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The moment a man sets his thoughts down on paper, however secretly, he is in a sense writing for publication.

quote by Raymond Chandler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Writing The Words

I’m writing this at your funeral.
As I watch all the people in tears.
I wish I could join them,
But I know I have to be strong.

I’m writing this on my hand,
No paper to get it down on.
I want to remember your funeral,
So I’m writing this to honour you.

I’m writing the thoughts that pop into my head,
Making sure they are only the best.
I have to remember,
Because I couldn’t live with myself if I ever forgot.

I’m writing this at your funeral,
As people dropp flowers onto your coffin.
I stand up to dropp my own,
Blue, unlike the others, because I know it’s your favourite.

I’m writing this through the ceremony,
Because if I listen to the words I’ll cry.
And I know I can’t, for you,
I have to keep it together.

I’m writing the words I want to say,
To make people remember how much love you gave.
Because I want them to know,
How much of it you gave to me.

So, I’m writing this at your funeral,
To stop myself from shedding a tear.
I’m writing this at your funeral,
So that I never ever forget you.

poem by Rachel Brewer
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Not To Molest The Trees

do not use wood
in a sense do not cut a tree
do not use paper
in a sense do not write anything there
try using this computer
do not bother the paper the wood the trees
do not bother the pen either
there might be papery in there
like ink from wood like sap from a tree

we were born with thoughts and ideas
great minds

there was no paper in our mouth inside our brains
no trees cut by the axe in our hands
the worlds much safer then
and colder and fresher
and shady

and grassy and flowery
moonlighted and free

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Come Alive In Writing

I come alive in writing
Even if the writing means nothing to anyone else-
I come alive in writing
Even if I am totally deluding myself as to its value-
I come alive in writing
Even if at times while writing there is an underlying hopelessness and despair -

I come alive in writing
As if writing is what God has given me to do-
I come alive in writing
As if through it I can truly give to and help others-
I come alive in writing
As if life has meaning through it-

I come alive in writing
Even when I sense the writing is not good or great
As I would wish it to be.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Something

I'm writing in hope for something with sweet melody,
A rhythm that can be felt,
A beauty that can be read.
With words flowing like water over rocks,
Steadily without fault or obstruction.
A liquid in its purest state.

I'm writing in hope for something with sweet remembrance,
Like the scent of falling rain,
Or the memorable sound of a mothers cooing voice.
Something so memorable,
The slightest reminder sends you back to the exact moment,
Replaying in unbroken pattern of mind.

I'm writing in hope for something spectacular to happen,
For my words to form a feeling so deep they hurt,
For each image to be as clear as these words on this paper.
I want you to feel what I feel,
A feeling of lonely discontent,
Sitting alone in my own my own world, writing away.

I am writing this in hope for something to stick with you,
A message or a meaning that I've hidden inside a syllable,
A voice of reason that you have kept from yourself,
Silenced with the voice of your shallow desires.
A dream that you once had forgotten,
Lost in the darkness of the night.

I am writing this in hope for something to be brought to light.
Maybe a buried thought that you wish you never had,
Or an inner conflict that you hadn't noticed but feel tearing apart your skin,
Even an aspiration you promised to live up to but left to die.
Something so lost in the world of your mind,
Swallowed by deep chasms of thought and memory.

I am writing this in hope of telling a story.
The story of a world that can only be imagined in a dark room,
Hidden from the world and apart from anything else.
The story of a broken heart of a shortened life,
The story of the silent cries of a lost soul reaching for sanity.
My own story, perhaps, or even yours, is this your story?

I am writing in hope of making your thoughts and feelings dance,
A slow and steady music in the background,
Propelling your eyes left to right and back again.
Following the steps of each word,
The flow off each line and stanza.
An endless waltz with the reader and the writer, will you dance with me?

I am writing in hope of making an impression on your mind,
Maybe not an everlasting one, but even just a brief moment,
A moment of realization that you are now reading what I have written,
That for one moment in time our minds share the same space and thought,
Each word playing in our head the same as the other's.
Can you hear my voice, can you feel my thoughts?

I don't know why I am writing, or why I am writing what I am writing,
But I know that it has accomplished one thing,
It has given a purpose to something, if even just a piece of paper,
It has given worth to something that at one point was just a blank sheet,
Waiting for something to be etched into its surface, making it something.
I guess that's why I'm writing, I'm just writing; something.

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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My companion

I don't know where I'll be,
when who ever buys my book to read.
I was just writing the date on my new
notebook, and these thoughts came to my mind.

Sometimes when I'm going over some
writing I see the date on the paper,
and it brings me memories of
how I felt at the time when I
wrote those poems,

Those notes, they have the flavor
of me. My intimate thoughts my most
saddest and happiest moments of
my existence.

My poems my notes my
stories and my hands, they are one.
One memory in all together.
The way my hands clinch my
writing my every move of prose.

I don't know who
Will want to read the writing coming
from a stranger a none-known poet.
From lonesome I, no one
knows who she is.

I cherish every letter,
word and phrase my hands have writting.
Because all of this has been to me a wonderful
companion of my lonesome life of appetence to feed.

Copyright©ElenaToledo2011

poem by Elenushka Toledo
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But the power of science lies in open publication, which, with the rise of the Internet, is no longer constrained by the price of paper.

quote by Michael Shermer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What happened after publication of our paper was that, for the next 40 years, people said, all right, we now know the answer to the capital structure question under ideal conditions.

quote by Merton Miller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Secret Lovers

All these men
Will keep secretly
Writing to you
And keep secretly
Meeting you
But in public
Will vehemently
Deny, ever having
Known you…

They are at ease
Being your secret
Lovers…as long as
They can maintain
Their secrecy…and
Save their reputation

But they'll cower away
From public view, never
Wanting to be seen with you,
If it ever causes them defamation

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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12: 11 Noon (Office Break)

three cases disposed
and a chat of a friend from Bohol is finished

it has been a very busy morning
more files are coming

i composed this poem and posted it
just to mark a moment

everything is welcome here
the poetic, the non-poetic and the a-poetic

publication is free
and life after this goes on as usual as yesterday

you are afraid that soon a writer's block sets in
because you expect more from you

we are but witnesses and we write what we have seen
and felt

in fact, as you can see, when we begin to talk to ourselves
when everyone left at this hour

you will realize
there is even no audience to speak of

and that comforts us once again
that when no one is reading or watching
the dance as though it is your last
sing as though
no one likes to listen
live life
the way life wants itself to be lived

in such a short moment
let their be no rules, let every line be free
let there be only you
in this office break, and say to yourself

now i am king and now
this is my universe.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Old Flame

The writing faded on the page
The paper yellowing with age
An age of innocence then died
The blurring marks where once i cried
The memories flow back to me
Why did she ever have to leave?
The writing fading from the page
The sadness now becomes of age
The paper's corner now a flame
I shall not see those words again.

poem by David Keig
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A Poet's Rue

I remember as a young boy
Sitting on top Mount Parnassus
Consumed in writing I enjoyed.
Mostly poetry to express
At the time my innermost thoughts
While below my childhood playmates
Romped and played and most often fought.
And myself trying to translate
Feelings into coherent thought
And writing them down on paper.
I recollect those times that taught
Self- discipline behavior.
Yet if I lived it all again
I would be one of those children.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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From the Chinese perhaps

This winter day
the wind is making ripples
even between the stones at the water's edge
and the mist almost hides the tops
of the mountains

only I am listening to the heron's cry

I brought my brush and pen and paper and ink block
but there is no poem here;
Nature is hiding her secrets today
like a silent woman in her winter coat.

I could write how last summer
we stood here laughing together
at the reflection of the moon
trembling in our bowls of rice wine
while the candles drifted down the river
in their paper boats

like this memory

but I shall walk back now
through the winter woods
where the thin trees
are secretly, secretly
preparing for Spring.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Paper Rain

From miles above
poured the paper rain

Flooding the streets
whiteing out the clear September day
peoples thoughts floated from the hell fire
like paper rain

First like a mist
then like a monsoon
the paper rain spread across the city
engulfing the running masses below
in a hurricane of paper rain

When the storm stopped
and the clouds of fire ceased
millons of unread words litter the streets
like a sea
of paper rain

Swept into the gutters
went the thoughts of the dead
the paper rain gone

Until the next unpredicted storm arises
and the heavens pour down peoples sorrows

ON PAPER RAIN

GOD BLESS ALL THE VICTIMS AND THERE FAMILYS
OF THE SEPTEMBER 11 TRAGEDY

poem by Vincent Armone
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Through The Fire...

Ever thought of a sentence
that you immediately just shot directly at the book

The pen is the sword
Piercing the paper
Through the fire

Against the human soul
Digging deep and penetrating
Your soul
My soul

Circulating words
taking over the position
of my hot blood

As the pen keeps writing
It is an Addiction

When you stick, stab, and pierce the body
at each stroke

The human addiction of writing
The souls..
Feelings and Inner thoughts

Thoughts that can kill the human flesh
through the flames of fire

Would you decide to get through the fire or continue my story?

poem by Sophanie Occean
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In A Spin

My inspiration has thrown me in a spin
instead of writing one poem a day
I have now been writing six or seven.
After a few weeks of that
you could say I need a break
or at least cut down a bit.
Of course that is easier said than done,
the poems still come tumbling out,
so out comes the pen, and paper
and I start writing again
always asking will it ever end.
Maybe one day the river will run dry
and I’ll suddenly have a drought.

30 January 2008

poem by David Harris
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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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The first writing I did was short short stories for a newspaper syndicate for which I was paid five dollars a piece on publication.

quote by Theodore Sturgeon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Publishing your work is important. Even if you are giving a piece to some smaller publication for free, you will learn something about your writing. The editor will say something, friends will mention it. You will learn.

quote by Tim Cahill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vellum

I write my name down on paper
paper that has a unrealistic desire
to be vellum

I read what I have written
for a sense of authenticity
more authentic than my image
reflected in a mirror stained with mildew
and toothpaste

The words on this paper
anyone can read
bums, whores, addicts,
homosexuals
intellectuals
and the broken old men
whose hope died
in the past

I write
but I don't speak
what I write
details what I see

The things I see
O, the things I see
could invoke suicidal tendencies
in a child who still believes
in Christmas carols
and hunting Moby Dick
whom rules the seas

How tragic it is
to let fleeting imagination
slowly die among the magic spelling
of the words we once spoke
on Christmas Eve

And now I sit
with the adulterated gift
of alcohol
and nicotine
writing down words on paper
whom wish to be vellum
but realistically
could never be

poem by Justin Tallman Gonzalez
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Writing (ii)

They look bright
As light falls upon them
They seem statesmen too
As they talk incessant
Let them use pen and paper
They will uncover their
Cleverness of hiding power

Writing is a fight between
The Powers of dark and light
The Difference between an elephant
And an ant.

Writing is the impressive enormity
Among the works of tiny trivialities

Writing is a question asked to realise
The blunt indifference

Writing is like putting the sun
At the centre of life.

poem by Abdul Wahab
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