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The story I am writing exists, written in absolutely perfect fashion, some place, in the air. All I must do is find it, and copy it.

quote by Jules Renard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The perfect detective story cannot be written. The type of mind which can evolve the perfect problem is not the type of mind that can produce the artistic job of writing.

quote by Raymond Chandler
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Colored Masks

You the people with million character and face

Absolutely in every story you find for yourself a place

Your colored characters even the best actors may find it hard to play

You're the best one in every situation and place

Your selfishness kept your soul slave

To win the glory of being the most appreciative you can make any mistake

The world is suffering but there absolutely you can't find for yourself a place

Only the world's bright side and its shining colors attracts your imagination for whom is your hard race

Hard to control your ego to convice you that all the people at this world are and deserve the same

But your selfishness has made you the hero for your cheep rat race

And every while you put on a different mask to play your new piece

And at every new script you choose a new role and face

But everywhere and always you take the best characters and place

poem by Sossi Khachadourian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beware Words Written

words celebrating what is written
beware allure of beauty in words written
seek instead words thoughts not written
words not written thoughts not written

themes not written which need to be written

the importance of the unwritten demands writing
important world needs consciousness needs writing
urgent global necessity issues demands needs writing
actions resolutions policy change harmony restoration needs writing

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Those Who Can See The Finish Line

I'm not the most educated poet.
But I can still read and write.
Doing the math when the images are put in black and white.
It is not to hard to see the light.
You are writing of both calm and stormy seas.
You can tell me the details of when and where lightning strikes exactly.
A moment of a matter fact.
Absolute clarity.
Now that the charity has ceased.
And I know what you want from me.
But I don't know if I can.
The perfect love story.
The perfect tragedy.
The perfect crime committed.
The absolutely unforgettable.
Oh they say it was so memorable.
But of this a story I just don't know.
I'm a captain on this ship crossing the way ward ocean.
It is so galactic and full of so much love and devotion.
But I'm choking on the salt.
I thought I could drink this water.
My misunderstanding is my own fault.
But this doesn't mean I will stop.
Not for pride do I hide among the bottom feeders.
Just looking for their moment.
One minute of fame.
A wish for somebody to remember their name.
It's not about that.
A message needs to be delivered.
And I'm the artist given the paints.
And with these colors I will do my best.
A acceptance of failures.
A question of what did I do wrong.
A moment of loneliness.
But that is now all over.
A hand has reached upon my shoulder.
A ghostly image looking back on me only makes me colder.
I must ignite this fire tonight.
For I will be leading others out of the darkness.
They will come and go and this I do know.
But it is my place.
For me to be surpassed does not matter.
For this is not my race.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cant Find The Town

Written by: james henman
I smoke cigarettes all the morning thru
Im writing this letter just for you
To ease my mind
Theres really no cause for my morning sun
To request
Your name its all the place
But I cant find the town
You cried on your pillow the other night
Over me
Im nothing to shed any tears about
No not me
Ive loved you before in so many towns
Many times
Your name its all over the place
But I cant find the town
Youre writing me back now that time has come
Theres someone else that youre looking for
Its not me
Youve loved me before in so many towns
Many times
My name its all over the place
But you cant find the town

song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Had I Written Less

HAD I WRITTEN LESS

Had I written less
And had it been more perfect-
Had there been four or five poems
Worth remembering-
Even two-
Even one.-
Had I written less
Would I have known
The meaning and joy
A long life of writing has given?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening.

quote by Coco Chanel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perfection

Your cold and poor-spirited love
Was like running water upon my hands...
I did for your love, all that I could....
As an imperfect man that I am...
I offered you just possible things...
Warmth when you were cold,
And consolation when you felt hopeless...
You search for perfection
Which you will never find...
Perfect is the rain that falls
In the spring time...
Perfect are the flowers that grow
in a real garden of love....
Perfect is the smile in a child
Who plays with toys...
Perfection is a man
Who had it all
And now is getting tired and old...
Perfection are the memories
In your heart and mind...
Perfection is something
You shall never find
On me or any other man
Since perfection is just
In your dreams and imagination...
Now perfection becomes
Just like a story untold....
How sad it is
That my love you can no longer have
Neither my hands again hold...
o! Woman, wish you good luck
In your new try...

COPY WRITE©2009

poem by Romeo Della Valle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A love poem to a poem

for there’s what you planned to write about,
and what you find yourself
writing about; perhaps
find yourself, while writing about..

and there’s the poem itself; did you
consult it about what
its plans were? and when
it’s got itself written,
gone where it wanted to,
said what it wanted to say,
become what it wanted to become,
do you really know
what it’s finally and really about?

is it telling you more about
you than you knew yourself?
is the poem writing you?

did we, as with the unicorn,
feel the unspoken need for it,
and it became?

in some other world,
did two grains of dust change places?
did a new sort of light
shine on a new sort of place
in some new sort of time?

poems are like cats:
we think we own them;
they allow us certain rights,
but they own us.

this is a love poem
to a poem

poem by Michael Shepherd
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There Is A Story

There is a story
Of which only a heart could tell
A story of love and beauty
Of wanting and regret
A tale of such romance
Where a tragedy unfolds
The hero or heroine emerges
To save another’s life
To rescue from such loss
The heart of their affection
A story told and known
A story so alike many others
But with a soul of its own
It plays at the strings
A melody of quiet beauty
From the darkest tears
To the brightest smile
There exists uncompleted
A life being written
In a story
Only a heart could know

poem by Matthew Holloway
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A book called life

You find a book. a book unopened for some time. binding worn, title aged and not legible. you open it to find it dusty and blank. it has sat untouched for a quite a while. this book is the story of you. a story not yet written, but exciting non the less. a story to be one of epic, and legend. a story to be passed down for generations. that will be stamped into the pages of history and inspire forever. we all have a story, we simply need to write it.

poem by Nick Feiner
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Turbulence

The land of the rising sun!
It is written as a story,
But with turbulence! !
For, we all saw what occurred in Japan.

Born in Babylon and now coming out of the cold! !
Why do you record down the message of my phone calls?
For, the muse of this land is now written as a story;
But, with snow on winter's day to cover up the old fashion.

Take a train and come to me,
Take a flight and reach out to me,
Walk the mileage and you will surely meet my home along the path;
For, i have promised you my love! !
But, there will be turbulence tomorrow on your way.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Accustomed To Her Face

Out of the dark I see a face
one of beautiful and sincere complex
I wish I knew when that face would come
and guide me to a better place.
This face, I seem to know from somewhere
It still exists, not only as a figment of my imagination,
but rather, one in a desperate situation for me.
That face whose is it? but someone's
Those eyes, what do they see? but a story
Her mouth and lips, what could they do?
but speak and smile to me.
That expression, whose is it? but mine to see;
I try and understand the message conveyed.
Has it ever occurred to anyone that it might be the one for me?
In a world of fantasy I deem she's mine,
but who else could she belong to?
I find it hard to realise the position
of what I have witnessed has put me in.
Who would possibly keep her away from me?
but someone like myself, I'm sure she knows.
It is the only answer I can offer.
Then I may have a twin in the world;
perhaps my one and only adversary
in my love dream yet to come true.
The face has gone back into the gloom
Her face has gone...............................

Why did she appear as if with news?
Back into the past I think for clues....
Not just to haunt or torment me it seems
but to remind me that she exists in reality.
Not only just as someone out of my dreams
making the hope of finding her an actuality.
---------------
Note: A very early poem written over 35 years ago

poem by George Krokos
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There are some books that refuse to be written. They stand their ground year after year and will not be persuaded. It isn't because the book is not there and worth being written -- it is only because the right form of the story does not present itself. There is only one right form for a story and if you fail to find that form the story will not tell itself.

quote by Mark Twain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Goona Copy

I’m surely gonna copy,
Be it poem, DVD or floppy,
And win Nobel Prize and trophy.

I will copy poets all
Whether they are big or small
Ya! No one can make me stop
Till I scale a fame’s highest top.

At the beginning of age
When God made men in his own image
He started this “Plagiarist” trend
Which I am not gonna end.

And what is creativity?
If not an ability to hide
a source of theft
with impunity.

When there is nothing
original under the sun,
Why should I copy not
and deprive myself of fun.

So I’ll copy them word by word
be they Pablo, Shakespeare or Wordsworth.
I’ll copy them from morn to evening
And would excel HITESH and Kipling.
Can you prove, they were not plagiarist,
And had not copy from some poet’s list.

You can inform FBI, KGB or CIA,
But I won’t stop my wanton ways.
And I will copy without shame,
Till I earn big name and fame.

I will copy till people start copying me,
And then and then only I will
give up this vice with glee.: -)

(This poem is a sequel to poem, “hay all you people that like to copy” written by Melissa Schreuder)

Dr Hitesh C Sheth
19/05/2009

poem by Hitesh Sheth
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I have written 20 books, and each one is like having a baby. Writing is not easy; some people want to write books but just can't put a story together. I can put together a story that interests both me and my readers.

quote by Jackie Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Soul For The World

Like Any Poet I'm Writing Thoughts Out. Trying To Perfect My Emotions. Trying To Perfect Every Action. Trying To Perfect My Devotion. Just Feeling It Out. Another Climatic Embrace. Another Race All The Way To Top. Its One Of Those Lets See What Got. Well Its Not A Lot. But Its Me, And The Way I Want It To Be. Its Not Another Destiny. Open You Eyes And See Me For Me. Everything I Put Down Is A Reminder Of Where I Came From, What I Went Through. And Its Something I Must Hold On To. I Can Almost Smell And Taste All Of It. Its Not Another Over Active Imagination. It A Realty That's Still My Destination. There's No Cause For Celebration. Just Meditate, So You Don't Hesitate When The Time Comes. Practice Makes Perfect. Another Portrait Portrayed In Such A Way. Its Just Amazing. At A Constant Awe. So I Thank God For Every Breath I Take. A Precious Life, In A Little Place I Call Earth. Every Time I Fall Down I Have To Have Something To Pick Me Back Up. And This Is My Moment Written In Stone. I Will Never Be Alone. Memories Can't Be Forgotten. Even If They Become Stale And Start Rotting. I Was Made For A Purpose And Finding It Is My Answer. All In Or Fold. Got To Stay In Control. For Its My Soul. And I Won't Give It Up Even For The Whole World.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wrong Answers May Not Be The Same!

The right answers are the same,
For the same questions asked,
Whether they write on their own or copy,
Teachers won't have doubts, but feel happy,
For their students are smart.
When the wrong answers are written,
Not by only one, but by many in the class,
Teachers know that the students resort to copy,
When the same wrong concept is written,
Many times in many places without knowing,
That the concept is wrong and need to be corrected,
The same wrong answer may not be written by many,
But by the one who does not know that it is wrong.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Dreams

Sweet dreams are made of many things
The different thoughts that we constantly think
The very things that that lie in our fantasies
And create a thought that's tenaciously sweet
That we savor so much while soundly asleep
Things that can only happen in dreams

My sweet dreams are made of you
The perfect moments and the perfect gloom
The perfect place and the perfect dream
But whatever could be more perfect than you?
Is only what I can conjure in my sleep

Life is a reality and dreams are the opposite
It's the time we find peace from every worry
It's a place where every story has a happy ending
It's a place where every person has a chance to be happy
It's a place where you and I have a happy ending

A cradle song before we sleep
And escape the grimes of reality
And the things that keep you away from me
Life is a reality and dreams are the opposite
Dreams are the sweetest and life is life
In my dreams you and I are happy
But in reality... life is life.
Sweet dreams are made of many things
And mine are made of you

poem by Hafeni Nghidinua
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