I could never be a country person, sitting around trees trying to write a song. I would rather be in the middle of society, whether it's growing or crumbling.
quote by Ric Ocasek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song About You
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
You’re all I can every think about
How you flood my dreams each night
How thinking of you takes my breath away
When I look up to the satellites
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
The long lost butterflies returned
How I hope my number you’ll dial
And how your memory smothers me with smiles
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
You were the only one
Who had enough of me to break my heart
And when love took over my heart
You tore it all apart.
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
I gave you my heart
Caught up in the thought
That we were off to a great start
But how you threw a damn dart
Right into the center of my heart
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
About how you crushed my heart
Not bothering to look back.
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
poem by Jess Schwarcz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sitting In The Middle Of It
My heart feels like it's split open wide and bleeding.
As I'm sitting in the middle of it.
Nothing I had lived prepared me for what I had to see.
As I'm,
Sitting in the middle of it.
I do feel guilty.
I am no saint.
I am not trying to hide away,
What it is that I'm feeling.
I do feel guilty.
I am no saint.
I am not trying to hide away,
What it is that I'm feeling.
Sitting in the middle of it...
I am no saint.
I'm not trying to hide away,
What it is that I'm feeling.
Sitting in the middle of it...
I do feel guilty.
But I'll never hide away from you...
My feelings.
Sitting in the middle of it...
I do feel guilty.
But I'll never hide away from you...
My feelings.
Sitting in the middle of it...
I am no saint.
And I'll never hide from you...
My feelings.
And I'll,
Never hide from you...
My feelings.
And I'll,
Never hide from you...
My feelings.
Sitting in the middle of it.
Sitting in the middle of it,
And I'm...
Sitting in the middle of it.
Sitting in the middle of it,
And I'm...
Sitting in the middle of it.
Sitting in the middle of it,
And I'm...
Sitting in the middle of it.
And I'm...
Sitting in the middle of it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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R N R
Dont put that thing too close to my head
It took this long just to get ahead, he says
He knows for sure, but that he cant decide
Between his decency and this matter of pride
So hes growing up on time, hes growing up in the middle...
And it burns, and it burns, the sun burns
Oh, now I can really feel it. how could you ever stand it?
Weve got the same ideas, we got the same old fears;
Different colors sometimes, but hey, who cares?
Its just years that shears our lives apart, like the
Time you tried to teach your nephew to fart, he couldnt do it. push!
So hes growing up on time, Im growing up in the middle...
Oh, now I can really feel it. how could you ever stand it?
Im not the kind of person who would say it, if it wasnt the truth
And then you go and tell a friend that her hearts on fire
And it has no meaning.
Now and only now I know the difference when you tell me
There is no difference.
So shes growing up on time, shes growing up in the middle...
Nows the time to evaluate between the love you give
And the love that you take.
Its not a matter of opinion, when it comes down to it,
Its just a difference of opinion, that much I can take.
So Im growing up on time, Im growing up in the middle...
And it burns
song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Malachys
Eddie said the beat was wrong
Tom didnt like the tune
The boy with a beard in the corner
Laughed in the middle of a song
He didnt stay very long
Eddie said the lights were low
Tom said the treble was high
The boy with a beard in the corner
Laughed in the middle of a sigh
Dont think we ever even caught his eye
Sometimes I used to find
Id be singing to you
As if you were sitting
At the table by the door
Eddie said a friend of his
Is making it big in l.a.
Ah well everybody down at malachys
Says Im gonna make it someday
Sometimes I used to write
A song for you
As if you were sitting
At the table by the door
Sometimes I used to find
Id be singing to you
As if you were sitting
At the table by the door
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The culture demands writers?
What for do you write?
For an applause.
What from do you write?
From borrowings.
Why should you write?
To get pleasure in catharsis.
Why do you chose writing>
Most suited to an idler.
Do you write to cure the society?
No.
Do you write to save the society?
No.
Then, why?
Writings to people
Are cosmetics to women.
The culture demands them
16.05.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Do I Come From?
Where do I come from? I do not know,
For it was taken away before I could see. What
is my name? I do not know, because it was taken
away from me before I was born. Who am I? I will never know, for the
culture of who I am and would have been, was
stripped away from lack of understanding. What is my past?
The knowledge to know that people, doing the hating
and despising are the very same people that share
my family roots. Who am I? This I do know a person that
will never have knowledge, of what it would be
like to have a culture and a country, a past with
a positive history! Where do I go? I do not know, for there
is far more prejudice than ever against a people,
with no country and no culture, stuck in the middle
of a melting pot society. What do I do? All I can do is hope,
hope that one day, it won't matter what color
you are, and it won't matter where you come from.
It doesn't matter what you look like, that people
wake up and accept a person by how one is treated. What is my future?
To pass this knowledge to my children, for it
is the only thing left, that was not taken from me.
And it is the only thing of value in this life
I can give, this gift to my child.
poem by Be' Ver Lee Houston
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song About The Moon
If you want to write a song about the moon
Walk along the craters of the afternoon
When the shadows are deep
And the light is alien
And gravity leaps like a knife off the pavement
And you want to write a song about the moon
You want to write a spiritual tune
Then nah nah nah
Presto
Song about about the moon
If you want to write a song about the heart
Think about the moon before you start
Because the heart will howl
Like a dog in the moonlight
And the heart can explode
Like a pistol on a june night
So if you want to write a song about the heart
And its ever-longing for a counterpart
Write a song about the moon
The laughing boy
He laughed so hard
He fell down from his place
The laughing girl
She laughed so hard
The tears rolled down her face
Hey songwriter
If you want to write a song about
A face
Think about a photograph
That you really cant remember
But you cant erase
Wash your hands in dreams and lightning
Cut off your hair
And whatever is frightening
If you want to write a song
About a face
If you want to write a song about
The human race
Write a song about the moon
If you want to write a song about the moon
You want to write a spiritual tune
Then do it
Write a song about the moon
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Id Love To Write Another Song
Id love to write another song
But nothing seems to come
Id love to write another song
To carry me along
Make some money, pay the bills
Keep me busy too
Id love to write another love song
Id love to write another song
Im searching everywhere
Though I look for inspiration sometimes
Its just not there
I have to work, I have to play
I have to get in step
If I could write another love song
I know it sure would help
Id love to write another song
Baby especially for you
Id love to write another song
And feel things bright and new
In poetry Id carve it well
Id even make it rhyme
Id love to write another song
Just to get some peace of mind
Id love to write another song
To get some peace of mind
Id love to write another song
Baby for some peace of mind.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Growing Up In Public
Some people are into the power of power
The absolute corrupting power, that makes great men insane
While some people find their refreshment in action
The manipulation, encroachment and destruction of their inferiors
Growing up in public, growing up in public
Growing up in public, growing up in public with your pants down
Some people are into sadistic pleasures
They whet their desires and drool in your ears
Theyre quasi-effeminate characters in love with oral gratification
They edify your integrities, so they can play on your fears
Theyre gonna do you in public, cause youre growing up in public
Theyre gonna do it to you in public,
cause youre growing up in public with your pants down
Some people think being a man is unmanly
Some people think that the whole concepts a joke
But some people think being a man is the whole point
And then some people wish theyd never awoke
Up from a dream of nightmarish proportions
Down to a size neither regal nor calm
A prince hamlet caught the middle between reason and instinct
Caught in the middle with your pants down again
Caught in the middle, Im really caught in the middle
Im caught in the middle, caught in the middle deciding about you
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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95
sitting, waiting
sitting, as simple as sitting on a stair
you look around through dragonfly eyes
from higher places
like a cliff overlooking a village
closer to cotton clouds
patches of hissing
winds up here,
alone,
you sit, sitting is simple, it is not complicated
as waiting which is heavier sometimes with a person who is not
showing some shadows for the coming,
sit,
i sit,
i am sitting viewing a wide horizon, a vast expanse of a field,
some white herons heaving leaves blown from dead trees this summer,
they fly away
from you, they fly away from where you are seated, from your country,
you remain sitting,
sit, like a dog to his master telling him to sit,
sit,
it is simple as being yourself alone, not even waiting
things end in darkness
dust settles finally on the ground after a truck fully loaded with almost
everything leaves
the road heading far away from you,
you are not waiting for anything
you have no time
left for waiting, everything leaves and goes away, always everybody
utters the word goodbye
except these, the rain, the rain, there are many of them,
these hordes of rains
they are coming and you sit and do the last thing possible
listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How To Write A Novel
How to write a Novel
I like to write a book, any book as long as it has my name on the cover.
A one day course, how to write a novel. The course leader, a published
writer, wore a long dress but I could see her ankles, they were beautiful
and much younger than the rest of her. Dyed, red hair, face very pale,
presumable from sitting in all day writing how-to books.
Beginning, middle and an end, yes, like life, capricious in the middle,
the ending tends to write itself. Sudden endings are best, run over by
a bus, or a train crash, where cell phones go on ringing in the broken
interior. Then silence. Long ending are best being avoided, hospital bed
pages after pages, endless days, exhausted relatives.
Lovely ankles, did she paint her toenails red? She wore flat shoes
sensible for any woman over fifty. Classroom empty, they had all gone
out for lunch, I went to the pub and stayed there. Beginning, middle and
an ending, what more is there to know?
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song For Mary
Written by: james henman
When I try to find
Words that wish to rhyme
I will never write this song for her tonight
We have stood alone
We have walked alone
Wont you help write this song for her tonight
Help me write this song
Help me write this song
Help me write her song
Tonight
When I try to pray
I cant start to say
All those things I wish to say to her tonight
When she hears her song
She will sing along
She will know the words her heart for me to find
Will you help write this song
Help me write this song
Help me sing her song
Tonight
All these words Ive said
Lyin on my bed
Will they help me sleep alone again tonight
And we have walked alone
We have talked alone
Will you help me sing her song for her tonight
Will you help me sing her song
Help me sing her song
Help me sing her song
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sitting, Waiting
sitting, as simple as sitting on a stair
you look around through dragonfly eyes
from higher places
like a cliff overlooking a village
closer to cotton clouds
patches of hissing
winds up here,
alone,
you sit, sitting is simple, it is not complicated
as waiting which is heavier sometimes with a person who is not
showing some shadows for the coming,
sit,
i sit,
i am sitting viewing a wide horizon, a vast expanse of a field,
some white herons heaving leaves blown from dead trees this summer,
they fly away
from you, they fly away from where you are seated, from your country,
you remain sitting,
sit, like a dog to his master telling him to sit,
sit,
it is simple as being yourself alone, not even waiting
things end in darkness
dust settles finally on the ground after a truck fully loaded with almost
everything leaves
the road heading far away from you,
you are not waiting for anything
you have no time
left for waiting, everything leaves and goes away, always everybody
utters the word goodbye
except these, the rain, the rain, there are many of them,
these hordes of rains
they are coming and you sit and do the last thing possible
listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dreaming Country
I am sitting on a porch in a swing,
Dreaming country and enjoying the spring
Looking down a road that not on any map
While picking the guitar lying across my lab,
Dreaming country and living the life of song
It's the kind of living where you can't go wrong.
Dreaming country and walking the road of song
Singing proud, playing my guitar that I brought along
The tunes just come to me and the words run free
Country honey and the old oak tree
I feel the rhythm of the beat within my heart
The words roll out country; like a work of art.
Dreaming country and living the life of song
It's the kind of living where you can't go wrong.
Dreaming country and walking the road of song
Singing proud, playing my guitar that I brought along
Tell me do you feel the rhythm and the country mood
Do you hear the sound of loving that you can't elude.
Sit back and enjoy the tunes, let's dream of some country
It's the kind of music that keeps you so damn hungry
Dreaming country and living the life of song
It's the kind of living where you can't go wrong.
Dreaming country and walking the road of song
Singing proud, playing my guitar that I brought along
poem by Rik Bertrand
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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City In The Rain
If you find the time to get away
Opportunity may come your way
You can take a bus or catch the train
Let me tell you now you'll want to stay
Sky was brown
Trees were green
Birds all sang a song in vain
City in the rain [x3]
We were sitting in the
Sitting in the city in the rain
Won't you tell me what you came to see
Came to see the university
I trust you had a very pleasant day
Actually it wasn't quite that way
The sky was brown
Trees were green
The birds all sang a song in vain
City in the rain [x3]
We were sitting in the
Sitting in the city in the rain
Oh what fun we had
T he weather wasn't that bad
There just is no sun
Oh no here it comes
If you find the time to get away
Opportunity may come your way
You can take a bus or catch the train
Let me tell you now you'll want to stay
The sky was brown
The trees were green
The birds all sang a song in vain
City in the rain [x3]
We were sitting in the
Sitting in the city in the rain
song performed by by Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That One Song
That one song that two
people share between
themselves.
A song that has so many
positive memories in
that one song.
And when it comes on
Everything seems to stop-
And nothing matters but
all the memories with
that one song
and that one person.
When they are there with you.
you can remember together.
When the other person is not
there it makes you wish.
That they were with you
to hold you and to
dance with that person.
To move with the beat
standing together in
the arms of each other
Once you find that person
to share that one song with.
Nothing should break the
bond between you.
The bond of love.
poem by To Those Who Wonder What Life Is About
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Castlemaine
You've heard the song 'The wild colonial boy'
An oft sung ballad of decades gone by
His name was Jack Doolin from Castlemaine
Where now no trace of his existence remain.
The magpie's song tell Spring not far away
From Castlemaine on this bright August day
A sunny day with scarce a puff of breeze
And new leaves budding on deciduous trees.
In this Town in North West Victoria made famous by a song
The links to the pioneering days still strong
And though their's is Australia's oldest history
No traces of Aboriginal culture here I see.
So few acres ploughed for the growing of crops and grain
In the countryside around old Castlemaine
Few acres for the harvester to reap
This is a cattle country with some sheep.
Famed in a song as Jack Doolin's Hometown
Old Castlemaine of folklore and renown
And strong links to it's pioneering past remain
In the north west country Town of Castlemaine.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Confined Spaces
I tend to write and I don’t know why
in confined spaces wherever I am.
My desk is filled with odds and sods
giving no more than
about six inches to write within.
Sometimes I write parked in my car
sitting behind the steering wheel.
Its not that I write better
sitting like a shrivelled up prune,
it is just that they are the only spaces
I can get my writing down.
In a confined space somewhere.
31 January 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is Mumbling This Is Rambling
do not care to read me carefully, just skim over
some words that may call your preferential attention.
do not mind the smaller ideas, or the images that
you find hard to imagine. They may not be images
after all but just blotches of my stains, the negligence
of my trembling fingers, the lapses of my brains,
the slip of my tongues, the cliches of humanity,
seeking meaning in the meaninglessness of words.
this is mumbling, this is plain rambling
do not ever mind what i am writing. this is not about you.
or myself, or the society that like sheep simply graze on the grass
not knowing that on the next step is the landmine that kills them,
or why look for the meaning of loneliness in words or lines or poetry.
are you going home tonight? on a train. sit there. look over the window.
see the line of trees, do they shout at you? No.
and move your eyes, as though you are scrolling for names on the
cell phone, like roving camera, you do not have to look that far on the
20th person sitting across the other side.
someone is sitting next to you. listen to his silence.
feel the vibrations of all his problems. try to unmask the cover of his face.
are there words covering his face? none.
or if words cover his face and body, try reading them all silently.
most of the truths are not said. Not even written. You always see them
next to you. Be it on the train, the bus or the plane. Or simply when you
walk along the cemented paths of the park. Here comes another
lost soul. Talk to him. Do not write poetry.
this is mumbling this is plain rumbling. Do not speak poetry.
write them and let them cover your face. That is the best way to speak.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Silent Conversation With Myself
do not care to read me carefully, just skim over
some words that may call your preferential attention.
do not mind the smaller ideas, or the images that
you find hard to imagine. They may not be images
after all but just blotches of my stains, the negligence
of my trembling fingers, the lapses of my brains,
the slip of my tongues, the cliches of humanity,
seeking meaning in the meaninglessness of words.
this is mumbling, this is plain rambling
do not ever mind what i am writing. this is not about you.
or myself, or the society that like sheep simply graze on the grass
not knowing that on the next step is the landmine that kills them,
or why look for the meaning of loneliness in words or lines or poetry.
are you going home tonight? on a train. sit there. look over the window.
see the line of trees, do they shout at you? No.
and move your eyes, as though you are scrolling for names on the
cell phone, like roving camera, you do not have to look that far on the
20th person sitting across the other side.
someone is sitting next to you. listen to his silence.
feel the vibrations of all his problems. try to unmask the cover of his face.
are there words covering his face? none.
or if words cover his face and body, try reading them all silently.
most of the truths are not said. Not even written. You always see them
next to you. Be it on the train, the bus or the plane. Or simply when you
walk along the cemented paths of the park. Here comes another
lost soul. Talk to him. Do not write poetry.
this is mumbling this is plain rumbling. Do not speak poetry.
write them and let them cover your face.
That is the best way to speak.
This is what is life is all about.
Speechless. Alone always.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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