence, I'd describe myself as indescribable. But, I wouldn't end it with a period. I'd end it with three dots.
quote by Jason Schwartzman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Is It True?
for after all
is it true that a good poem
does not teach?
or preach?
or even tell something
so important
is it true that it simply
makes you feel?
logic is for
mathematics and
any exhortation on
how we live
and why
must be archived
in the ethics department.
this one must make sense
in the color and in the scent
and in the sweetness
or bitterness of its
words
it is more of a comma
than a period,
and some dots,
lots of dots.......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Latter Days
We
Are
Dots
And
We're
Beautiful
And
Funny
And
Good
We
Are
Dots
We
Are
Dots
We
Are
Loved
July 2012
poem by Judith Gerstenkorn
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Someone like John would want to end the Beatle period and start the Yoko period. He wouldn't like either to interfere with the other.
quote by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I wouldn't describe that ""position"" as ""parasitic."" I'd describe that experience as ""edifying."" I don't merely write from a critical intellectual distance. I actually live around here.
quote by Bruce Sterling
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I discovered about 150 dots is the minimum number of dots to make a specific recognizable person. You can make something that looks like a head, with fewer dots, but you won't be able to give much information about who it is.
quote by Chuck Close
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tiny Words
Who am I?
What I am?
..dont really know..
Today right now
I think I feel to be
nothingness or
just a minuscule
dot
Almost invisible
in these immensities
can't see myself..
cannot find me..
but hey! ! guess what? !
other minuscule dot I hope
is out there thousand and
thousand miles away
this dot, it seems to me,
does
think and wonders.
of my minuscule heart
my thought my doing
Woww! Awww..
Isn't that amasing? !
here I am!
no more lost
These dots:
are never meant to see
or touch..
each are soo far away..
too far
still
soo close.. sometimes
they stretch a rope
from one to other
become more close
..by closing eyes..
dreaming of
touch smell taste
such a new feel
new spinning dance
new colours
amasingly the world around
transforms
everything
becomes soo small
reduced to dots
and so
two, three, millions dots
tinny, little.. quietly
just for a second. right
now
transform..
in one..
they grow and grow
what do I see
one very very biig big heart..
these dots..might bring
some drops
of happiness or sadness
what are these dots?
maybe, no more than
little tiny words..
poem by Elena Sandu
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There Is An Artistry Applied
So much more is this,
Just a gathering of English words.
There is an emotional attachment to them.
With every period ending,
Each sentence that begins.
There is a process of selection.
With time taken to choose the best.
And keeping it simple for many to digest.
Giving consideration...
To those using microscopes,
For word usage to correct.
But a delight excites,
With a choice to test the minds...
Of those seeking to uncover something profound.
And 'something' complex between the lines to find.
So much more is this,
Just a gathering of English words.
There is an emotional attachment to them.
With every period ending,
Each sentence that begins.
And there is an artistry applied,
Some writers use and try to induce the eyes.
By using words like 'seduction'!
That capture minds to a familiar light.
As if moths stunned!
To become hooked and hypnotized.
And if that process does not work...
Cuss words are universal.
They seem to always maintain their worth.
No matter what the intent or context.
Just toss a few around.
An attention given can be expected.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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See The Constellation
I lay my head on the railroad track
Stare at the sky all painted up
Your train is gone, wont be coming back
See the constellation ride across the sky
No cigar, no lady on his arm
Just a guy made of dots and lines
Just a guy made of dots and lines
Two years ago moved from my town
I was looking up past the city lights
But the city lights got in my way
See the constellation ride across the sky
No cigar, no lady on his arm
Just a guy made of dots and lines
Just a guy made of dots and lines
I found my mind on the ground below
I was looking down, it was looking back
I was in the sky all dressed in black
See the constellation ride across the sky
No cigar, no lady on his arm
Just a guy made of dots and lines
Just a guy made of dots and lines
Just a guy made of dots and lines
Can you hear what I see in the sky?
Can you hear what I see in the sky?
Can you hear what I see in the sky?
Notes
The dial-a-song version:
I lay my head on the railroad track
Look at the sky all dressed in black
Your train is gone, wont be coming back
My lone constellation rides across the sky
No cigar, no lady on his arm
Just a guy made from dots and lines
Just a guy made from dots and lines
The city lights think nothings there
No real stars, nothings there
My lone constellation rides across the sky
No cigar, no lady on his arm
Just a guy made from dots and lines
Just a guy made from dots and lines
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Incapability
The sunset’s indescribable
but being me I have to try
to see if I am capable.
Although I see no reason why.
I think this time I might succeed.
I’ve tried so many times before
to explain how the colours bleed
into shades I have no name for.
I would love to share my view
but lack the vocabulary.
I cannot describe to you
the transient beauty that I see.
No matter how hard I may try
it’s an impossibility.
18/05/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Releases In The Reaching
The reaching for it,
Can not be describe in words anymore.
It is an existence inviting,
A resistance to limit...
Comforts of a thought process.
No longer seeking,
A validation to address.
The reaching for it,
Is as if an indescribable bliss.
Indestructable and cosmic it is!
With an opening of a consciousness,
That releases in the reaching...
All that had been believed!
Outdating concepts perceived.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Today... 'Everlasting God
Do you not know the Lord is the Everlasting God?
Creator of the ends of earth and its paths have trod.
Have you not heard that He neither grows tired or weary?
He is awesome and incomprehensible to me.
For who can fathom the unfathomable,
or who can describe One so indescribable?
From everlasting to everlasting He is Lord.
His Majesty and power the angels applaud.
(see also the additional information below in the Poet's box)
I wouldn't describe myself as a master of anything.
quote by Toby Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Picasso had his pink period and his blue period. I am in my blonde period right now.
quote by Hugh Hefner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The 1st period is won by the best technician. The 2nd period is won by the kid in the best shape. The 3rd period is won by the kid with the biggest heart.
Forever
who wants forever?
who wants a road that leads to
a straight line, without any
crooked view on
the sided? who wants to
be left here
in the now forever?
who wants all the leaves
and the pebbles?
the sentence even
needs a period.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We have a couple of dogs, but I wouldn't describe myself as an animal person.
quote by Pamela Stephenson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I wouldn't describe myself as lacking in confidence, but I would just say that - the ghosts you chase you never catch.
quote by John Malkovich
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Everything is connected
Asked to describe life
I said: ' the peaceful moments
with the friends you meet.'
Asked to describe friends
I said: ' the people you love
and care for daily.'
Asked to describe love
I said: ' feelings of goodwill
you have until death.'
Asked to describe death
I said: ' The equaliser
joy becomes nothing.'
Asked to describe joy
I said: ' opposite of sad
the happy feelings.'
Asked to describe sad
I said: ' opposite of joy
feelings of great loss.'
Asked to describe loss
I said: ' it occurs in life
regardless of us.'
Asked to describe life
I said: ' the peaceful moments
with the friends you meet.'
Everything is connected.
poem by Krantol Northic
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The Serious Poet In Canada
she pays attention to the details
what happens after the storm
she even follows where the geese
are migrating
listen to their loud sounds
and begin to write about them
the problem is
she cannot find the words
to describe reality
like a fog that settles downtown
which from a distance looks like
a mirage floating in the desert
but really, nothing is more real
that what we feel
even though we were not there
even though things are not really
what they appear to be
emotions become rivers
anger becomes rock
confusion becomes clouds
cities become dots and
hesitation are dashes
whatever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Believe
i believe that in the novel
written about us
it shall not end on the last
sentence with a period
i ask the Great Writer
to at least end it with a comma
the silence of the comma
the suspense of the comma
and the exclamation point
of the Hallelujah!
I do not prefer the eternal rest
i pray for that Bliss.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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