A scholar is like a book written in a dead language. It is not every one that can read in it.
quote by William Hazlitt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I read a book
I read a book
Not to enhance my looks
I read a book
Maybe to avoid being a crook
I read a book
Not just to learn how to cook
I read a book
To ascertain how to defend my rights
Not just to acquire knowledge
Reading a book I pledge,
Is one of the roads to the light
I read a book
To understand how a kings territory
Is defended with pieces such as the rook
I read a book
So there will be no questions asked
When I count correctly what you took
I read a book
So that I play not ignorant
Now on life I’ve a different outlook
I read a book
So if I come up with all the right answers
I will know for sure it is not merely a fluke
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Why Dont You Read The Book
Dont talk to the pilot
When hes flyin
Dont smile at the soldier
Hes on parade
Dont come creeping round, youll
Catch me cryin
No more talkin bout it
Its all been said
You drawn such a fine line baby
Learnin all the rules
Why dont ya read between them sometimes
You wont look such a fool
Why dont you read the book, why dont you read the book
Why dont you read the book, why dont you read the book
Why show all your aces
To the gambler
If he calls your hand
Youre gonna lose
Dont trust first impressions
Of a stranger
Private informations
Just tellin tales
* you draw such a fine line baby
Learnin all the rules
Why dont ya read between them sometimes
You wont look such a fool
** why dont you read the book, why dont you read the book
Why dont you read the book, why dont you read the book
Repeat *
Repeat **
(written and arranged by nazareth)
Copyright 1983 fool circle limited
All rights reserved.
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Read A Book
Und wenn ich einen Wunsch frei htte
Ich wnschte wrden wir verstehen
Alle Schatten hinter uns lassen
nur weies Licht vor uns zu sehen
No hate, no fight hearts killing
I wish no trouble anymore
There's nothing more to tell about
There's nothing left to be decided
Just read a book
So, read a book about love (reaching love)
Read a book, read a book about love
Und wenn du einen Wunsch frei httest
Ich wnschte, wrdest du verstehen
Nur weies Licht vor uns zu sehen
And if we just should be together
oh, we could feel so warm an tight
All we need is only two of us
to show the world that we've decided to
read a book
to read a book about love (reaching love) ...
Take a look about yesterday
I guess you know
that you're here to stay
Read a book, ...
Read a book, read a book about love (rep many times)
Read a book, ... (rep till fade)
song performed by by Falco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Did You Understand It?
You've written something with several typographical errors.
And I question the correctness of your language usage.
Plus it had been written in mixed tenses.
I read it more than once.
And after the third reading it finally dawned on me,
You may have done this intentionally.
'Did you understand it?
What it was I tried to do? '
I'm not sure.
'How would you critique it? '
I don't know if I can.
'And you read it three times? '
At least.
'Why should I bother to correct it?
If 'you' read something I wrote...
THREE times?
And you have never expressed any interest before?
In anything I've ever done?
Why should I correct it?
This is the first time you and I have communicated,
In years.
Who knew...
All it took was a few errors,
To get you to give me what I have been wanting.
Here...
Read this! '
Your first and third lines rhyme.
But the rest of it...
Well,
I think this is a bunch of garbage.
'Thank you.
And all this time,
You had me believing...
You didn't care.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lost In A Book
SHHH!
don't bother me
I'm lost in a book
mixed up with
the complicated plots
and outrageous characters
when i'm lost in a book
I don't have to think
about my life
I'll get stuck in
a fantasy world
and never
have to come back
home again
one book
after another
I read, read, read
different places
different people
a new world
I start fresh
each time
I open up a new book
when i'm lost in a book
I am safe
no one can hurt me
I'm happy
when I'm lost
in a book
poem by Annie Janine
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Book Of Life
Is my name written there on those pages bright and fair
Is my name written in the book of life
If you want to be up there then down here you must prepare
And your name must be in the book of life
Get down on your knees and pray you from sin must turn away
Or your name won't be in the book of life
If you'll turn to Jesus now at his feet just humbly bow
Then your name will be in the book of life
Don't you know that Christ was sent that from sin you could repent
So your name could be in the book of life
You will have a great surprise if you fell to recognize
That your name must be in the book of life
Get down on your knees and pray you from sin must turn away
Or your name won't be in the book of life
Don't delay and don't forget that from sin you could repent
Then your name will be in the book of life
Is my name written in the book of life
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eminent Scholar
Creaking crushed me when I spoke,
A civil chain chased my law of beliefs.
The eminence of a scholar spoke one day,
This denouement from a man was outspoken.
Daily, we are in the book of his writing,
This academic has authority of life;
His debut worked on my time as a day
That warned as a fitness, as a legality.
He is a daydreamer, a worker of books
And life, that worked one day like a book
Hazy and obscure, like one of the laziest
Volumes, yet the eminence of a scholar
Is accused when we begin, when we say.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Writings to read stand
Poems are written to read or sing
Plays are written to read or act.
Anything written to read leaves
The readers free with their imagination.
07.11.2007.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Words Which Hold Me Captive
Told Nici I had finished the first book, with starry eyes
she brought the second volume also, I have almost
finished the third one too, she said, and I could not
withstand the charm of this series written for teens,
beautifully sculpted to keep readers on tenterhooks
as hero and heroine were driven apart
Unwillingly at first, trying to withstand its spell, I began
to read, was sucked deep into the story world, every-
thing disappeared and I read until the second book
came to a discordant end, threatening tragedy, I would
have to read the third book also, no stopping this lovely
sheath of dreams from carrying my spirit away
No realism can penetrate or dispel the beautiful illusion
or destroy the magic words which hold me captive -
and I am such a willing victim…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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The great scholar forgets about fame, the average scholar works for it, and the unworthy scholar steals it.
Poetry cannot be translated; and, therefore, it is the poets that preserve the languages; for we would not be at the trouble to learn a language if we could have all that is written in it just as well in a translation. But as the beauties of poetry cannot be preserved in any language except that in which it was originally written, we learn the language.
quote by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mystery Remains story poem
By my lanthorn dimly burning.
I have trouble in discerning
the faint words scrawled upon the page
By the hand of a long dead sage.
What I study is forbidden
a secret I must keep hidden.
I dare not study it by day
and that is why I hide away.
In the dark hours of the night.
I study by a lanthorns light.
Lest the priesthood should suspect.
For they would kill me to protect
from what they see as wizardry
although it’s only chemistry.
The shaveling priests of Mother Church
have full authority to search.
As and when and where they choose
.a power open to abuse
And they abuse it readily
in their search for men like me.
Men who defy authority,
pursue their studies secretly.
The church pretends to safeguard souls
but aims to keep in place controls.
Which keep the people ignorant
so that they will accept the cant.
The falsehoods and hypocrisy
of the priests more easily.
The common man must never know.
Because the church will have it so.
That education is the key
to knowledge which will set them free.
From religious domination.
To me a foul abomination.
The Holy Book from which they preach
written in a language will do not teach
To any but the favoured few
Who think the same way that they do.
Which will maintain the Status Quo
beneath the piety they show.
I am convinced that in due course
The population will enforce
the will of the majority
And strip them of authority.
Award all men the liberty
to study what they want to openly.
I know too well if I am caught
my labours will have been for naught
Though I must study secretly
I hide my records carefully.
Perhaps one day someone will find
the writings which I leave behind.
I was betrayed so I must die
but I will die with head held high.
Accused of practising magic
they’ll burn me as a heretic.
The papers I hid secretly
lie waiting for discovery.
By some scholar of a future time
When learning is not seen as crime.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.
I found this manuscript by chance
and thought it worth a second glance.
My hobby is church history.
I can’t resist a mystery.
Although the parchment was fragile
and written in an archaic style.
Some parts of it I could translate
sufficient to appreciate..
This document deserved to be
translated more efficiently.
By someone who could understand
old manuscripts written by hand.
So I enlisted expert aid.
A scholar of the highest grade
from Oxford university
to solve the mystery for me.
It caught the scholar’s interest
and easily passed every test.
To prove it was no forgery.
Which was of little help to me.
Although the scholar could translate
there was no way that he could state.
The dead authors identity
which must remain a mystery.
A fact which disappointed me.
Alhough I gladly paid his fee.
I would much rather that I knew
who we could ascribe it to.
I must accept we’ll never know
who wrote these word so long ago.
Because he failed to sign his name.
He is denied his well earned fame.
His careful notes on alchemy
though hidden from his enemy.
Have formed the basis of research
which can’t be repressed by the church.
As it was in the distant past
before the people over cast
the dead hand of the Holy See
and achieved their liberty
15/04/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
15/04/2009
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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If I Were A Poem
If I were a poem
And you were a book
Would you ever read me
Could you take a look
Would you be my rhythm
While I would be a rhyme
Would you even know me
By feeling inside my mind.
And if I were a poem
And you were a book
Would you understand me
With the feelings I have shook
Would you be my reader
With words I have spoke
Then I would believe her
With feelings I have wrote.
If I were a Poet
And you were an Author
Would you ever know it
That I too was a scholar
Would you be my leaf
If I were the tree
Would you feel a need
Could you feel a belief.
If I had the power
And you were the seed
I would be a flower
And you would be like me.
But I am just a pen
And you are my thoughts
You are my poems
And I am what I sought.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Heil Heissscheisser!
I'd flicked through 'The Naked and the Dead'
But hadn't ever read it.
I saw a Mailer under ROMANCE
That I couldn't credit.
I rely on serendipity
To find a book to read.
I picked it up and had a flick...
...the big post-winter bee pee need.
'The Castle in the Forest'
Is what the book is named:
About the origins of Adolf.
'Read me, ' it proclaimed.
Little Adi Shitler
Is what his brother called him,
For his habit with his poo.
Little Adi Scheisser
Is another name would do.
When he'd reached up to his heights
His brother just couldn't be nicer.
He upgraded Adi's moniker
And heiled his Fuhrer 'Heissscheisser! '
poem by Douglas Scotney
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As it is Written
As it is Written
As we look back in our past and wondering why are things not happening like we planned.
Only if we would read what is said in it, than we would totally understand.
I was hurting and I was wondering, if any one heard me as I cried,
As the book says that He will never leave our side.
There are so many times that the frustrations go through our mind.
This is when we need to remember as it is said, 'This is the time to be kind.'
When we have Satan trying to talk to us in our head,
We need to tell him as you said, 'Go dropp dead Fred.'
Even though that was a joke, but as it is written with His love I will never go broke.
Because his Love is the greatest treasure of then all.
By Frank Pulver Aug 24,2012
poem by Frank Pulver
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It's written in here/Ovdje pise
It's written in here all that hurts
it's written in here all that laughs
it's written in here all that wants
it's written in here all that waits
it's written in here in every tear
it's written in here read beneath
or do not read at all
it's written in here butterflies in heart
it's written in here all dresses torn
it's written in here twilight and dawn
it's written in here clocks in the soul
it's written in here in every tear
it's written in here read beneath
or do not read at all
ovdje piše sve što boli
ovdje piše sve što se smije
ovdje piše sve što hoće
ovdje piše sve što čeka
ovdje piše u svakoj suzi
ovdje piše čitaj ispod
ili ne ćitaj uopšte
ovdje piše leptiri u srcu
ovdje piše rašivene halje
ovdje piše zore i sutoni
ovdje piše satovi u duši
ovdje piše u svakoj suzi
ovdje piše čitaj ispod
ili ne čitaj uopšte
2009.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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I thought, well I can do that. I couldn't be bothered writing a book review, because I'd have to read the book, I haven't got time to read a whole book for a fifty dollar write-up.
quote by Eddie Campbell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rat Reading
Rat's are
My home
Reading for book's
At night time...!
Each book's
On the book stand
Rat reading
Not very well....! ?
Rat simply
Read some of
Pages only;
Book's are broken
Rat read mean's
Rat bite's
Book's are crying
I am also...
Rat reading
O...sorry
Rat bite's...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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To Silence A Loquacious Woman
he is right
give her a book
so she may read
and be silent
for a while.
the problem is
she asks for another
book again
and to irritate you
using her wisdom
for revenge
she leaves the kitchen
and the marital bedroom
and read the book
somewhere in
a beach resort
sunbathing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Romanian Language
Sweet, melodious there’s no other
like my language in this world,
From the lips of my grandmother,
every word is shining pearled.
It is born straight from the Light,
Sunrise over the Black Sea,
To hear it is a delight,
Oh, how great is my love for thee!
My Romanian language, a treasure
Safely kept inside my soul,
Then released with grace and leisure,
Golden words that made me whole.
You can hear it in the leaves,
when you walk with Eminescu,
In the secret of the breeze,
Trying lovely to impress you.
It is there in melodies,
In the waves of the Danube
In Enescu’s rhapsodies
I can hear it, so can you.
It is there in poetry,
Written in book after book,
Our language molded me,
Blaga, Goga, and Cosbuc.
If you carefully listen,
If you have the time and patience,
I am sure you too can hear it,
At “The Table of Silence”
At “The Endless Column”
With Brancusi dreaming along
Our language so solemn
Like an old, enchanted gong.
In the mountains and the valleys,
In the rivers in the springs,
In the meadows and green alleys,
Unseen angels, touching strings.
Is the language of the songs,
Shepherds playing the whistle for their sheep,
Is that sound where love belongs,
Mama's singing you to sleep.
poem by Marius Alexandru
Submitted by anonym
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