If a lecturer, he wishes to be heard; if a writer, to be read. He always hopes for a public beyond that of the long-suffering wife.
quote by Samuel E. Morison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Paperback Writer
(LennonMcCartney)
Paperback writer
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It's based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn't understand
His son is working for the Daily Mail
It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's a thousand pages, give or take a few
I'll be writing more in a week or two
I can make it longer if you like the style
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
If you really like it you can have the rights
It could make a million for you overnight
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer (fade out)
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Never let the 'Hope' die...!
Hopes are feathers, a wish is a bird
One may find this simile a little absurd
Hold on, do not lose patience
As I will explain to you the essence
Behind this there is a theory
I shall relate this with a story
Feathers, they keep the bird warm
Likewise hopes keep our wishes strong
Clip the feathers and the bird will not fly
Were it not for hope our wishes would die
My fellow beings, listen to what i have to say
Keep on hoping, what you wish for will come your way
Let your wishes, as birds, freely fly
As long as your hope, you never let die.
poem by Ravi Singh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Electronic Support
And as long as I don’t see
You on the television
Or I don’t hear about
You on the radio
Or I don’t even read about
You on the national newspapers
Everything you are telling me
That it is happing to you
I would consider them
As a pure fantasy
As a pigmentation of your
Own imagination
I can even go as far as
To advice you to become a novelist
I can even get angry
If you still persist to talk to me
About the all situation
If you still want me to believe you
If you still want to get my sympathy
If you still want me to help you
With the kinds of sufferings
That you are going through everyday
With the kinds of oppressions
That you are experiencing
With the kinds of famine and malaise
That your wife and children are being victim of
Get on television
Make a radio broadcast
Invite a writer to write about you
Not any kind of writer
A journalist
I insist a journalist
To write about you…Otherwise
I would find it boring to read
So, in short, get some kind of
Electronic Support to inform me
About your problems
While I am in comfort of my house
In my car or even in my office
Then I can believe you
Then you can get my sympathy
Then I can inform the all world
That you are indeed in need
Otherwise…Don’t bother me…
www.frederickyamusangie.org.uk
poem by Frederick Kambemba Yamusangie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Writer's Dream
A writer's dream
You keep trying
Never denying to one day achieve
Despite what most believe
A writer's dream
You never give up
Regardless of what others may say
But wait patiently until that day
A writer's dream
Although it's been a while
It made you smile
To see your dream coming through
No matter how long it seemed to you
A writer's dream
You always believed in yourself
That's why your time has come
To be a successful writer
With the privilege of making much income
A writer's dream
You're happy to finally get this far
The world knows just who you are
Now this new sudden fame
Makes you feel like a star
poem by Donielle Smith
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If Tomorrow
We sit in silent dreams
away from our reality
dreaming our wishes,
our hopes and our prayers
wondering if tomorrow
the world will stop and realise
our wishes hopes and prayers.
We ask so little to be granted,
in the whole scheme of things
and allowing us just one
who know,
could fulfil our lives.
(5 July 2011)
poem by David Harris
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What a Writer Has to Say
It baffles my understanding.
Why would one writer
Ask from another
To give an opinion of what has been created?
It baffles my understanding.
How separate experiences...
With no connection,
Can be thought related?
It baffles my understanding.
When a request is made...
To have another writer read,
And rate
What a writer has to say!
As if what is said...
Would change thoughts
In another's head.
Or expand a point of view.
Isn't that what readers often do...
When they wish to expand their insights too!
But when a writer writes...
Shouldn't those visions,
Be the ones writers pursue?
As narrow or as broad...
With an imagination left,
Unrestricted to cruise!
I am baffled by this...
'Read me, please!
And rate me', business...
Persisted and enlisted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Epistle To An Old Friend
You are a doctor now - I've heard
A colourful glass jar
Your figure
With a dedicative label
Of service to the sick and the suffering.
I've heard
Your dreams have come true
The waning, waxing moons
Of quaint wishes
We saw together
Have blossomed to fullness.
Away and beyond
In lands overseas
All chapters of your book
Of youthful ambitions
Have come to be written.
I've heard
You have got all you ever
Wished for, desired.
All ideals realized.
A higher academic degree
Fame, renown and status
A pretty home
A loving husband - and children!
Salutations
Best wishes
For all th' laurels won
All that you've done.
But O my Messiah
Of long-forgotton woes!
Did you ever give
A backward glance?
The time-worn memory album
Was always there to see
Faces, friendly and faithful
Dust-laden though
In the pledges of everlasting rememberance.
What lenses
Of remorse
Will ever reveal visages of past?
How'll you ever
Bridge the empty spaces
Rolling from dreams
To eyes - and beyond?
How'll you ever
Put soothing balm
On your self-afflicted wounds?
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Comprehension...Or Torment
No one knows,
When we suffer.
Or how it is we suffer,
When suffering comes and is done...
By anyone
No one knows the extent of it.
How deep what is felt.
And when those sorrows visit to sit.
Although folks give advice and instructions.
With sections of pamphlets,
To read by professionals.
To emphasize their recommendations,
Underlined in 'red'.
Suggestions researched...
To read and ease our minds,
Before going to bed!
Hopefully not to stay awake...
To pace the floor instead.
No one knows,
When we suffer.
Or how it is we suffer,
When suffering comes and is done...
By anyone.
When suffering comes.
And alone it is done!
And listening to someone say to us to pray...
Is not a cure all or remedy,
That takes our suffering to numb quickly away.
But...
Pray we must,
And trust...
That those burdens carried,
Will be lifted up and away from us.
Knowing in our hearts...
God watches and will do His part!
No one knows,
When we suffer.
Or how it is we suffer,
When suffering comes and is done....
By anyone.
When suffering comes.
And alone it is done!
So it seems.
Only God knows how to heal and mend!
Only God knows when to send our sufferings away.
And many times with faith...
God intervenes.
Before the suffering has had a chance,
To arrive on the scene.
Depending on what it is we wish to choose.
Comprehension...
Or torment,
With unquestioned agony!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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'Made it as a writer'? I'm still wondering if I've made it as a writer. I've made it as a published writer of the type of SF that I want to write and read, but I'm still waiting for that big breakthrough.
quote by Eric Brown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Would Like It Better If
If I wrote to be liked,
I would not be read.
And I do like that some read,
What I write!
But I would like it better,
If I was fed...
By what it is I've said that is written...
And read by those who read what I wrote!
Finding a nibble to afford,
Liked And nourishes...
To feed the reader something read,
Coming from this writer's head!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What no wife of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when he's staring out of the window.
quote by Burton Rascoe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suffering
I heard about your happiness
And all the plans that youre involved in
Since youre gone youd be impressed
To know i, too, have been evolving
But I dont think you comprehend
Ive been suffering
Yeah, Ive been suffering
Guess Ill be suffering up around the bend
This love is a cancer in me
I can feel it advancing in me
This fire it is my light in the world
Well, I found me a new friend
Ive been suffering
Yeah, Ive been suffering
Guess Ill be suffering up around the bend
I hung around in a leather bar
They threw me on the cement
Slept all night in my plastic car
Got in an accident
I brushed by you in the supermart
And I had me a touch of whats real
It was real when you crushed me with your steel
Black clouds roll through my mind
Who says anyway these halls are sovereign?
I am a hater of the human kind
So keep away, this hearts not softening
No, I dont think that its the end of this suffering
Yeah, Ive been suffering
Ive been suffering
Ive been suffering
And Ill be suffering up around the bend
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What is difficult is the promotion, balancing the public side of a writer's life with the writing. I think that's something a lot of writers are having to face. Writers have become much more public now.
quote by Kazuo Ishiguro
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Each His Own
i've seen this guy
and read his works
all centered towards
sex: oral, and whatever
nothing about missions
and i've heard about
this girl
new sprouting writer
in town
focusing on religion
and God
i think they make
a nice pair.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writer- a must?
Out of what does a writer write?
Out of hatred or perversion;
Out of denial or deprivation.
Why does a writer write?
To vent his anger or hatred.
To cry out from pain or lust.
How does a writer write?
By borrowing or distorting.
By modeling or duping.
For what does a writer write?
For an applause and a place.
It alone suits him, an idler.
What is the use of a writer?
For him to flaunt his skill.
For readers to idle away
Does the society need a writer?
Does a woman need cosmetics?
Writer is a part of civilization
16.05.2007.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Validation Made
I wasn't voted Most Likely To Succeed,
In high school.
Afterall...
Who would declare,
In 1965 a desire to find success as a writer?
A doctor, a lawyer, a minister?
A fireman?
A basketball or a football star?
Okay!
'What did he say...
A 'writer'? '
Are they laughing at me?
I didn't declare that to get attention.
I knew what I was.
Today I hear 'kids' with wishes to be...
A movie, rap or singing star.
Baseball, basketball...
Or a football great.
Nurses and doctors too.
Afterall, they make 'money'...
That's what I hear them say.
But a writer?
And of poetry?
Are they laughing at me?
'Medic?
We've got one over here.
Delusional and hallucinating.
See what can be done.
If nothing...
Forget it! '
Well...
Very few writers make money,
Doing what they do.
And my name aint Twain, Langston...
Or Maya Angelou!
I did know Zora Neale Hurston's family.
Her brother Edgar, his wife and kids,
Lived in Bellevue Square in Hartford....
As me and my family did.
I grew up with their children.
And Robert, the second eldest son...
Was a good friend of mine.
Oh...
How I hate to name drop!
And fame?
Who said anything about wanting to be famous?
I said I was a writer.
Aint nothing about that has changed.
But I wish I had some bucks for my efforts.
Especially as I've age with a validation made.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whoever, in middle age, attempts to realize the wishes and hopes of his early youth, invariably deceives himself. Each ten years of a man's life has its own fortunes, its own hopes, its own desires.
Whoever, in middle age, attempts to realize the wishes and hopes of his early youth, invariably deceives himself. Each ten years of a man's life has its own fortunes, its own hopes, its own desires.
A few solitary thoughts
I sit browsing a world, virtual yet stylish
I have my headset on
A Tamil song played, which I care not
To escape Mamma`s scoldings, only my aim
To the aim my hopes always go
Filled, my mind with hopes and wishes
And eyes still sleepy, I wish 'not again'
An interpretation to dreams, got my mentor to say
Foolish hopes and beliefs with me to act
In real I know not, what does play
To make them all come true.
Dreams do have boundaries
poem by Evangeline Ray
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Old Joe was Bingo mad
I once knew a bloke called Joe
who was addicted to playing Bingo
he played nearly every day of his life
which cost him his marriage and his wife.
But Joe just could never pack it in
even though he hardly ever did win
as soon as he got out of his bed
the thought of Bingo came into his head.
The biggest win he ever had was sixty quid
and even then he shared it with his pal Sid
but Joe said one day he'd win the jackpot
and then he'd go and live somewhere hot.
But his long suffering wife called Flo
said she'd had enough of his silly Bingo
she shouted to Joe so what's it going to be,
your stupid addiction to playing Bingo or me?
But sadly Joe was now too far gone to care
when Bingo was on he just had to be there.
But alas Joe never won the Bingo jackpot
and he never ended living somewhere hot
the most he won was that sixty quid
and even worse Flo went off with his mate Sid.
I heard that Joe passed away playing Bingo
but I know that's how he would have wanted to go
I bet old Joe died with a smile on his face
because at least to Joe he was in the right place!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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