Write to be understood, speak to be heard, read to grow.
quote by Lawrence Clark Powell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Un-Common Courtesy
I know what it's like to write and to not be read -
It's much like to speak out and not be heard.
And then there is being read but not gotten back to
It's like greeting someone hello and they just walk right past you.
You are almost sure they heard you at such close proximity
And yet it seems you've been cloaked with invisibility.
So when you post all of your work with such ferocity,
Then expect to be acknowledged, why not extend the same courtesy?
poem by Frederick Kesner
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A Reflection
those who start to speak are those who realized they do not know
and those who begin to be silent seems to have understood that they know
why must i speak to you? why must i write you a poem?
why did you write me a very long letter?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'm Not One to Dissect What's Enjoyed
I made an announcement,
Very early in my life
That I was going to write.
No one understood that appetite,
I had for writing.
No one understood it.
But I had to do it to get it done.
No one understood it.
Neither do I still.
I just write.
With a feeding that delights,
A craving that goes unexplained.
Like a desire to be fulfilled.
And I'm not one to dissect what's enjoyed!
What would I then find to nourish...
With such complete love?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Learning language
Hear and hear to learn hearing.
Speak and speak to learn speaking.
Read and read to learn reading.
Write and write to learn writing.
They are four ways traffic.
04.02.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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From Mighty Pen
It will not only be evaluated
But in all the directions circulated
Each word read and assessed
The thought behind it accepted and chased
Whatever you write
May not lead to fight
But may be preserved
As you have deserved
Write up is perfect
Speak of good act
One should have always dreamed
Thought of and assumed
Write with pen and pencil
But never mention it as nil
It may make final impression
Fine border with embroidery relation
So to speak less and do more
Some thoughts are needed therefore
To write and leave it for others
To think, act or otherwise bother
Write, write and write
That shall ignite
Your hidden talent
To make solid movement
Readers may not appreciate quickly
But may accept views happily
As it has come from a mighty pen
At a time when needed from noble man
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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And I My Poem/I Could Not Write
AND I MY POEM/ COULD NOT WRITE
And I my poem
Could not write
Because I heard
Another light.
And fear and far
So deep in me
Distanced my Eternity.
But suddenly my soul in strain
Heard its song once again
And for this little interval
I dare not let myself be still
Instead I’ll laugh and sing again
And play and pray
Until my end -
And nothing in this night or death
Will ever let my mind forget
That I need God
Whatever I do
God and me and also you.
Read read this little poem I pray
This is my blessing for this day.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The spun one is not the cotton.
What I speak and write
From what I heard and stored
And from what I read and stored.
Are like the spun one from the cotton
05.07.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Wing Pages Of The Butterfly
at the nursery
while people
are at purchase
and at transactions
a blue butterfly
comes by
and opens its pages to me
swift and quick
and it says to me:
'Read! Read!
Read my pages! '
'I can’t read, '
I say,
amused
at this brash butterfly
'Read and write!
Read and write
about me,
and all flitting butterflies
Read
and write, you silly! '
it commands
And so I read
and I copy
and these are the words
the words from those
pages
the butterfly
holds up to me
poem by Raj Arumugam
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~ O' Poetry I Read I Write ~
~ O' POETRY I READ I WRITE ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
29 December,2009.
Poetry ~
I read I read I read
Without asking,
Knowing why?
Poetry ~
I write I write I write
Without asking,
Knowing why?
O' Poetry ~
Read n’ write
To share
Dare n’ bare,
Don’t care
Love to dye
By
Hi and fie.
.
O' Poetry ~
Life I buy
Never sell bye bye
All I’ll do until I die
Lo! I’m no hi-fi.
----
Copyright reserved by the author
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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It's All Understood
Everyone laughed at her joke
As if they'd never even heard it before
And maybe they were truly amused
But every word that she spoke was a bore
And maybe it's because they had seen
The previews on the TV screen
Well this part is good and that's well understood
So you should laugh if you know what I mean
But it's all relative
Even if you don't understand
Well it's all understood
Especially when you don't understand
Then it's all just because
Even if we don't understand
Then lets all just believe
Everyone knows what went down
Because the news was spread all over town
And fact is only what you believe
And fact and fiction work as a team
It's almost always fiction in the end
That content begins to bend
When context is never the same
And it's all relative
Even if we don't understand
And it's all understood
Especially when we don't understand
Then it's all just because
Even if we don't understand
Then lets all just believe
I was reading a book
Or maybe it was a magazine
Suggestions on where to place faith
Suggestions on what to believe
But I read somewhere
That you've got to beware
You can't believe anything you read
But the good Book is good
And it's all understood
So don't even question
If you know what I mean
But it's all relative
Even if you don't understand
Well it's all understood
Especially when you don't understand
And it's all just because
Even if we don't understand
Then lets all just believe
But there you go once again
You missed the point and then you point
Your fingers at me
And say that I said not to believe
I believe
I guess
I guess it's all relative
song performed by by Jack Johnson from Brushfire Fairytales
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Browning’s Sordello
“SORDELLO'S story,” the Sphinx yawned and said,
“Who would has heard.” Is that enough? Who could,
'Twere not amiss to add, has understood:
Who understood perhaps has profited.
For my part I could tell a tale instead
Of one who, dreaming of no likelihood
Even that the “Book” was going to end for good,
Turned the last page, and lo the book was read.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Write A Poem And Immortalize Yourself
Write a poem and they'll
Read your masterpiece for
The next five hundred years!
Write a fabulous poem and they'll
Know who you are!
Write a great majestic superlicious
Poem and immortalize yourself!
Kings and presidents live and they
Die to be the footnotes of History!
But if you write a superb poem
They'll call you the immortal
Beloved of your generation!
Write the poem of the century
And you will speak in proverbs
With the gods!
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Speak not of what you have read, but about what you have understood.
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)
I Grow Old
I grow old I should feel the cold
I grow old I should have grey hair
I grow old I should sit and stare
I grow old I should have false teeth
I grow old I should have poor sight
I grow old I should forget to write
I grow old I should have aches and pains
I grow old I should 'stroll down memory lane'
I grow old I should walk with a stick
But as I grow old I KICK ASS!
And that's about it!
poem by Yvette Smith
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A Poem Written By A Confessed Bipolar (her Name To Be Revealed Upon Her Permission)
I write because I can
I write because there are so many things to be written.
I write because I can make a painting without a brush and paints in my hand.
I write because I can capture the moment without having a camera.
I write because letters and words are the only recipe I know how to cook.
I write because I want to read what I’ve written.
I write because I’m used to speak in silence.
I write because I have a story to tell.
I write because I want to strip off my flesh and live as a pure being.
I write because I can record my “voice” without having a recorder.
I write because it’s like a cup of coffee, it keeps me awake
I write because I want to live even when I do not exist.
I write because this is my throwing stones when I’m frustrated.
6/11/09 at 4: 42 PM
I write because I can flaunt my being when I don’t have clothes to show off.
I write because this is like making an encyclopedia to a coloring book.
I write because it’s more effective than my lithium medication.
I write because I’m tired of carrying these baggages on the road.
I write because I’m tired of talking too much.
I write because it’s a healthier diversion than smoking.
I write because it’s more therapeutic than analyzing my problem.
I write because I want to paint a thousand pictures with words.
I write because I can put colors to the letters and make a rainbow of words.
I write because it’s the key combinations to my hidden vaults.
I write because my ball pen is my best friend in the darkest nights.
I write because it surprises me with what I am capable of thinking&doing. 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because I like that ideas are popping like pop corns.
I write because I can wander in the adventures of my own world.
I write because I have to cleanse my collection of memories of an old home.
I write because like a mirror you need to do a lot of reflections.
I write because I want to fight the battle of life.
I write because I wanted my little voice to be heard.
I write because I want to run from the insanities of the world.
I write because pictures don’t talk.
I write because it helps me connect the dots when I look back in my life.
I write because it brings me back to my crib of silence.
I write because it makes a buzz to other bees in my beehive.
I write because unlike my bike my destination is limitless.
I write because I want to become an inspiration without extinction 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because like strumming of the guitar, it vibrates in my soul.
I write because I love to write.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Szymborska 's Yearns
'Poets yearn, of course, to be published, read, and understood, but they do little, if anything, to set themselves above the common herd and the daily grind.'
i do not have
the wish anymore
to be understood
by you or anybody
i belong to the
common things
you cannot see
me in the herd
i am in my
daily endeavors
unknown to you
i still write without
any wish that you
recognize my
voice or feel the
longings of my
hands or see the
scars in my heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words
Yeats so simply stated
' Words alone are certain good. '
And to the great poet
So highly rated
I try to listen, as I should; Yet
Being an untrained novice
Such as me
With verdant hopes of much improvement
- oh that I would -
I beg to slightly differ with W. B.
And offer here my humble opinion
- if I could -
Good certainly is not words alone,
For without humanity
To read and to write
How would they ever become known?
- For without the good of people
Who of these words would care
Ever to be heard, or even shared?
No, the good does not alone from words arise,
Rather from human beings
Whose entire story
Such words do attempt to comprise.......
- Words written in this time
May even the way
To a distant future find,
But not on their own
And never alone.
For it takes people's
- hand's to write
- eye's to read
- heart and soul to understand
The purpose, and the need.
Let it here be shown
Words alone
Are not the only good,
They need human beings
To give goodness and life
To their reason and meaning
For they are merely the vehicle
By which man's true good
Is found and understood.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Understood what the struggle was about. My mother. Couldn't read or write, but she had more sense than many a graduate from Harvard.
Write Erase Write Erase
this is what happens to this poem
when you have nothing to write
tonight....write, erase, write, erase
you are waiting
for an inspiration that does not come
you keep on waiting and then something comes
you write it, you think about it, you read it and you find nothing
worth the letter you assign to it
then you erase it and you are honest enough to admit that there is nothing
beautiful
not even a purpose, and then you write the word again, you ponder, there is
nothing worth its existence
there is nothing to grow in that word chosen
you erase it again, you write it and then there is this space of thinking,
what is it? you ask. what is it really?
it is this denial.
this negation of
what you are
that keeps you writing.
you stand by the window. Look out
the road. You see a dog, and it is howling again
to the moon
and to the wrong tree
it is barking.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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