I come from the place where I am thinking 'I have put my blood on the pages.'
quote by Albert Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Written In Blood And Love
In pages written in blood, in pages written love.
Stories are told of you grow old together.
Live to dieing forever.
Scarred by the pain of misery.
Scarred by the imperfections the have created so many rejections.
Give me the antidote to the poison that I have slipped in my own drink.
Let me breath the life in again.
Drowned out all the cowardliness of my angel who holding me up.
Such a beautiful crutch.
Still in the pages written in blood, in the pages written love.
We are just one of millions.
Every story is the same.
All that's changed is the names, places, and faces.
Erase it all.
Rewrite the entire fall.
Let the wind take me.
Let the lightning strike me here and now.
For i will not let it cloud my judgement.
No matter the storm that's brought on.
In the pages written in blood, in the pages written in love
Hate me for the right reasons
Hate me because I am what you wanted me to be.
In all the irony.
I didn't change for you.
It was done way before you came along and sang your song.
All the pages have been written, in blood and love.
The Shakespeare play Romeo and Juliet to the fullest.
Its the cruelest games in tragedy strikes without a ounce of leniency.
No mercy to those who are jumping without a life line.
Protection against the evil of an accident so quick.
A slip becomes a fall.
Next your trying to stall buy a little time.
But its in vain.
Nothing can be changed.
Its sink or swim till you reach shore.
So long off stripped of everything you thought was important.
Values so mixed up in these pages written in blood, in the pages written in love.
We have killed another pair of doves.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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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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The Gods Do Not Intervene
The battle between Athens and Sparta lasted a lifetime and more.
Men who ate lentils
Were not interfeared with by any gods,
Said Thucydides,
who is the father of scientific history.
He did not outlive his own battle,
Dying suddenly by an iron sword.
His blood spurted on his pages,
But most were saved. If one reads Greek,
One can smell,
On the pages
Blood and lentils and pointed iron. And read the first truth about the horrors of war.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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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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Come Tomorrow
Looking back through the pages of my life
All thats gone before needed nothing more
Only you to say
Never thinking only doing for myself
Always in your debt now I feel regret
I knew no other way
Thinking now its all too late for tears
No more can be done
Never see the sun
Never see the day
Never see the day
Ignorance, all things come to an end
Why leave it all like this
I will know no other way
Never see the sun, never see the day
Know no way, no way
Innocence, I search for who I am
I know that I was wrong
Hard enough nothing I can say
Never see the sun. never see the day
Know no way, no way
Thinking now its all too late for tears
No more can be done
Never see the sun
Never see the day
song performed by by Xentrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come Tomorrow
Looking back through the pages of my life
All thats gone before needed nothing more
Only you to say
Never thinking only doing for myself
Always in your debt now I feel regret
I knew no other way
Thinking now its all too late for tears
No more can be done
Never see the sun
Never see the day
Never see the day
Ignorance, all things come to an end
Why leave it all like this
I will know no other way
Never see the sun, never see the day
Know no way, no way
Innocence, I search for who I am
I know that I was wrong
Hard enough nothing I can say
Never see the sun. never see the day
Know no way, no way
Thinking now its all too late for tears
No more can be done
Never see the sun
Never see the day
song performed by by Xentrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God, love and autumn
While I was driving to my office
I was thinking of you
While I was listening to Elton John in my car
I was thinking of you
While I was driving to gas station
I was thinking of you
While I was filling her up
I was thinking of you
While I was parking my car in our parking place
I was thinking of you
While I was taking the lift
To the third floor
I was thinking of you
While I was knocking the door knocker
I was thinking of making love with you
As the door opened
We were one!
poem by Framarz Bagheri
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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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Thinking Man's Blues
i was thinking about Jesus
i was thinking about robbing a bank
thinking about the band a playin'
while the Titanic sank
thinking 'bout salvation
thinking about getting free
thinking and a wondering
do you ever think about me?
i was thinking about generations
i was thinking about saving grace
i was thinking about truth and lies
thinking about flesh and lace
thinking about redemption
and rivers running to the sea
thinking and a wondering
do you ever think about me?
i was thinking about the Dharma
'bout Martin Luther King
thinking about Merle Haggard
thinking about James Dean
thinking about the costs of war
about moral depravity
thinking and a wondering
do you ever think about me?
thinking and a wondering
do you ever think about me?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Book
My life is a leaf
Bind together in a book
Written
With sweat and blood
Pages after pages
With the taste of Pain and joy
Every emotion
Big or small
Fully charged
Packed and sealed
Every incident
Recoded in details
For the experience
Good or bad
If you want to learn
Whether there is any love
For you and mankind
You just need to turn
The page number twenty one
Chapter after chapter
Written with mixture
Of success and failure
If any one
Written badly
And Tastes sour
It is my life
Full of blood and flesh
Please pass on to another
poem by Abdul Wahab
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The Masochist Culture....
this incurable fanatic is condemned
every morning it opens the pages of its own realities
as though it is opening a wound
and lets the blood ooze
it finds joy in this kind
opening those which have healed and had been closed
for years now
this is the culture of masochism
manipulating the past giving it is unnecessary presence
perhaps
because there is nothing to see at all
nothing to do
perhaps to lessen the absurdity of what is here
there is nothing to touch
except these pages of
pain
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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2u
2u
I hope that youve been thinking about me
Chorus
I hope that you have been thinking of me too
The way that I have been thinking of you
I hope that you have been thinking of me too
The way that I have been thinking of you
Pick up the phone to call you
But I hung up cause Im so afraid
Afraid of rejection
Or another woman in your face
Hopin all day that you would call me
And that youre thinkin of me too
Well in my case with the game of love
If I played I would probably lose
Chorus
I hope that you have been thinking of me too
The way that I have been thinking of you
I hope that you have been thinking of me too
The way that I have been thinking of you
I hope that youre thinkin of me
And I pray every night you love me
I dont ever want what we have to end
And Ill always be your friend
Dont you feel me calling from afar
If you dont know Ive been there from the start
As sure as my name is what it is
Youll always have a place in my heart
Chorus
I hope that you have been thinking of me too
The way that I have been thinking of you
I hope that you have been thinking of me too
The way that I have been thinking of you
Ooh, ooh, ooh....
I hope that you have been thinking of me
The way that I have been thinking of you
When I pray every night
That its me in your dreams when your sleepin
I really hope that Im the that youre thinking about
Yeah, yeah, yeah...
Chorus
I hope that you have been thinking of me too (I hope that, I hope that youve
Been thinkin)
The way that I have been thinking of you (all the time, cant get you off my
Mind baby)
I hope that you have been thinking of me too
The way that I have been thinking of you
See I hope that its you
And I hope that you are baby
Thinking of me too
Ooh, yeah, yeah...
See I hope that you are
Ooh, youre thinking of me
I need for you to think about me
Like I think about you baby
Yeah, yeah, yeah...
I hope that its you
And I hope that youre thinking of, thinking of, thinking of me too
song performed by by Mary J Blige
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Written In Red!
Pages of history of man kind
Are written red,
Those who thought their blood,
As blue as sky or as blue as deep ocean,
Wrote the pages in Red and every page is full of bloodshed!
Hungry people weep for even glass of water,
And even for that they had blood to shed,
Innocent plants or innocent grass die,
When two elephants fight for supremacy!
They never care how many innocent may die!
Great heroes are made on the number of men they despatch to hell,
Saying patriots have heaven in their fight!
They are heroes like matadors at the cost of blood of an innocent bull!
Otherwise they are as you and me except that cruelty,
Men the made several men to shed blood, in the name of woman,
May it be sita, may it be Padmini
Or may be Helen of Troy,
All men were treated like toys
By a that a few mad boys,
To have their woman back,
Or defend their action,
All religions have their history written in red,
May it be books that are from God,
Stained with red, God signed it with blood,
Put the rubber stamp of quality with bone and flesh,
Every nation is having its own fountain of blood shed!
power hungry need only to shed crocodile tears,
Or just present awards and reward,
Those who safeguard
and died to save them!
May it be Ashoka, may it be Idi Ameen
or may be Churchil, or may be Gandhi,
Or may Lincoln or Changez Khan
Only they were famous due blood shed!
May it be history of continent or that sub continent
Only a story written in blood, On human skin and with bones as pens!
May it be any ' -ism ' or may
Politics in spain or Britain,
Equally dangerous are these..
Power or woman,
Ambition or nation,
Whether terrorist or counter terrorist venture
Police or politician,
Every history of massive wealth,
Or a piece of land
Religion or culture, blood is That red ink with pages of history is written only in red!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Saying Our Final Goodbye
Get your one last look
Your final goodbye
For this is the place where memory will live and then die
It will go with us, following wherever we go
It is the place that we've met and have come to know
You can return one day, with me or alone
But this place will be someone else's
Someone making their own memory here
They will stand here too one day thinking
Thinking of that day
That magical day
It came so fast
Left fast
and lingers on
Forever
Goodbye for now
If I come back too soon it will be in my mind
The place we met
Where our love was set
And your heart mingled with mine
April 10,2012
poem by Ryan Collins
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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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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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Know one Knows
Know one knows why am I here,
To be place on this earth,
Where I truly don't belong,
Know one knows me,
Think you know me,
You don't,
Everyday is a hearchache,
From School, to house, to my friends,
Everywhere I go,
I get heartaches,
Know one knows what I feel,
I feel as if time is drifting away from me,
Choking on water,
Here I go again,
Thinking why should I die,
Ready to die,
Ready to leave this place,
This shallow place I don't want to follow,
You built me up,
You break me down,
Here I go again,
Thinking what to choke on,
Ready to die,
Know one knows my thoughts or the true me,
Falling asleep,
The dream that never ends,
The thin line I crossed,
Save me,
From this place,
What would you say if I left this agony place,
Know one knows why I feel this way,
Don't question my thoughts,
Just let me DIE.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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Badges People Pages
oh we were so
set about the words
chagrine skin margins
footnotes of the neath heart
struck bottom corner left right
notes in pencils sharp
left overs of the right owners
who honestly told their stories
and never peeped from behind the titles
but
chapters the beginnings the ends
all burdened by a mind
thinking in badges people pages
oh so so set about the words
unanimated in the smoke bonfire
badges people pages
burned
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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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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