When someone writes to tell me something I've written made them laugh or cry, I've done my job and done it well. The rest is all semantics.
Related quotes
Written in Black Ink
Upon
The tear-stained
Paper
She writes
Writes,
Her story
Her experiences
Her life
Written in
Black ink
Upon
The tear-stained
Paper
She writes
Writes,
Her sorrows
People she lost
People who are gone
Written in
Black ink
She writes for
Days and
Days
Until
At last
Her masterpiece
Is finished
Her eyes Begin to
Close and
Oblivion Takes hold
And when she
Awakens
Her story will be written
Written in black ink
poem by Autumn Winds
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All our work, our whole life is a matter of semantics, because words are the tools with which we work, the material out of which laws are made, out of which the Constitution was written. Everything depends on our understanding of them.
quote by Felix Frankfurter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
There Was Nothing Left To Write
THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT TO WRITE
There was nothing left to write
Everything had already been written
And was being written over again and again
By thousands elsewhere-
There was nothing left to write
And nothing new to say -
And no need for anything he had to give-
It was over for him as a writer
Whether he accepted it or not-
No one would ever need or want anything he could do again-
And so when he despite all this still wrote
It seemed to many simply pathetic-
The obsessive reflex of an already lost soul-
Who wrote and wrote and wrote
Who writes and writes and writes
Who cannot stop
However senseless all he does, is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Must
She writes as if there’s not much time.
She writes to pain, to happiness,
She writes to every remote detailed thought.
She writes to the departed,
to the extant,
to poverty,
to wealth.
She writes to mourn, and grief.
She writes to the wind, the rain,
forest, the desert, and mountains.
She writes to her pouring tears,
to her grateful moments,
She writes because really what she has is time.
She has no little ones to feed, or bathe,
nor a husband to make happy. To write is
to escape- to her. Time is not a problem, time
is just a killing system, she needs to kill in many words.
She writes as if there’s not much time.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If we're for one another, we're feminists. The rest is semantics.
quote by Betty Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I put the storyboard down and came back to it like two weeks later and saw that I had written 'Butt-Head' next to the picture, and it kind of made me laugh and I thought, Well, might as well go for every laugh you can get.
quote by Mike Judge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Meditation Infused Medium Minds
written faith
hooked in words
rapidly writes
write your poems
straight out,
line by line,
no themes,
no plans,
complete as written
written words
written souls
infused medium minds
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Laugh Clown Laugh
Laugh Clown laugh,
that's what they want me to do.
I guess I'm doing something right
because this Clown made you laugh too.
Laugh Clown laugh,
make everyone laugh real hard.
Besides, Who would it hurt?
Will anyone notice
how it has scarred?
Laugh Clown laugh,
but only for a while,
at least until you see
that the humor is in your denial.
poem by Cecelia Warner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Reflections 101
he writes not because
he wants to be read and
be understood
got him wrong really
he writes because he likes
to live
life writes upon himself
and so he writes upon life too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ballad Of ‘Memo’ Roy
For JoAnn
Who in conversation inspired this little ditty.
This is the Ballad of ‘Memo’ Roy
the fastest memos in the world.
Roy writes a memo every minute
just to remind himself what to do.
He even writes one to tell himself
he must visit the loo.
It all started many years ago
when the doctor told Roy
he was suffering from
short-term memory loss.
Now he writes memos
to remind himself to write a memo
for everything he must do.
He writes one late at night
to remind him
to get up in the morning
and one in the morning
to remind him to go to bed at night.
It is estimated he writes
quite a few hundred memos everyday.
His house is filed with little bits
of yellow paper stuck up here and there.
He couldn’t watch TV
even if he wanted to.
There are s many memos on it
you can’t see the screen.
One day his pen ran out
and no memos he could write.
He couldn’t even write a memo
to remind himself to buy a pen.
Then he found a pencil
and shouted that will do.
Now he is able to write memos to himself
to tell himself what to do.
As far as I know,
he hasn’t written a memo
to remind himself to sharpen
the pencil once and a while.
28 February 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Lost Kiss
I put by the half-written poem,
While the pen, idly trailed in my hand,
Writes on--, 'Had I words to complete it,
Who'd read it, or who'd understand?'
But the little bare feet on the stairway,
And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall,
And the eerie-low lisp on the silence,
Cry up to me over it all.
So I gather it up-- where was broken
The tear-faded thread of my theme,
Telling how, as one night I sat writing,
A fairy broke in on my dream,
A little inquisitive fairy--
My own little girl, with the gold
Of the sun in her hair, and the dewy
Blue eyes of the fairies of old.
'Twas the dear little girl that I scolded--
'For was it a moment like this,'
I said, 'when she knew I was busy,
To come romping in for a kiss--?
Come rowdying up from her mother,
And clamoring there at my knee
For 'One 'ittle kiss for my dolly,
And one 'ittle uzzer for me!'
God pity, the heart that repelled her,
And the cold hand that turned her away,
And take, from the lips that denied her,
This answerless prayer of to-day!
Take Lord, from my mem'ry forever
That pitiful sob of despair,
And the patter and trip of the little bare feet,
And the one piercing cry on the stair!
I put by the half-written poem,
While the pen, idly trailed in my hand
Writes on--, 'Had I words to complete it
Who'd read it, or who'd understand?'
But the little bare feet on the stairway,
And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall,
And the eerie-low lisp on the silence,
Cry up to me over it all.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Book Of Suleika - The Loving One Again
WRITES he in Neski,
Faithfully speaks he;
Writes he in Tali,
Joy to give, seeks he:
Writes he in either,
Good!--for he loves!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Emphatically Expressed
A writer doesn't write to attract readers.
Maybe gossip columnists do.
To sell images and ruin a few.
But a writer who is true,
Writes because that is what writers do.
I wrote years before anything I wrote was read.
It wasn't to impress.
Those issues express about me,
Have long been put to rest in my head.
If something I write is read...
I hope a connection is made from what I've said.
Some also make claims they too like to write.
And I say to myself,
'Liking and loving are different appetites.'
No one who 'is' a writer takes it 'light'.
And those who feel this way...
May stay up night after night,
After many a sleepless night.
And it isn't for fame or money.
Trust me on that.
And I thank God what I do isn't done for the glory.
That's another story.
However,
When my contributions do become discovered...
It will be 'seen' there is some depthness meant.
Something within me that seems never to be solved.
Something with content I can not just dissolve.
And there is nothing to glorify,
When someone who writes for nourishment...
To feed others,
Do not think themselves to eat or drink.
Not when a thought comes to possess their minds,
With a desire to be completed.
Coming with a sensation one should heed.
And most of the time this is the writer's deed.
Whether the one who 'writes' gets a wink of sleep,
Or blinks.
And no matter if what is written is accepted,
Or thought to be rejected and stinks!
This kind of discipline...
Does not seek to reach for that attention!
Unless,
Money becomes mentioned.
And only then,
Of course...
What I have just emphatically expressed,
You have my permission to ignore.
Since my intention will take upon another direction,
To excite my need to explore...
With a more deepened Introspection.
I do write.
But biting into a good meal,
Intrigues!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The person who offends writes as if it was written on sand, and the person who is offended reads it as if it were written on marble.
Alias Poem
Many selves with personalities I do have
I have different alias for you to understand.
Christina Sunrise writes about planet Earth
Suzae Chevalier writes about life since birth.
Sue Chevalier writes of characters on Krendoll land
Suzae is the visual artist, performing artist
paints and uses oral presentations to understand.
Now don't forget Puppit Lady for Razel has a voice
Melodie also who speaks with 'Freedom of Choice.'
So visit www.suzae.com right now
where you will see all of them make a home
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 9,2012
www.suzae.com www.suechevalier.com
www.christinasunrise.com www.puppitlady.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Laugh-making
under the shadow
on the green sunny meadow
by the rounded mossy stone
both ate ripe watermelon
he made her laugh
her bubbling laughter
made him love her
then they made love
under the blanket
he makes her laugh
she loves his manner
to make her laugh...
The golden gate
to love, my love,
is maybe...laughter
Make me laugh...
poem by ONElia AVElar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Semantics, or the study of meaning, remained undeveloped, while phonetics made rapid progress and even came to occupy the central place in the scientific study of language.
quote by Roman Jakobson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
For Karin Anderson
Karin is what I call
the metaphor queen
she writes her poems with them
and it makes them gleam.
In every style, she writes
the rhythm is just precise
and the beauty in her words
always shines bright
from this Australian rose.
I don’t know what style
you might call this poem
only that it was written with care
in a way of thanks
to another poet whom I call a friend
for her works that I enjoy.
8 October 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
People And Pet Poems
People and Pet poems I do write,
in the day or the night.
Rhyming here and rhyming there,
about people and pets
that I valued and value so dear.
Some people were just passing by,
some people made me mad, laugh, and cry.
I also write phunny poems now,
To make people laugh, laugh out loud.
So buy my collection of poems from me,
I will through an autograph for free.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 23,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Laugh
Love laughed at you and made you blue
Now heres what you should do
Well laugh, though your heart is breaking in two
Yeah laugh, dont let them know he hurt you
Well laugh and pretend true love will come again
Yeah laugh, laugh and laugh
Laugh, though the one you love is really gone
Yeah laugh, even though youll be alone
Yeah laugh and pretend true love will come again
Yeah laugh, laugh and laugh
Well let me hear you laugh now
Though its hard, so hard for you to do
Laugh with me, cos you see
Ive been there too
Well laugh and pretend true love will come again
Yeah laugh and believe its not the end
Yeah laugh like a clown
Dont let your heart break down
Yeah laugh, laugh and laugh
Love laughed, its true
But look at you
Now youre laughing too
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!