Let authors write for glory and reward. The truth is well paid when she is sung and heard.
quote by James J. Corbett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There are authors who write to communicate, there are authors who write to impress themselves.
quote by Mark S. Hertzog
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Payday Long Overdue
No one knows,
What you go through each day.
But there are some with 'something' to say...
About what it is,
That you do...
To get done.
No one knows,
How it is that you feel.
But opinions given they will reveal.
Just to get the satisfaction...
To opened ears to appeal.
But you know that...
Your payday coming for you is overdue.
For those dues paid that you've been through.
With no sad songs sung heard,
To come from you.
So get that payday long overdue.
You've been through what no one ever knew.
Leave those sad songs,
For others who sing the blues.
And you know that,
Your payday coming for you is overdue.
For those dues paid that you've been through.
With no sad songs sung heard,
To come from you.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the history of literature there are many great enduring works which were not published in the lifetimes of the authors. If the authors had not achieved self-affirmation while writing, how could they have continued to write?
quote by Gao Xingjian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let great authors have their due, as time, which is the author of authors, be not deprived of his due, which is, further and further to discover truth.
quote by Francis Bacon
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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No One Heard
A song was sung that no one heard.
The song was sung all through the town.
It played for days - from dust until dawn.
It greeted on the morning and midnight yawn.
A song was sung that no one heard.
The melody was sweet and words were strong.
The instruments were the piano and the gong.
No one heard, no they did not,
For to hear, you needed the purest heart.
The song was played in the land on man;
A song was sung that no one heard.
Copyright © 2010 Leslie Alexis
poem by Leslie Alexis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Write It Down In Blue
Everyone knows it, see talks goin' 'round
It ain't no secret 'cause it's all over town
Some people are talkin' that we know so well
Everyone's heard it but the one you can't tell
Write it down in blue
Sorry I don't love you
If you can't face the truth
And you can't say we're through
Write it down in blue
What you are feeling, you just can't explain
Oh you got your reasons, now you just can't change
And there's no way to hide it 'cause baby I can see
So if you can't say it then do this for me
Write it down in blue
Sorry I don't love you
If you can't face the truth
And you can't say we're through
Write it down in blue
Yeah, that's the thing to do
If you can't say it's over
And you can't say we're through
Write it down in blue
Blue, blue, blue
Write it down in blue, oh
Blue, blue, blue
Write it down in blue
Write it down in blue
Everyone knows it, see talks goin' 'round
It ain't no secret it's all over town
Some people are talkin' that we know so well
Everyone's heard it but the one you can't tell
Write it down in blue
Sorry I don't love you
If you can't face the truth
And you can't say we're through
Write it down in blue
Yeah, that's the thing to do
If you can't say it's over
And you can't say we're through
Write it down in blue, oh yeah
Write it down, write it down
Write it down in blue
Write it down, write it down
Write it down in blue
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When authors who write literary fiction begin to write screenplays, everybody assumes that's the end. Here's another who's never going to write well again.
quote by Richard Russo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Angry Poem, Because So Many Flags Are At Half Staff
The wreaths are piling up on the curb. Coffins line streets swept and stainless. Some one asks why, there are murmurs in the crowd. I am beyond curiosity, tired of the story that begins with Blood and ends in Glory. Glory, worshiped in the streets, feared in our hearts. Glory, bought with sin, greed and the end of innocence. Glory, balm for the living because the dead do not need soothing. Glory, an epithet hammered into gravestones. Glory in death -wrap that lie in a flag and praise it to heaven. We are false prophets and our blessing has cursed the dead with the Blood sacrifice.
Blood is paid for with youth, salvation, faith -everything, all they have and ever will. Blood is given (taken) in our name and we can only offer up sorrow, prayers, songs, statues. Blood should bring guilt, shame, truth, but we deny, deny, deny, and deny the abomination we have become. 2,000 suicides,3,000 dead,130,000 killed,6 million murdered,60 million casualties... the numbers do not lie. And we will go on counting the dead while rain polishes their headstones smooth.
So do not ask me why so many flags are at half staff. I will not give you the answer you want to hear. I will not mock the dead with vainglorious praise, Glory Glory Hallelujah! They are the mothers, fathers, sons and daughters who paid the price of Blood and I will honor them with the truth.
poem by Ronald Shields
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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American Trilogy
Oh I wish I was in the land of cotton
Old things they are not forgotten
Look away, look away, look away Dixieland
Oh I wish I was in Dixie, away, away
In Dixieland I take my stand to live and die in Dixie
Cause Dixieland, that's where I was born
Early Lord one frosty morning
Look away, look away, look away Dixieland
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory hallelujah
His truth is marching on
So hush little baby
Don't you cry
You know your daddy's bound to die
But all my trials, Lord will soon be over
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory hallelujah
His truth is marching on
His truth is marching on
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Birds
The birds, the birds of mine own land
I heard in Brittany;
And as they sung, they seemed to me
The very same I heard with thee.
And if it were indeed a dream,
Such thoughts they taught my soul to frame
That straight a plaintive number came,
Which still shall be my song, Till that reward is mine which love hath promised long.
poem by Gace Brulé
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The truth should not be told
The truth should not be told
The truth should always be withhold
The truth as it turns out
Should not be said out loud
The truth as they say will set you free
But it will also come with an undetectable fee
The truth is in fact quite dirty and mean
Even for a noble deed
The truth even in good will or unwillingness to commit deception
As I am sure you have heard; the road to hell is paid with good intentions
So many terrible things the truth brings
It’s really a villain playing the hero if you ask me
But, I’m unhappy to say
The truth has a point in some very maniacal way
Screwed if you do, screwed if you don’t, says the verse
I guess nobody wins in these small set of words.
poem by Gabriel Joel
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Today... 'The Earnest of our inheritance
The payment has been made
and the price has been paid.
My salvation is sealed
by the Gospel revealed.
For the Truth has been heard
and I believed The Word.
Redemptions great story
The praise of His Glory.
By God's great compassion
a purchased possession.
The Spirit of promise
has now guaranteed this.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Some authors should be paid by the quantity NOT written.
The idea of copyright did not exist in ancient times, when authors frequently copied other authors at length in works of non-fiction. This practice was useful, and is the only way many authors' works have survived even in part.
quote by Richard Stallman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blessed To Be His Pen
I am blessed to be a pen, which God uses to speak to men,
As God’s Truth flows from in; Truths I’ve received from Him,
Truth from within His Word, which many still have not heard,
So God put within me care, and with a pen this Truth I share.
I do not have a big degree, and yet, The Lord God uses me,
Guiding my pen as I write, Truths about His Grace and Light,
Truths I did not always know, but His Spirit helped me grow,
And now His Truth in my heart, to you with pen I now impart.
His Truth for me, is not new, but still a joy to share with you,
It’s the Truth that set me free, that helps me point to eternity.
The blessings begin to flow, when Christ you come to know,
Who helps men share His Word, until all on earth have heard.
To share His Truth, until then, The Lord helps me use my pen,
Guiding me, as I sow seed, through the verses that you read.
Many blessings God gives me, which the readers cannot see,
As His blessings fill my days, I lift up to Him all of the praise.
Just a line or two, will begin, from His Truth that dwells within,
Coupled with a thought of mine, when God pens another line,
Stirring thoughts day and night, it is Him, who helps me write.
It doesn’t matter how or when; I’m just blessed to be His pen.
(Copyright ©02/2008)
A Song Thats Sung..
A song that's sung
tells more than a story
a song that's sung
is sung from the heart
a song that's sung
is a story from the soul
a song that's sung
is the greatest love
a song that's sung
is a give from above
a song that's sung
is an emotion in a melody
a song that's sung
can be whatever you want it to be
a song that's sung
can have a million meanings
a song that's sung
is a diary of emotions...
poem by Emily Summers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Collaboration
For JoAnn and Meggie
My two collaborating special friends
When you write in collaboration
all authors must have faith
in what the other writes,
for without it,
anything you write
starts showing at the seams.
17 January 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Problems
I really have no problems except those I have made.
My ego and desires light fires that must be paid…
Paid with lost opportunities and forgotten friends,
All due to my own faults and refusals of amends.
The time I take to blame the world I could well invest,
Solving problems of others to bring out their very best.
In doing so I surely know of what reward I’d be paid...
Resolution of painful problems I myself have made.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Fabulists
1914-18
When all the world would keep a matter hid,
Since Truth is seldom Friend to any crowd,
Men write in Fable, as old AEsop did,
Jesting at that which none will name aloud.
And this they needs must do, or it will fall
Unless they please they are not heard at all.
When desperate Folly daily laboureth
To work confusion upon all we have,
When diligent Sloth demandeth Freedom's death,
And banded Fear commandeth Honour's grave--
Even in that certain hour before the fall,
Unless men please they are not heard at all.
Needs must all please, yet some not all for need,
Needs must all toil, yet some not all for gain,
But that men taking pleasure may take heed
Whom present toil shall snatch from later pain.
Thus some have toiled, but their reward was small
Since, though they pleased, they were not heard at all.
This was the lock that lay upon our lips,
This was the yoke that we have undergone,
Denying us all pleasant fellowships
As in our time and generation.
Our pleasures unpursued age past recall,
And for our pains--we are not heard at all.
What man hears aught except the groaning guns?
What man heeds aught save what each instant brings?
When each man's life all imaged life outruns,
What man shall pleasure in imaginings?
So it hath fallen, as it was bound to fall,
We are not, nor we were not, heard at all.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Never Heard About Me
I had heard nobody singing and I had heard no rock and roll
It was the kind of my upbringing
Thats right
Now maybe you will see
You never heard about me
About me
Well you can write a novel and you can be a rise
You can write me something awful
Thats right
Money back guarantee
You never heard about me
About me
Well I heard your body singing and I heard your rock and roll
And I do not get the meaning
Thats right
Absolutely definately
You never ever heard about me
About me
About me
About me
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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