If you write, one of the questions you're always trying to answer is, Where do you get your ideas? And, if you write, you know how pointless a question this is and how difficult it is to answer.
quote by Lynn Abbey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Do You Write Poetry
There is a question I am often asked,
of which I have no answer for at all.
The question is a simple one,
how do you write poetry?
To be honest I haven’t got a clue.
With me the words just trickle out
one after the other,
if they rhyme that is great
and if they don’t, I just scratch my head.
I cannot tell anyone how to write,
for me it’s just a natural thing.
I write almost everything,
novels, short stories, poems and songs.
I have even written a couple of plays,
but that was a long, long time ago.
However to tell anyone how to write,
I would not know where to begin.
The answer I give to the question is simple;
write whatever you like good or bad.
It’s yours and be proud of it
no matter what anyone else has to say.
The more you write the better you will get.
However, the most important thing
that you should always remember and that is
that you write, write, and write!
9 November 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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His Answer To My Question Was A Question
His answer to my question
Was a question
My answer to his reply
Was returned
With another question
The game of
Answering and asking
Questions
Did not end
Till I questioned
The very motive
Of our conversation
We came to the conclusion
How to pass time?
Was the biggest question
Asking questions
And creating confusion
Was the answer
So we passed our time
Asking and answering questions
The question now is
Whether we did right or wrong?
The answer is
Why ask a useless question?
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Self Explanatory
Once a learned young man named John
asked a serious question, an earnest question,
with no attempt at humour, or to string me along.
And the questions were?
‘How do you write like that?
How do you find the titles? ’
The reply. ‘I think like that.’
His reply. ‘No one thinks like that.’
An answer beyond his belief system.
An answer he could not reconcile accept.
Easier to believe own belief systems
than search mind expand limited horizons.
Really was this reply
in truth so hard to accept?
‘If I do not think like that
how could I write like that? ’
Self Explanatory!
No Further Comment Required!
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Are You All Right?
They keep asking me this question
I don't know how to answer
They say it again
And I still don't have an answer
Really, what do you say to that
I could say I'm fine, but that would be a lie
I could say everything, but then they would keep asking me questions
Questions i couldn't answer
That's when I simply smile and walk away
The question that's always asked, but never answered
Are you all right?
That's for you to decide
(2-21-05)
poem by Brandi Young
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Why Do I Write
People often ask me why do I write,
unfortunately I have no answer.
I started when I was eighteen
when my then girlfriend
said we were through.
I said to myself
if the Beatles can do it why not try it.
I was lonely with nothing else better to do
and it all progressed from there.
The more I wrote the better I got
and now I don’t even think about it
as the ideas just come to me
and I write them down quickly before they pass.
When I started, my parents said
it was just a passing phase,
but here almost half a century has gone by
and that seems like some long passing phase.
Of course as I progressed, I experimented
with poetry, short stories and novels,
now my back library seems endless
and still I write more and more
jumping from one subject to another.
If I knew why I do it,
I’d bottle it and sell it
probably making a fortune on the way.
Sadly, the answer eludes me,
all I know is, I just sit with pen in hand
and the words come automatically
with line following line until I am through
no matter what facet of writing I am working in.
I never question myself about it,
but just let it happen and feel happy that it does.
Maybe sometime in the future
some scholar will give an answer to why I do it.
24 April 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Always Asking Questions
We all want peace we dont want misery
So many of us wont let us be these things
But we only are confused
We feel stronger as we grow older
But still we feel bemused
Always asking questions
Were always asking questions
And the temptation is to just step back
Well we give what we lack
We will always be asking questions
Why rich?
Why poor?
Always asking questions
Were always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Were always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Always asking
Dont stop asking
Dont stop asking questions
Always asking questions
In answer to this question is just shut up
You dont know
I dont know
Nobody knows
This is an answer to every question
This is a place to begin
Always asking questions
Always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Why this?
Why that?
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Words: william bryant
Music: howard jones
song performed by by Howard Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I choose the questions
You think I am wise
Giving you the questions that
You cannot answer
On a wide domain of answers
A question or two shall be taken
And you will answer them for me
Haven’t you tried thinking
If we shift roles
Ok, so you try asking the questions now
I do not answer
I could have answered you
Because I can, but I won’t
I think, I have become real myself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not The One I’m Looking For
If someone was to asked me,
why do you write?
I wouldn’t be able to answer them,
because quite frankly I just don’t know.
I just pick up a pen and paper,
and then the words come tumbling out,
and when I have finished,
I ask myself was that really me?
That is one of the reasons,
I never question what I do,
because there would never be an answer,
at least not the one I’m looking for.
poem by David Harris
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What I Cannot Write
what i cannot write
is the answer of the riddle of the sphinx
to me.
i know myself.
hence, i know the answer very well.
i cannot even say it.
thinking about it
shakes my being
like an earthquake
to the foundations
of my house.
i cannot say or write it.
because if i will
everything in me crashes
like September 11.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Gets Me To Wonder
(10/01/11)
Life gets me to wonder, life gets me to think
Am I losing my mind, am I on the brink.
So many questions that enter my mind every day
I think hard about one, and the rest seem to fade away.
Once I find the answer then to the next level I will go
It’s amazing - how god lets us know.
Every question and every answer is a step
That we must climb - and we’ll continue to do this
Till the end of our time.
We will always have questions - that’s why
God gave us a mind.
Knowledge is power on that I don’t deny.
But there are more questions than any of us care to admit
And when we can’t answer them - we surely catch a fit.
Questions about health, love, work, religion
Just to name a few - this list goes on
What are we supposed to do.?
poem by Louis Rams
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How Deep...How High...
My favorite song of all
Is an Irving Berlin song
It starts out with a question
And ends with one more
My favorite song of all time
Its title are the lines
'How deep is the ocean,
how high is the sky? '
A song made up of questions
where two of them are
answered by the one
same question-answer
'How much do I love you?
I tell you no lies'
'And if I ever lost you,
How much would I cry? '
'HOW DEEP IS THE OCEAN,
HOW HIGH IS THE SKY? '
Two different questions
The same answer twice
The answer still a question
(Now don't ask why!)
A hint of something elusive
Something undefined
A fitting answer to that
something I'm trying to find
My favorite song of all time
So poignant so sublime
It never fails to make me cry
How deep...how high...
poem by Sonya Florentino
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evasive (EDITED FOR one letter only)
the answers are shy
they have not matured
they always are not
confronting the questions
which keep on roaming like
Nazi soldiers looking
for the kill of the innocent
ones
the answers are arrows
with blunt tips
the questions are the black holes
of our universe
who dares to answer all of them
not me
i see all the questions
and i am but a little boy stupid on the street
looking for mother
and afraid of what a father can do
to defend the senselessness of
my posture
the questions are alive
the answers need a redemption
i take the side step
write a poem and then sleep
who knows?
the answer is nothing but a dream
yes, a dream
something ephemeral
yes, an illusion
something like a mirror
yes, a moment,
something that must pass like the shadow of the moon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Evasive
the answers are shy
they have not matured
they always are not
confronting the questions
which keep on roaming like
Nazi soldiers looking
for the kill of the innocent
ones
the answers are arrows
with blunt tips
the questions are the black holes
of our universe
who dares to answer all of them
not me
i see all the questions
and i am but a little boy stupid on the street
looking for mother
and afraid of what a father can do
to defend the senselessness of
my posture
the questions are alive
the answers need a redemption
i take the side step
write a poem and then sleep
who know?
the answer is nothing but a dream
yes, a dream
something ephemeral
yes, an illusion
something like a mirror
yes, a moment,
something that must pass like the shadow of the moon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Questions
Write me what you're wearing! Is it warm?
Write me how you lie! Do you lie there softly?
Write me how you look! Is it still the same?
Write me what you're missing! Is it my arm?
Write me how you are! Have you been spared?
Write me what they're doing! Do you have enough courage?
Write me what you're doing! Is it good?
Write me, who are you thinking of? Is it me?
Freely, I've given you only my questions.
And I hear the answers, how they fall.
When you're tired, I can't carry it for you.
If you're hungry, I have nothing for you to eat.
And so now I leave the world
No longer there, as if I've forgotten you.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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Man has made some machines that can answer questions provided the facts are profusely stored in them, but we will never be able to make a machine that will ask questions. The ability to ask the right question is more than half the battle of finding the answer.
quote by Thomas J. Watson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Must Be No!
No is no! that is what the answer must be
Before I destroy my soul and ruin my destiny
If I think an action might corrupt my virtue or my soul
Then the answer to that question, must always be no.
Never ever will I answer with a maybe or even a yes
When I know that someday that sin I must confess
Though I might not know alot but one thing I do know
When it conflicts my pride and honor, the answer is no.
My reputation and my values is what makes myself me
It is how that I am known from what others do see
So could I lie or cheat to cause others pain or woe
The answer to that question, will always be no.
No is no! and the question must end their
As I wont say yes to cause any sorrow or despair
I will not steal or rob from a friend or even a foe
And the answer to that question, is once again no.
Though I might meet with temptation or evil or corruption
It might enter my brain which will cause a disruption
But then one day I know my past it will unfold
And I will feel proud in those times, that I did say no.
A poor man has nothing a rich man has his wealth
But that will not send a soul to either heaven or hell
So will I lie or use to deceive either the young or the old
Once again to that answer, it will always be no.
poem by Randy McClave
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Why Do Poets Write
(just written)
Why do poets write, a question that I wonder.
I’ve asked myself that question over a thousand times.
And I always come up with the same answer
It’s because we are blind.
We accept all that we see constant, as the daily norm.
But I cannot accept it, it’s not where I belong.
There are questions to be answered that we must write about
We’ll climb the highest mountain, and to the world we will shout.
Why is the sky blue? Why is the ocean deep?
Why is the mountain high? Why do we weep?
We have been given everything man could possibly need
This is the reason GOD had planted the seed.
We are the only creatures that have a mind to think
But when we do not use it, we can lose in in a wink.
We as poets see all the beauties that are around
We will write about it, without even making a sound
We will also see the suffering, for not everything in
Life is a bed of flowers, for people are dying
Each and every hour.
There are too many topics for us to write about
War, poverty, hunger, sickness, just to name a few
We can’t write about everything, what are we supposed to do.
So I look around to all that surround me
Then I pick a topic of which I do not foresee.
I put myself in that position of what I am writing about
If it’s about pregnancy, I will feel her aches and pains
And by doing this there is knowledge that I gain.
Life is two sided of that there is no doubt.
Rich, poor, happy, sad, love, hate, boy, girl,
Life, death, all in suits of twos
All this excites me, but which one will I choose?
Why do poets write? now you tell me?
maybe it’s just because we love the poetry.
poem by Louis Rams
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A Question Anyone
We have in life
a surfeit
of those who step to the mark
to declare
what should and can be done.
Ideas pour
from their open mouths
enunciating in grave tones
and solemn decrees
making claim
to the Wisdom
of the Knowledge Tree.
Regard these not
or follow those
who claim Secret Lore
and urge 'follow me.'
Hard Truth:
Every one claims answers
but cannot tell you what is the question;
every one thinks their answer
if true for them
is also true for you;
from that silly stance recoil.
Every sage can tell you what to do
but none can identify the first step.
All can see the path to follow
but none can answer
if a first step
is consistent with several paths which may follow.
None can answer
if you deny their answers offered,
(which are commonly either or choices)
but note life most often shows either/or
most often is neither/other.
None can tell you what is scientific about the scientific method.
None can separate in a simple sentence the difference between
book learning and common sense.
No sage alive can claim to know why Progress Now
has crashed so low-
despite all the Smart Ones
gone before.
Why is it that ignorance always fills the void
that Knowledge leaves?
Why are there always a surplus of answers
but few good questions?
I don't know
but I know what I don't know
hopefully,
that makes me one step ahead
of those who know the answer
before the question.
I think
those that always know
what they think they know
without ever asking
what is the question
that their knowing
is the answer to-
don't know
anything.
Best to smile faintly,
turn
and leave.
In life,
deep wisdom states:
we must learn to ask our own questions
so that answers are our own answers
drawing upon our own experience.
Ask not what the wise think
but ask instead
what questions did they ask
when it counted
as now,
at the brink.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Question Of U
So what is the answer 2 the question of u
What do I look 4, what shall I do?
Which way do I turn when Im feeling lost?
If I sell my soul, now what will it cost?
Must I become naked? no image at all?
Shall I remain upright? or get down and crawl?
All of the questions in my life will be answered
When I decide which road 2 choose
What is the answer 2 the question of u?
U.
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem Is Not The Answer To Everything
A POEM IS NOT THE ANSWER TO EVERYTHING
A poem is not the answer to everything-
Perhaps it is not the answer to anything
Though I wouldn't take it that far-
There have been times
When a poem was the answer-
Many times
A poem written by someone else
A poem I tried to write by myself-
Poems can be an answer
Perhaps not for most things
Perhaps not for all the major things
But for moods and pains and feeling
And desire for Beauty
Poems can be answers at time-
A poem is not really the answer to my problem of the moment now
But it is an answer of a kind anyway
Thank God for poems and for this poem also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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