Sometimes it seems like there's more footnotes than text. This isn't something we're proud of, and over time we'd like to see our footnotes steadily shrink.
quote by Barry Diller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A composition in a ricefield
The white herons
Are commas
The carabaos are periods
An eagle flying over my head
Is the head note
The trees are the margins
And the fences
The nipa huts
Are footnotes
The rice field is one big
Pad of paper
And so this is the composition
Of a ricefield
Commas on top of periods
Two head notes will do
Four footnotes
Can make a story of a village
My hand is always the ampersand
And I think
Like there are no carabaos on this pad of paper.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Goals Often
Often we stare at the goals and goats,
Let events stand for the better, see the footnotes.
poem by Naveed Akram
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History is the transformation of tumultuous conquerors into silent footnotes.
quote by Paul Eldridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Existence is a series of footnotes to a vast, obscure, unfinished masterpiece.
quote by Vladimir Nabokov
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So, that notion of hypertext seemed to me immediately obvious because footnotes were already the ideas wriggling, struggling to get free, like a cat trying to get out of your arms.
quote by Ted Nelson
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The safest general characterization of the European philosophical tradition is that it consists of a series of footnotes to Plato.
quote by Alfred North Whitehead
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But this is an occupational hazard of being a scientist. You say this is the best information I have and then you realize that not everyone is going to read the footnotes or the whole book, so people are going to get the wrong impression.
quote by Bjorn Lomborg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why
Why poets are shy.
Shylock what's in a name.
Why do they then cry
from Yawning Depths
to Wuthering Heights.
Why do they pointy-late
in consonants and footnotes
and sketch an unsaid Why.
Rilke steered my mares,
Vroman turned me in his cell
and Komrij protected my shell.
But What I needed
Was carefully heeded
in urges to mystify.
poem by Madrason writer
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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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Landscape
Thinking was seeing through the time,
was a lone journey from naïve
understanding. Return was difficult,
back to bricks and forlorn shores.
How many beginnings had failed;
the doors locked, cobwebs, dust, smoke,
crowded with dangling hopes. Flywheels
broken. DNA twisted, life – in – heaps.
The purpose, warts and all, salvation,
as long as footnotes guided between
restless nights. Melancholy of space in
the bed. Silence of portraits.
A peacock explodes, defining the boundary,
then a chorus of approval. An owl hoots.
The candle kisses the creases of dark.
Moon swells.
poem by Satish Verma
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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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Text
I text you
The words i mime
There is really no reason or rhyme
To persist after all this time
But can't resist as my love still stands
Clings to hope with two bleeding hands
And when i ask 'am i still in your heart'
You depress with your silence
And depart.
I text her
And sometimes for days
She leaves me in deepest malaise
Then answers when my last nerve end frays.
And the light that i saw in her eye
Gently flickers and threatens to die
As my memory, tired and vexed
Sees me through
'Til she sends the next text.
I text you
Think maybe you care
That some day or year we will share
our one love extraordinaire
But time eats away at our life
Cutting with razor sharp knife
And our old dream of husband and wife
Faces the gallows next
Yet absurdly i send you a text.
poem by Kevin East
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Don’t Dress Up For the Occasion
Don’t dress up for the occasion
It’s only you and me
And a lyric without explanation
With words coming steadily
Writing thoughts on a sheet
Riming it all into place
Naming the text what it need
- Oh, there are so many ways
I could go on and ask you
What should I fix up more?
Then you could tell me what to do
To make me feel more assure
Expressions warped in text
Playfully the words are fixed
I can't explain what comes next
It’s complicated and mixed
Something perhaps about Prague
I traveled there longtime ago
Or maybe of a stray street dog
I came through the years to know
Together sometimes we walked the street
And blabbered full of nonsense
He and me and little ‘twiddle tweet’
Became all friends by accidents…
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Never preach a sermon without a text from the Bible, a text containing the theme which you can elaborate. The text is the best proof in support of your argument. A sermon without a text is an argument without a proof.
quote by Isaac Mayer Wise
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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I Wrote A Poem Across The Universe
I wrote a poem across the Universe
It was read among the stars-
Cosmic messages were sent endlessly reinterpreting it-
It appeared in Galactic anthologies
And whole Civilizations taught it in their schools-
Worlds were born with it and worlds lamented their dying with it-
It became the Text of the Text of the Text of the Text of the Text
Of cosmic intergalactic meaningfulness-
I wrote a poem across the Universe-
It was read for billions of years
And then somehow
No attention was paid to it anymore-
And it vanished for as long as forever can be understood to be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Footnote to a famous poem
You all know it from the classroom.
It’s in all the anthologies.
Many say it’s his best; ‘a young man’s poem’
full of life and love and promise;
and short too. His long poems,
they’re great but few have the patience now
and who cares about Poet Laureates
when they’re out of fashion?
It never appeared, did you know,
in his lifetime. Sat in his desk drawer,
a single poem in a fine Italian leather folder.
His wife left it there after he died;
remembering when he’d sent it to her
the night before their marriage; she caught him
once, sitting there, an old man reading
a young man’s poem; closed the door quietly,
said nothing.
They cleared the house after she died.
It would never have come to light
if years later his mistress hadn’t left
a copy – it transpired - to the museum
in her will; he’d written it just for her, she said;
but made her promise not to publish it.
She felt she owed it to his memory though.
Some people prefer not to have
footnotes to poems; they say
they spoil the poem,
and cheapen a great man;
some people like them; they say
it makes poets seem more human.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Im So Proud
Youre prettier than all the world
And Im so proud, Im so proud, Im so proud of you
cause youre only one fellows girl
Im so proud, Im so proud, Im so proud of you
Im so proud of being loved by you
And it would hurt, hurt to know,
If you ever were untrue, yeah
Sweeter than the taste of a cherry so sweet
Yeah, and Im so proud, Im so proud,
Im so proud of you
Compliments to you from all the people we meet
Yes babe and Im so proud, Im so proud,
Im so proud of you
Im so proud of being loved by you
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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[not] A love letter to Arthur [Schopenhauer]
How could a man called Arther be so glum?
[I am being ironic! ]
Having made the sum
And found the sound of silence
Lost in space and nothingness
As if you were and are the only one?
Could love not have relieved you of your necessary pain?
I would have wished it there
Admidst the harlot and the angel
My love letter would have coloured your skies
Purple
Diminished the darkness of'discontent'
Lived and let you breathe the dream of strife
Knowing only this, that this is life
A transient and fragile thing
Fleeting passed
On bright coloured wings!
Oh Arther knowing no fun
No laughter
Finding solace in your pain
No weeping
Certain of the clocks ticking
Beating you in, loveless
Fruitless
Finding death in an armchair
Always waiting
For this final calling
Killing life and life and life
Living loveless death
Letters left
Footnotes to 'nothingness'
Who would of guessed?
No, this was not a love letter!
[Perhaps it was all just a dream? ]
yvette m smith poet of uk
july 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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My Vivid Future
As I walk down the road and think
I think about my adulthood in a good way
My future is going to be a blast, no it won't shrink
I am afraid I will lose my visualization if I blink
Or another thought and become dismay
As I walk down the road and think
As I draw this vivid picture with gray ink
I wait with great anticipation for that day
My future is going to be a blast, no it won't shrink
Oooops, my thought almost had shrink
I quietly ask my thought to lay
As I walk down the road and think
Just then my eyes tried to blink
Because they are waiting for my head to lay
My future is going to be a blast, no it won't shrink
Please don't go away for I still want to think
About the wonderful way
As I walk down the road and think
Of my future that will not shrink
poem by Ashley Jackson
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