For an author to write as he speaks is just as reprehensible as the opposite fault, to speak as he writes; for this gives a pedantic effect to what he says, and at the same time makes him hardly intelligible.
quote by Arthur Schopenhauer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Must
She writes as if there’s not much time.
She writes to pain, to happiness,
She writes to every remote detailed thought.
She writes to the departed,
to the extant,
to poverty,
to wealth.
She writes to mourn, and grief.
She writes to the wind, the rain,
forest, the desert, and mountains.
She writes to her pouring tears,
to her grateful moments,
She writes because really what she has is time.
She has no little ones to feed, or bathe,
nor a husband to make happy. To write is
to escape- to her. Time is not a problem, time
is just a killing system, she needs to kill in many words.
She writes as if there’s not much time.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Speeeeeech!
does it make difference you speak in front of many people or alone
does it make difference you speech in historic place or in your toilet
does it make difference you are charismatic leader or unknown beggar from streetside
it makes difference you speak to clash conflict or for better world
it makes difference you speech bonded by past or to move forward
it makes difference you depend by fact or just soap service
does it make difference you read from text or speak fluently
does it make difference you speech in busy market or deserted mountain
does it make difference you write words yourself or scrap it from books and paper
it makes difference everybody exitedly listens or sleeps peacefully on their seats
it makes difference you have freedom to speak or prisoned by intimidation
it makes difference it gives effect or just a long boring speech
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When The Pen Sits Beside A Paper Doing Nothing
there is this time of the day
when you sit and stare and think about nothing
and so the pen merely places itself idly
on the table beside a paper
bland and blank
there is this emptiness that does not even speak for itself
you cannot write it
you cannot also write it off away from you
no one speaks there
except your thoughts
somehow you want to remember love
it smiles at you
and then you spell the word regret
always, and as usual,
it comes late, makes you chew a memory
it is bitter
and of course, like what they do, you spit it out.
to where it lands, a beautiful flower grows
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Know The Word of the Spirit Original 01 16 2011
TO KNOW THE WORD
OF THE SPIRIT:
Original 01 16 2011
To know the word as motive
Know that God speaks the nous
Between his will and knowledge
Prerogatives of vision and reason
To know the word as verbal
Know that God speaks transcendent
Nous -to know the word as noun
Know God speaks the tone of you
To know the word as poem read
To know the word as pronoun
Know that god does not speak
Of you god speaks to you
To know the word as adverb
Know that God does not speak
About you God speaks through you
To know the word as adjective
Know that God speaks by you
To know the word as preposition
Know God speaks from the heart
To know the word as poem write
To know the word is off the table
Know that God knows who sops
And all that was [was] forgiven
To know word as free verse
To know the word as parable
Know that God speaks nous
To know that God has spoken
Know pain and pleasure in spirit.
Lee Mack copyright 2009. ISBN # 0615318347. Do not reproduce without permissions.
poem by Lee B. Mack
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A Message Here For All You Poets
The love poet writes of lovely things like true love and flowers in bloom
And the roses in the poet's garden scent of a sweet perfume
And the gentle hearted applaud him saying what a marvellous poet
He surely is a child of God and one worthy of note.
The love poet writes of love of God and the God fearing say
He's a fine poet one of the best love and respect to God he pay
He hear no evil speak no evil only write of God and love
And there's a place reserved for him in God's Kingdom up above.
The social issues poet writes of the poor and few his verses read
They say he writes such morbid stuff sob stories we do not need
He keeps highlighting the downtrodden and those in poverty
He ought to put more trust in God and in Humanity.
A message here for all you poets don't write of the downtrod
But write of affairs of your heart and write of your love of God
And some will say how great you are and your praises they will sing
And they will pay respect to you and call you their Poetic Queen or King.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Book Of Suleika - The Loving One Again
WRITES he in Neski,
Faithfully speaks he;
Writes he in Tali,
Joy to give, seeks he:
Writes he in either,
Good!--for he loves!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A very wise author once said that a writer writes for himself, and then publishes for money. I write for myself and publish just for the reader.
quote by Guillermo Cabrera Infante
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Library In You
The words that you speak.The wisdom you have inspired me. The stories you tell and the author in you comes out. Library In You
The parallel lines in you words the experience in the language the art of storytelling.Reception from people how these stories affect many lives.The library In You. Your literature speaks volumes to me.You are the simile and I; m the metaphore.The tone of beautiful words the elegance of rhythem in which you speak from. Listening brings many to high altitudes.The library In You
Grammar in how you use it.The ingredent to mothers cake the master in your own league.An idle mirror on how I can tell my story. Your flowetry with a pen and paper tells all issues of those in the ghetto. You are the symphony of art.
The mathematics of an artist and his brush.The fuel to the fire I ignite with inspiration. The mother speaks as the child listen.The library in You
To conquer all paths of storytelling to imply and relate with a pen and recongize these thoughts.
The pen writes the story but the mind conquers the thought.Words explains the love of literature.I accept the library in me
poem by Lucinda Bryson
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There Is A Time When Tired And Weak
THERE IS A TIME WHEN TIRED AND WEAK
There is a time when tired and weak
An old man can barely think
But writes nonetheless
A few small lines
To remind himself
That he still has a mind-
There is a time when tired and weak
An old man can barely speak
But writes nonetheless
A few small lines
To prove to himself
That he still is alive-
There is a time when tired and weak
And old man can barely dream
But writes nonetheless
A few small lines
To make himself believe
He still has time
There will be a time when tired and weak
An old man will be unable to read-
He will not write a few small lines
He will sit and wait
For the end of his life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost In The Music
the music you write
makes my mind soar
the music you write
makes me want to dance
the music you write
is like a lullaby
the music you write
makes my heart jump
the music you write
makes me want to hear it again
the music you write
is like a shooting star
the music you write
makes me fall in love with you
the music you write
is like a shower in a drought
the music you write
is like a dream that i don't want to wake up from
i get lost in the music you write
poem by Brittney Crozier
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There Was Nothing Left To Write
THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT TO WRITE
There was nothing left to write
Everything had already been written
And was being written over again and again
By thousands elsewhere-
There was nothing left to write
And nothing new to say -
And no need for anything he had to give-
It was over for him as a writer
Whether he accepted it or not-
No one would ever need or want anything he could do again-
And so when he despite all this still wrote
It seemed to many simply pathetic-
The obsessive reflex of an already lost soul-
Who wrote and wrote and wrote
Who writes and writes and writes
Who cannot stop
However senseless all he does, is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Swim Submerged
FLYING flocks travel in flight,
another faulkner puts down his
shovel, and writes, writes, and
writes,
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me muddled spirits,
and write the words with your
own red blood,
FLYING flocks travel in flight,
sextan turns up, with her freind
plath, and they both begine to
write, write, and write, yippee,
says the words, for these words
will end up in a paper back book.
poem by David Gerardino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballad Of ‘Memo’ Roy
For JoAnn
Who in conversation inspired this little ditty.
This is the Ballad of ‘Memo’ Roy
the fastest memos in the world.
Roy writes a memo every minute
just to remind himself what to do.
He even writes one to tell himself
he must visit the loo.
It all started many years ago
when the doctor told Roy
he was suffering from
short-term memory loss.
Now he writes memos
to remind himself to write a memo
for everything he must do.
He writes one late at night
to remind him
to get up in the morning
and one in the morning
to remind him to go to bed at night.
It is estimated he writes
quite a few hundred memos everyday.
His house is filed with little bits
of yellow paper stuck up here and there.
He couldn’t watch TV
even if he wanted to.
There are s many memos on it
you can’t see the screen.
One day his pen ran out
and no memos he could write.
He couldn’t even write a memo
to remind himself to buy a pen.
Then he found a pencil
and shouted that will do.
Now he is able to write memos to himself
to tell himself what to do.
As far as I know,
he hasn’t written a memo
to remind himself to sharpen
the pencil once and a while.
28 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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I want to write a poem.
I want to write a poem,
But don't know on what to write that poem.
Should it be like the one Kenn Nesbitt writes,
or should it be like the one that Emily Bronte writes.
Should it be a serious one with no fun,
Or should it be funny with amusement of tonne.
Should it be an Acrostic poem,
Or should it be a Haiku poem.
Should it be on a relationship,
Or should it be on Titanic ship.
Should it be Educating,
Or should it be just on something.
Should it rhyme and take alot of time,
Or should it simply unrhyme.
Should it be long like a Novel and never end,
Or should it be short and quickly end.
THIS THINGS WILL DRIVE ME CRAZY........
poem by Rabia Javed
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Explodes In This Poets Mind
flying flocks travel in flight,
another faulkner puts down
his shovel, and writes, writes
and writes.
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me the muddled spirits,
and write your own words
with your own blood.
flying flocks travel in flight,
sextan turns up with her friend
plath, and they both write, write,
and write with their own blood.
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me these muddled spirits,
and write with your own blood.
Flying flocks travel in flight, and
a poem explodes in this poets mind,
and i write, and write, and write,
and on this white paper, my blood.
poem by David Gerardino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I think like a genius, I write like a distinguished author, and I speak like a child.
quote by Vladimir Nabokov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An author who speaks about their own books is almost as bad as a mother who speaks about her own children.
quote by Benjamin Disraeli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poet Laureate
On reading Candy Elvis' critique of a laureate's book
Candy Elvis
(Not the Presley one)
Writes poems of time and bliss
She sees no need to atone.
Taking an author by the ears
And addressing her concern
Which well might bring to the eyes, some tears
For she teaches, what all should learn.
For she is not forgiving
When she discovers that there is no sense
To spend time in reading
A poem, or book for which coins have been misspent.
So cast out the author
And go to sleep
The writing is perhaps for another
But surely not bo-peep.
poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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311
today the cat and the dog of this house
have a holiday of their eternal quarrel
and jealousy
none speaks a bad word for each other
none of them
initiates an argument about whom
of them the master
loves better
none of them
speaks ill about the other neighboring cats
or dogs
the dog does not speak about the bone
the cat does not speak about the rats
both of them are silent and sad
and none wants to speak
beside their master
he is sick and dying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cat And The Dog In The House Of Their Master
today the cat and the dog of this house
have a holiday of their eternal quarrel
and jealousy
none speaks a bad word for each other
none of them
initiates an argument about whom
of them the master
loves better
none of them
speaks ill about the other neighboring cats
or dogs
the dog does not speak about the bone
the cat does not speak about the rats
both of them are silent and sad
and none wants to speak
beside their master
sick and dying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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