If you take a book of a thousand pages on the Second World War, in which 50 million people died, the concentration camps occupy two pages and the gas chambers ten or 15 lines, and that's what one calls a detail.
quote by Jean-Marie Le Pen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When you write a two thousand page history of the Second World War, the deportations and the concentration camps will take up five pages, and the gas chambers perhaps 20 lines.
quote by Jean-Marie Le Pen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tracks, Trails, Lines and pages
Tracks in forests… of woodland creatures
Trails of shooting stars in summer skies
Tracks of rockets o’er bloody battlefields
Traces of wrinkles round wizened eyes
Lines of wisdom on wrinkled faces
Lines of ants upon the floor
Lines of prose on parchment pages
Lines of carts inside the stores
Pages of life, inside old diarys
Pages dog-eared to mark the places
Pages filled with tales sad and fiery
Pages filled with empty spaces
poem by David Whalen
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The Book, Trees and Leaves
The book
at the used book store
had a leaf pressed between its pages,
its veins showing;
pressed flat
and brown;
an unwilling bookmark-
the pages of the ages.
The tree
its mother,
died for those pages
her offspring
flattened out
upon mother's page breast
tiny lines and squiggles
between the veins;
no tree can read
no leaf can comprehend.
I take the leaf to give it a proper burial
in the compost heap
so that its remains
have a small chance
of one day
becoming part of a tree.
I lay its leafy body down
thinking;
'I think I shall never see
anything a lovely as a tree.'
In years
a bookmark it will make
upon my backyard landscape
marking Nature's Chapter entitled
'Ironies.'
.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Memory Place
Shelves tower over me; crowed with bound pages
of events, people, places, ideas.
Of memories.
Of captured feelings pressed like flowers between the pages;
for people to be inspired by someone else's words.
My eyes caress the titles printed on bright spines
as I run my fingers across
what holds the memories together.
I pick up a book, turning yellowed pages,
the scent of gentle time traveling to my nose.
I close my eyes and smile:
it brings back memories of my own,
but these pages are not for me.
I put back the soft bundle of pages
and continued to search in the Memory Place
until I find my own belonging among the words.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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What Is Written In Red
I am written in red,
I am sliding across the page of life.
I am racing across the lines of language.
I am red.
I write words,
I create lines and sentences,
I am kept in solitude
I am red.
I create paragraphs.
I create signatures.
I know what you're thinking before you speak,
I am red.
I cannot breath because I am enclosed in a capsule.
A capsule that covers the knowledge inside.
All I do is stare at pages,
All I know is pages,
I become apart of the pages,
And the pages become apart of me.
I become apart of english,
I become apart of words,
I am RED.
BY: Takisha Fields
poem by Kiesha fields
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Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
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Mr Paddy's Capers.
Just when she thought
She'd found a place alone
To read her book, Mr Paddy
poked his nose between
Her and the open book, so
That pages are blanked out
By his huge head. Mr Paddy
Go off and annoy another,
She said, but he stood there
Determined to be where he
Was, between her and the
Brown covered book, held
Out in her small hands. Oh
Mr Paddy I cannot see the
Pages. Please go off and run
In the garden or in the kitchen
And steal a bone, she said. But
He wouldn't leave her alone,
He pushed his head against her
Young girl body, his damp nose
Dampening her wrist and her
White dress with blue sash, and
Dribble from his lips was wetting
The pages. Mr Paddy please let
Me be, I'm trying to read can't
You see? Mr Paddy's brown eyes
Scanned the pages, nothing there
But scribbled lines upon white paper,
And still he stood wet mouthed with
Big brown eyes and his silly old caper.
poem by Terry Collett
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There is a difference between a book of two hundred pages from the very beginning, and a book of two hundred pages which is the result of an original eight hundred pages. The six hundred are there. Only you don't see them.
quote by Elie Wiesel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Destiny Life Leaf Pages
manuscripts we all life write
destiny life leaf pages
some leave empty pages white
others shimmer reflecting light
some smear pages with dirt
record chaos rip rub out hurt
how shall we fill manuscript pages...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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If you get a book which is 600 pages, you have to reduce it to a script of 100 pages. In two hours of film, you cannot possibly include all the characters.
quote by Dino De Laurentiis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Book Of My Life
Let me watch by the fire and remember my days
And it may be a trick of the firelight
But the flickering pages that trouble my sight
Is a book I'm afraid to write
It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life
And it's cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife
And it's all there to see as the section reveals
There's some sorrow in every life
If it reads like a puzzle, a wandering maze
Then I won't understand 'til the end of my days
I'm still forced to remember,
Remember the words of my life
There are promises broken and promises kept
Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept
There's a chapter of secrets, and words to confess
If I lose everything that I possess
There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die
There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
There's a chapter on fathers a chapter on sons
There are pages of conflicts that nobody won
And the battles you lost and your bitter defeat,
There's a page where we fail to meet
There are tales of good fortune that couldn't be planned
There's a chapter on god that I don't understand
There's a promise of Heaven and Hell but I'm damned if I see
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
Now the daylight's returning
And if one sentence is true
All these pages are burning
And all that's left is you
Though the pages are number
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Back To Nature....
sad to say
you have been looking on the pages of the book
away from the landscapes of the mountains
the calm unfolded soft linens of the sea
pages of days
the chapters of those seasons
a butterfly floating
is enough poem without so much use of words
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry
Don’t write me
Pages and pages
Of poetry…
Write a few lines
Of love to me…
And I’ll decipher
The poet in thee.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Study on the Desk
Desks of study are erected,
We turn over the pages,
Reading what the currency is,
Discussing the frequency of pain
And loving the light of the book.
Describe us when it stands,
The book stands when we understand
And these pages restrict our vision
When liking through the lenses
Of our glasses is also required.
We can distribute our wealth,
Bend the stupor in our glasses
When liquor has spoilt the taste,
But why do wealthy people
Find more wealth and more power?
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Lost Lines And The Lost Pages
THE LOST LINES AND THE LOST PAGES LEAVE NO TRACE
The lost lines and the lost pages leave no trace
There is no way to recovery
It is a one – way journey after all
Those who had hoped to live forever by recording all that they have ever done
Have been painfully surprised by the disappearance of the universe
That Asteroid that landed in the heart of all we are
Or perhaps that chain of violence in which our own Ugliness did us in
Or perhaps some other manufactured artificial virus
Or who knows what and why
There is simply too much future Time
Not to die at some point in it
The lost lines and lost pages are small and insignificant
We are in all we are also
Small and insignificant
Why God made us and what God really does
We will never truly understand
Small is all and we are smaller even than the smallest part of any thing
Nothing is and nothing was and nothing will be
Only now in the silence
As I anguished write this
Not believing wholly a word I have said
I wonder again why God made me
And if and how and what and why and where
We are all just not anything real or good or true or beautiful or love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Thousand got away to other countries; thousands returned to Spain tempted by false promises of kindness. By the tens of thousands, these Spaniards died of neglect in the concentration camps.
quote by Martha Gellhorn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Most Usual Evening
engrossed again
to the pages of the book
you keep that
silence
contemptible silence
unnoticed by
this poet
lost in the pages of his thoughts
into the labyrinths
of barriers
forgive me
but it will always be like this
the wings of
ponder
never rest
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Between
in between the monotonous pages
of this book of life
some dog ears are inserted
the red tassels protruding like a tongue
saying nothing
not even some slips of the memories
within are the serious
delicate matters such as incessant wars
of mankind and the impulses of greed
i scan the pages till the end
i have not seen such chapters as giving in
to humanity
that innate goodness, i hurry to find it
not even in the appendix
someone inserted in this book
a letter
it says, love has long been gone
and no one knows where it is going.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pages Of My Mind
Faces from my past flicker
through the pages of my mind
along with shadowy figures
I wish I had left behind.
Old loves and new loves
smile and say hello as they pass
through the pages of my mind.
They come in quiet moments
when I am at peace with the world.
Reflecting images of times left behind.
There are no future images,
as those pages haven’t been written yet,
only ones from a distant past.
They stroll across with happy moments
written on the pages of my mind.
11 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Barricades Of Heaven
Running down around the towns along the shore
When I was sixteen and on my own
No, I couldnt tell you what the hell those brakes were for
I was just trying to hear my song
Jimmy found his own sweet sound and won that free guitar
Wed all get in the van and play
Life became the paradox, the bear, the rouge et noir
And the stretch of road running to l.a.
Pages turning
Pages we were years from learning
Straight into the night our hearts were flung
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from
All the world was shining from those hills
The stars above and the lights below
Among those there to test their fortunes and their wills
I lost track of the score long ago
Pages turning
Pages we were years from learning
Straight into the night our hearts were flung
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from
Childhood comes for me at night
Voices of my friends
Your face bathing me in light
Hope that never ends
Pages turning
Pages torn and pages burning
Faded pages, open in the sun
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from.
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from.
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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