It seems to me that since I've had children, I've grown richer and deeper. They may have slowed down my writing for a while, but when I did write, I had more of a self to speak from.
quote by Anne Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The Goal Of Poetry
it is simply to reach
out to people
with our verbal hands
these mental arms
and make them
look
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
d eeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeperdeeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
too, within
themselves
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Will I Do Today And What Will I Do Tomorrow?
What will I do today and what will I do tomorrow
And what will I do for the rest of my life?
Write and write and write
Until I can no longer write –
And even if this writing is never known?
And even if this writing is wholly lost?
And even if this writing is not really worth very much?
And even if it is known only a little?
And even if others are highly critical of it?
And even if it seems vanity of vanity and only vanity?
Write and write and write
To the end of my life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I can never tell ahead of time which book will give me trouble - some balk every step of the way, others seem to write themselves - but certainly the mechanics of writing, finding the time and the psychic space, are easier now that my children are grown.
quote by Anne Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With All The Reading and Writing I Do
With all the reading and writing I do
With all the work of the mind and heart
There comes a time
It can be any time
There comes a time
When the Poem must enter-
The Poem?
The deeper feeling-
The Music of the soul-
What I most need to say inside
The Writing which somehow surpasses all the other
In its inner intensity in its deepest feeling –
I write a poem now
All my heart mind soul
Go into every word and phrase.
The Poem? The Poem?
For which I write to live
And which through writing
I most live in Writing-
The Poem that this is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In the book, I write about children in first grade who were taught to read by reading want ads. They learned to write by writing job applications. Imagine what would happen if anyone tried to do that to children in a predominantly white suburban school.
quote by Jonathan Kozol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Write
Write, keep writing lot
Write, write before you forget
Write, make it as reminder
Write, write before words disappear
Write, for you to contemplate
Write, write before your mind changed
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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To be a writer
They say, when you have nothing to say
Do not say anything
They say when you have nothing good to say
Do not say anything
He is not convinced
He wants to be a writer and to be one he must write
What is in his mind
To be a writer he must write and write and write
Even when there is nothing to write
Even when there is nothing to say even when nobody listens
Even when the word is dead even when there is no sense at all
Even when he gets blind and deaf and mute even when his fingers are cut even when his mind is blank even when his consciousness is lost
Even when you are angry even when you say what is written is nothing
But trash, dung, cadaver, corpse, poo, pee, even when there is nothing
Anymore,
He writes because he is a writer and no one can stop him now.
he is
he is writing
he is writing always
he is writing always whatever that needs to be written
and here you are foolishly reading. thanks to you, audience of one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No One Can Stop Us To Write
and they must know the reason why,
simple enough
we are writers and our essence is to write
for writing's sake
nothing aimed nothing gained nothing lost
we write because we are here
and we are here because we write
we write because if we do not
we no longer become ourselves
we lose our salt we become just like any
flesh, rotten, infected with bacteria
foul, and finally become just dust
on the corner of the road
we write and we keep on writing
because we are
we do not need the praise
or the condemnation
we do not need an audience
or an empty space
we write because we are
that is our essence and no one can stop us
except perhaps when the word is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Write And Write And Write And Write
I WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE
I write and write and write and write
I write and write and write and write
I write.
And all this writing and all these words and all I am
Forever unheard.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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There’s Poetry In Writing A Winning Lyric' (And Great Satisfaction In Writing A Fine Poem)
I believe that if you can speak, you can write….,
So almost anyone can be a lyricist or a poet too…! ! !
Of course there’s talent involved…,
And some are blessed to have much more than others do….,
But if you can compose a letter, or hold a conversation….,
I feel you could write a song lyric or a poem….,
Now that doesn’t mean it’ll be top-notch….,
Or for that matter, even mediocre….,
But when you’re in a crowd or all alone….,
Try it…! ! !
Cause There’s Poetry In Writing A Winning Lyric….,
And Great Satisfaction In Writing A Fine Poem…! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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Whatevah
write
till it does not hurt anymore
write
till all the happy moments are consumed.
write
till all the aches are justified
write
till all your revenge is dissipated
write
till all angles are examined
write and keep on writing
till all of you is hidden, till all of you is folded back
write and keep on writing still
because you are your writer and there is no one who knows you well
except yourself, and what they know shall only be
skin deep
because you want it so,
you are the king in the jungle of your uncertainties
the Tarzan hitting his chest before Jane came and ruined it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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And So I'm Writing...
I'm hard-pressed for time,
yet I do have the heart
And so I'm writing
Know not what to pen down,
have a paper to write on
And so I'm writing
May be I'll write about 'you and me'
Or may be of 'us and them'
Feel like playing with words
And so I'm writing
May be that starving beggar's hungry looks
Or that homeless Child's beckoning eyes
Are making me scribble these lines to you
And so I'm writing
May be you'll find my words vague
Or you might decipher a meaning
Intend to leave you in the oblivion
And so I'm writing
Whatever might be the impression I create
Wish to see its reflection on your soul
And leave an imprint on your mind
And so I'm writing
May be you and I've become immune
To the pathos of mankind
Or may be there's still
A dropp of humanity flowing deep within us
Wish to arouse 'The Human Being' in you
And so I'm writing...
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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0005 Letter to a Younger Poet
Thanks for your letter. Though
you’ve caught me at a rather awkward time –
I’m going into surgery tomorrow – a rather
risky op; so I’ll try to put all the answers that I’ve got
into this one letter;
I hope you'll understand...
and that helps me to make my first point to you:
write as if you, too, may not live
beyond tomorrow – write as if
it’s the last thing that you’ll ever write –
give it everything you’ve got,
hold nothing back;
or better still – write as if
the world will end for everyone tomorrow:
write so that in their last hours, too, this
will make them feel, will make them know
we’ve faced life fully, faced it so complete
that death is relatively unimportant now…
write as if it were only yesterday
that, in an air crash, all your family –
parents, wife or husband, partner, children, and best friend,
had lost their lives; write as if,
were you not to write,
your heart would break forever, or you would go mad...
write as if you’re writing somewhere
where there’s no such thing around, as ink;
you’ll have to use your own blood in the pen,
so use it carefully; so red, so living,
look at it… so beautiful, so precious,
and so solemn – use it carefully, don’t spill a drop…
write as if you’re borrowing every word
from the very centre of the universe, where suns and gods are made;
and need thus to account for every word
with your whole life, no less; know that every word
must be given back, cleaner, stronger, brighter
with your own power, than when you borrowed it;
write as if every poet that ever lived
is leaning over your shoulder, so that you
can feel their breath upon your neck as they say
‘Tell them all that we would tell,
but cannot now; tell them all of this’…
this, now, is how you must deeply be and speak;
write as if you are the only being on earth
who can tell them this; as if tomorrow, if tomorrow comes,
you shall visit them every one, at home,
and look them in the eye; write as if
you love them more than they will ever know;
write as if you were offering to live their lives with them;
write as if you were a force of nature in yourself:
as if whatever earthquake, hurricane or flood might do,
whatever law or love may greatly do,
whatever gods or men can speak, in fullest force,
this you may do, because the sound of poetry is such;
yes, write ‘as if’ – but know you really write ‘because’…
write as if – no, write because –
you know that only poetry can tell
all, that must be told, and must be known;
and as all hearts melt in the heat of your own love,
be in no doubt – and see that all are in no doubt too –
that life was never, never more serious,
never more glorious, than it is right now;
write all this.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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If Only The Hills And Trees Could Speak
if only the hill and trees could speak
it could have told you, how stupid and foolish have you been
waking up too early and doing all the things that others could have done for you
feeding the lazy ones, giving flowers to the uncaring, writing letters unanswered
loving much where they love you not, writing poems to cyberspace, thinking that
the stars too distant from you glisten to listen
and you speak to all these trees and hills that do not speak to you
and you write all these inanimate silence a letter: i know what love is and i keep on loving no matter what, for unlike you i am animated with love itself,
for love touches and speaks and cares and always wanting to be infinite.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Can Write Poetry All Day Long
I CAN WRITE POETRY ALL DAY LONG
I can write Poetry all day long
But what will it give me?
There is just so much others will listen to
If anything?
And what is the value of writing words to myself for myself
Even if I love them
And believe they are real poetry,
And know in my soul
That their music is real?
I can write Poetry all day long
Or think I am writing poetry
When I am not-
Am I writing poetry now?
I feel I am-
Within me there is the song and the sound
There is the music of poetry
But is it real
Or only my self- deception?
Can I write poetry all day long?
Can I write poetry at all?
I am writing poetry now
Or so I tell myself-
But as I write this
The music within
Is already fading
And I hear in myself
The silence of my own lonely sound.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Thank You For Writing A Poem For Me
i am your fan
many years and more years to come
i shall remain
your avid fan
thank you for writing me a poem
about love
and sleepless nights
thank you for writing about the ward
the man bound in
straitjacket
that glass of water that has to be taken everyday
to slide the pills smoothly
in your throat
thank you for writing about the children
who shall still find their mothers
their homes
thank you for bearing with us all these years
when we ourselves
have nothing to write anymore
thank you for being there
always and forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I have grown in my writing and I care about it now and I know how important it is to write stuff.
quote by Charles King
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Charlene-n-Booker 4ever
And the old men, supervising grown grandsons, nephews,
any man a boy given this chance of making
a new sidewalk outside the apartment building where
some of them live, three old men and their wives,
the aging unmarrying children, and the child
who is a cousin, whose mother has sent her here
because she doesn't know what to do with her,
she's out of control, she wants to be a gangsta, and
the old folks talk to her as if she minds them
and already has that respect for their years her mother
finally grew into. The girl who does not look
like them eats and eats and sleeps late, sneaks away
when they are busy, and tonight will write herself
all over the sidewalk while it is still wet but
the old have gone inside, and the grown gone home,
and her mother who is somewhere overseas thinks of
writing her that long long letter, but decides not to.
poem by Forrest Hamer
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Let The Children Speak
Time - way out of line
A whole nation waits outside
The rhythm of tomorrow
They can dance away their sorrows tonight
Lost - broken and scarred
Prisoner waits outside with his lone heart beating
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Let the children - let the children speak
Aims - dangerous games
Their mother says one false move and we all get hurt
I feel this sense of power I feel it every hour tonight
Lets not get lazy tonight
Things could get crazy cos
One more kick and the door cracks open
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children
Power to the powerless strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Im begging you now let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children
Power to the powerless, strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Lets not get lazy tonight
Things could get crazy cos
One last kick and the door cracks open
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Power to the powerless, strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Things could get crazy tonight
Lets not get lazy cos
One last kick and the door cracks open
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Im begging you now
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children
Power to the powerless, strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
The language of this world
Lets not get lazy cos
One false move and we all get hurt
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
The language of this world
Things could get crazy
Written by kerr/burchill (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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