To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.
quote by Lord Byron
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Tapeworm
I feel a bowel disorder
And the doctor advised;
'Take some worm treatments.'
How could I withdraw my lifelong parasitic friend
We suffered together in my hard times?
* I dedicate this scribbling to my friend Nick Percowycz of Anchorville,
Michigan who's long lull worries me.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Gotnothintodo2day
got nothing to do 2day
just scribbling and chatting to a friend
who is also pretending to be someone else
feigning happiness and embracing all the sadness
like, well, i have to admit,
like us.
i don't even know if i have to stop scribbling
whatshamakalit, a poem? gee,
i don't know
i am simply unstoppable,
bad, and too
earthly.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Art For Art's Sake
it is art for art's sake
nothing more nothing less
shy away from popularity
delve on the magnanimity of
your day to day task
this art for art's sake
like scribbling for nothing
just scribbling and scribbling
like hearing and then writing
brown leaves fall upon
brown leaves on the ground
over the roots of trees
decay comes like everything
destined to be rotten
and then you sleep on some
cool shade
smelling the flavor of your
silent labor
art for art's sake
who needs your rating?
art for art's sake is like breathing
getting in your lungs
what is invisible to the eye
and yet so essential
the inevitable and the inextricable
the ineluctable the inexorable
it is like taking all the entrances
and then accepting
that there are no exits
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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O Sole Mio
With pavarotti
Che bella cosa na jurnata e sole,
Naria serena doppo na tempesta!
Pe llaria fresca pare gi na festa...
Che bella cosa na jurnata e sole.
Ma natu sole
Cchi bello, oje ne.
o sole mio
Sta nfronte a te!
Quanno fa notte e o sole se ne scenne,
Me vene quase na malincunia;
Sotto a fenesta toia restarria
Quanno fa notte e o sole se ne scenne.
Ma natu sole
Cchi bello, oje ne.
o sole mio
Sta nfronte a te!
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O Sole Mio
Che bella cosa na jurnata e sole,
Naria serena doppo na tempesta!
Pe llaria fresca pare gina festa...
Che bella cosa na jurnata e sole.
Ma natu sole
Cchibello, oje ne.
o sole mio
Sta nfronte a te!
Quanno fa notte e o sole se ne scenne,
Me vene quase na malincunia;
Sotto a fenesta toia restarria
Quanno fa notte e o sole se ne scenne.
Ma natu sole
Cchibello, oje ne.
o sole mio
Sta nfronte a te!
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Becoming Love
Looking for love.
Love from another.
One to fill my void.
A void that could not be filled.
The void was within myself.
Love has no criteria,
It has no agenda,
It has no motive,
Except to love.
It is void of expectation.
If I were to become it,
Then I could find it anytime.
For it would always be within me.
Our will, seeks to be loved.
God's will, asks us to become love.
Love, attracts love,
Like motive, attracts motive.
Love is for another,
Motive is for self.
You find what you are willing to share,
Or what you are willing to become.
At the end of our time,
The only thing that will remain,
Is the legacy of the love.
That we left behind.
What was given to us,
Goes back to heaven,
To be given back.
To those that remain.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Jesus Christ's Policy In Poetry
we believe we know that Jesus Christ
would still come to earth lay down his life
for only one person to save just one soul
to be born to live to horrifically die
all to save just one receptive accepting soul
is an ultimate sacrifice in salvation
who would in contemporary times imitate this sacrifice
spend years sacrifice career income to achieve same goal
write an entire poem for sole need of one just one soul?
all that effort an entire poem engineered for just one soul
an entire poem signature written to be read but once for one soul
such effort to answer need of a single soul imitates Jesus Christ
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It affords me sincere pleasure to be able to apprise you of the entire removal of the Cherokee Nation of Indians to their new homes west of the Mississippi.
quote by Martin Van Buren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One sole God; One sole ruler, — his Law; One sole interpreter of that law — Humanity.
quote by Giuseppe Mazzini
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Addiction for M lady Kim
Addiction
I’ll exercise self discipline.
Today I will not write a word.
I have decided it’s no sin.
This constant scribbling’s absurd.
I choose a book and start to read
but then some phrase enraptures me.
Quite suddenly I feel the need
I have to write and urgently,
Before my train of thought is lost
I find my pad take up my pen
and writing in the style of Frost.
I find I’m scribbling again.
My muse cannot contain her glee.
She knows that she’s in charge not me.
20-Aug-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Spanish Is The Loving Tongue
Broke my heart, lost my soul
Adios,mi cora sole
Spanish is the loving tongue
Soft as music, light as spring
It was a girl I learned it from
Living down sonora way
Well, I dont look much like a lover
Still I say her love words over
Mostly when Im all alone
Mi amor, mi cora sole.
Havent seen her since that night
I cant cross the line you know
They want me for a gamblin fight
Like as not its better so
Still I always kind of missed her
Since that last sad night I kissed her
Broke her heart, lost my own
Adios, mi cora sole
Broke her heart, lost my own
Adios, mi cora sole
Adios, mi cora sole
Adios, mi cora sole.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Are You Sincere?
The words you said to me,
you repeat to someone new.
You say the things I want to hear,
but are you sincere?
I sit alone and wonder,
if your words are meant for me,
that I am the only one that you hold dear.
However, my mind keeps nagging, are you sincere?
Friends tell me stories about you,
I do not want to believe.
You just say the words are all lies.
In my mind the questions still arise, are you sincere?
I find the back door open,
when I come home at night.
You say you left it open in a state of fear.
As I close and lock it I wonder, are you sincere?
(12 June 2007)
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Are You Sincere
(words & music by wayne walker)
Are you sincere when you say I love you
Are you sincere when you say you love me too
Oh and are you really mine every day, all the time
Ive gotta know which way to go
Will our love grow, are you sincere
Are you sincere when you say I love you
Honey, are you sincere when you say you love me too
And are you really mine every day, all the time
Ive gotta know which way to go
Will our love grow, are you sincere
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Restless
Is remorse a prison to the soul
the sole utterance of reproach
that if not to myself be True
the possible best in life accrue
what if regret creeps on the morning
a thief stalking the shadow of dawn
(re) fresh from bare motive drawing
crystal arteries of a day that is new
or shall we allow the mind meander
let it's 'work' find itself crowning
there in its core uncover simplicity
strip away a mournful state of heart
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Common sense is judgment without reflection, shared by an entire class, an entire nation, or the entire human race.
quote by Giambattista Vico
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Though a good motive cannot sanction a bad action, a bad motive will always vitiate a good action. In common and trivial matters we may act without motives, but in momentous ones the most careful deliberation is wisdom.
quote by W.M.L. Jay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Examination
Lo! from quiet skies
In through the window my Lord the Sun!
And my eyes
Were dazzled and drunk with the misty gold,
The golden glory that drowned and crowned me
Eddied and swayed through the room . . .
Around me,
To left and to right,
Hunched figures and old,
Dull blear-eyed scribbling fools, grew fair,
Ringed round and haloed with holy light.
Flame lit on their hair,
And their burning eyes grew young and wise,
Each as a God, or King of kings,
White-robed and bright
(Still scribbling all);
And a full tumultuous murmur of wings
Grew through the hall;
And I knew the white undying Fire,
And, through open portals,
Gyre on gyre,
Archangels and angels, adoring, bowing,
And a Face unshaded . . .
Till the light faded;
And they were but fools again, fools unknowing,
Still scribbling, blear-eyed and stolid immortals.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1908)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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With A Motive Not To Be Provoked
There are people with a motive,
To be...
Left alone.
And many are to this committed.
Many are to this committed.
And there are people more devoted,
To keep their peace condoned.
And many are to this committed.
Many are to this committed.
To get away from all the alibis.
And those who live their lives making up lies.
With so many to this committed.
As if there's benefit in it.
To change what they say in a minute.
This limits and this diminishes.
This limits and this diminishes.
People have a motive,
To be...
Alone!
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.
To get away from all the alibis.
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.
And those who live their lives making up lies.
To change what they say in a minute.
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.
There are people with a motive,
To be...
Left alone.
And many are to this committed.
Many are to this committed.
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.
Doing this free without limits.
Doing this free without limits.
There are people with a motive,
To be...
Left alone.
And many are to this committed.
Many are to this committed.
And doing this free without limits.
Doing this free without limits.
With a motive not to be provoked!
And...
Many are to this committed.
Many are to this committed.
And doing this free without limits.
Doing this free without limits.
With a motive not to be provoked!
And...
Many are to this committed.
And...
Doing this free without limits.
And...
With a motive not to be provoked!
And...
Many are to this committed.
And...
Doing this free without limits.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Stink!
'You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
Way off the beat without a syncopation given.'
All I've ever wanted from you,
Was your trust.
Although my honesty shows,
Perhaps I trust too much.
Can't you see,
I'd rather be in sync with you desperately.
But you think I should first prove,
My devotion is complete...
With a soothing approving beat you seek!
'You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
Way off the beat without a syncopation given.'
'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.
'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.
'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.
'You stink!
You stink.
You stink.
You stink! '
'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.
'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.
'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.
'You stink!
You stink.
You stink.
You stink! '
Can't you see,
I'd rather be in sync with you desperately.
But you think I should first prove,
My devotion is complete...
With a soothing approving beat you seek!
'You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
Way off the beat without a syncopation given.'
I get the message!
You have preferences.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song
I told my nymph, I told her true,
My fields were small, my flocks were few,
While faltering accents spoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove sincere.
Of crops destroyed by vernal cold,
And vagrant sheep that left my fold;
Of these she heard, yet bore to hear;
And is not Flavia then sincere?
How, chang'd by fortune's fickle wind,
The friends I loved became unkind;
She heard, and shed a generous tear;
And is not Flavia then sincere?
How, if she deign'd my love to bless,
My Flavia must not hope for fress;
This, too, she heard, and smiled to hear;
And Flavia, sure, must be sincere.
Go shear your flocks, ye jovial swains;
Go reap the plenty of your plains;
Despoiled of all which you revere,
I know my Flavia's love sincere.
poem by William Shenstone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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