When I decided to take writing seriously, I did a lot of reading and analyzing of the books I liked, and came up with what I thought were pretty sound plotting and structure basics.
quote by George Stephen
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I started writing while I was a little boy. Maybe it's because I was reading a lot of books I admired, and thought that I would like to write something like that someday. Also, my love for good writing pushed me.
quote by Naguib Mahfouz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Books
Books are my first love, I’m so proud to read;
They give me knowledge and help life to lead;
Hours, days just pass by, by reading life-time;
Life would not be worth, if not for my rhyme.
Great are those people who write books all life;
Burning just candles, with Goose-quills in strife;
Tired of writing though day-long or night,
They keep on writing in such a bad light.
Books serve a great cause; their value can’t cease;
It takes years to write but reading is ease;
Book-makers struggle to print a few books;
And keep spending time to, improve their looks.
Some find their way to libraries in town;
Some remain untouched and nev’r taken down;
Silver-fish, Moths eat the books that are old;
Some are gone obsolete, some sold like gold.
Some are in tatters and must be rebound;
Books are Man’s best friends where solace is found;
Reading for long hours, does help you to learn;
Books give much knowledge and wisdom to men.
Read books with great care whose weight is in gold;
Serve generations though they may be old;
Source of much Info, deserving respect;
Books are life-partners whom you ne’er reject!
poem by John Celes
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Fanciful Doctor
Fancy I can forgive you for oneself,
Gather new coins and credits on the shelf.
This is where the books and ledgers lie,
I must accept the acids of reading, then amplify.
I forgive your reading skill so higher than mine,
For your skills are like a doctor or medical man too fine;
The basics learnt by your brain are assessed,
You hurt those in a blessing, and are obsessed.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Returning Back To Basics
How can anyone surrounded by decadence,
Be expected to be innocent of anything?
And how old can one's pretentions get,
Before they too begin to smell like curbed garbage?
Especially when fresh resolutions have just been made,
By those insisting they are going to simplify their lives...
With a returning back to basics.
As soon as those 'basics' are decided to identify.
And they don't interfere with things chosen that are liked.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sarah Palin - now don't laugh - is writing a book. Not just reading a book, writing a book. Actually, in the word of the publisher, she's 'collaborating' on a book. What an embarrassment! It's one of these 'I told you,' books that jocks do.
quote by Chris Matthews
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Unfit Books
on table
on the room...
some books
with out reading...
but open
un fit
some books close
finish the reading...
with fit...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Picture-Books in Winter
Summer fading, winter comes--
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.
Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.
All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.
We may see how all things are
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.
How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Stifle not the reader
Reading is an art,
reading is a tool.
Those who think it dumb,
must be such a fool.
Reading is enjoyment,
reading is a blast.
Reading is a separate entity
from the future and the past.
Reading is done in present,
though written in a tense.
Reading is about life,
in surprise or suspense.
Reading is a place of joy,
full of hope and song,
Reading is a place I feel
that I truly do belong.
A trapdoor to a fantasy,
A world thought lost to us,
Reading is a place of wonder,
a place that we can trust.
Why read about reality,
when I can delve into magic.
Why stifle my own happiness,
with scenarios so tragic.
Stifle not the reader,
for it is their choice alone.
Reading is an outlet,
for hearts that turned to stone.
As Parents To Our Parents
They never teach you this at school;
they'll try to teach you reading, writing, 'rithmetic
in their own instructed ways;
but now, if anyone suggested it, there'd be howls
about the impertinence, the interference,
the rights, the dangers of this and that -
but all the same, they never teach you:
how to get on with your parents.
Oh there are books and books and books
telling your parents how to look after you, but hey!
there are two parties here! Mom and Dad
can ask their own parents (sometimes - because they
were in the same situation as you are now and so,
reckon they can do a better job...) but
who can you, ask?
Philip Larkin told us memorably that
'they f*** you up, your Mum and Dad',
which may not be the case for all of us;
Hindus have their own stern answer to this question:
you chose them, in effect, as the result
of your behaviour in your previous life...so there,
work with that, kiddo, could be
the making of you...stop blaming it all on them!
So there you are, in this heated cauldron of love and hate, or
like sharp stones shaken in this bag called family
until the rough edges wear (each other) away and
those smooth round pebbles roll out to the world...
but perhaps a little help wouldn't hurt?
I was exactly four and a half when I told the truth about something,
since I didn't know any other way; and as my parents' voices
rose in argument about 'knowing what was best for me',
(I remember the moment now, so clear) I turned my back
on this so painful sound, faced the 'wireless' on the chest of drawers,
and decided there and then
that grown-ups made such a fuss when you told the truth
that it would be better not to - at least, until
they grew up a bit... and there, went half a lifetime
of prevarication, dodging the question, fantasy: never tell the truth
until you're sure they really, really want to hear it...
Then when I was eleven or thereabouts
(and again, I remember exactly where I was standing
at the time - the bottom of the stairs)
the solemn thought 'entered my head':
that in some way I knew but couldn't quite explain,
I was in the position, had some duty,
to take care, in some thoughtful way, of the minds of those
my parents...
But they didn't teach that at my school.
love, I knew all about; but
parents? Aren't they strange? They try so hard, too...
and no, I don 't need 'counselling', thanks -
I'd rather keep it in the family. All I'm asking
is, a few lessons, maybe? I'd even do
the homework.
XXX love you both XXX
poem by Michael Shepherd
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That work led to the emergence of the recombinant DNA technology thereby providing a major tool for analyzing mammalian gene structure and function and formed the basis for me receiving the 1980 Nobel Prize in Chemistry.
We as parents to our parents
They never teach you this at school;
they'll try to teach you reading, writing, 'rithmetic
in their own instructed ways;
but now, if anyone suggested it, there'd be howls
about the impertinence, the interference,
the rights, the dangers of this and that -
but all the same, they never teach you:
how to get on with your parents.
Oh there are books and books and books
telling your parents how to look after you, but hey!
there are two parties here! Mom and Dad
can ask their own parents (sometimes - because they
were in the same situation as you are now and so,
reckon they can do a better job...) but
who can you, ask?
Philip Larkin told us memorably that
'they f*** you up, your Mum and Dad',
which may not be the case for all of us;
Hindus have their own stern answer to this question:
you chose them, in effect, as the result
of your behaviour in your previous life...so there,
work with that, kiddo, could be
the making of you...stop blaming it all on them!
So there you are, in this heated cauldron of love and hate, or
like sharp stones shaken in this bag called family
until the rough edges wear (each other) away and
those smooth round pebbles roll out to the world...
but perhaps a little help wouldn't hurt?
I was exactly four and a half when I told the truth about something,
since I didn't know any other way; and as my parents' voices
rose in argument about 'knowing what was best for me',
(I remember the moment now, so clear) I turned my back
on this so painful sound, faced the 'wireless' on the chest of drawers,
and decided there and then
that grown-ups made such a fuss when you told the truth
that it would be better not to - at least, until
they grew up a bit... and there, went half a lifetime
of prevarication, dodging the question, fantasy: never tell the truth
until you're sure they really, really want to hear it...
Then when I was eleven or thereabouts
(and again, I remember exactly where I was standing
at the time - the bottom of the stairs)
the solemn thought 'entered my head':
that in some way I knew but couldn't quite explain,
I was in the position, had some duty,
to take care, in some thoughtful way, of the minds of those
my parents...
But they didn't teach that at my school.
love, I knew all about; but
parents? Aren't they strange? They try so hard, too...
and no, I don 't need 'counselling', thanks -
I'd rather keep it in the family. All I'm asking
is, a few lessons, maybe? I'd even do
the homework.
XXX love you both XXX
[revisited]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I just happen to like the work. I like preparing for a role. I like reading. I like analyzing. I like literature. I like emotions. I like working with other actors.
quote by Elle Macpherson
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The Last Poem I Came To
The last poem I came to
Was not my own-
It came from other voices elsewhere
And had a thousand broken signatures written in it -
It was all my reading and all the voices of others I had heard-
It sounded like a mess,
And it frightened me by its mixed- up- ness -
But I have been reading and listening too long
The voice was of the others
But it had become mine also-
And now when I try to sound like myself
I hear them calling me by their own lines and names
And writing these words as I write them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dad and Me
Inside our house you'll find crannies and nooks.
Crevices and cracks and fissures and books!
Books under the bed and on the floor,
Books around the table and beside the door,
Books on the bookshelf and surrounding it,
Books all over the house, every single bit!
Not a one of these books are non-fiction,
Different worlds are their depiction.
Fictional, sci-fi, dark and fantasy,
Horror and happy, more books for me!
Books belonging to my father,
Or belonging to me as I rather.
My father and I in bookworm heaven,
Until mum cleans up around half past seven.
She throws the books in a huff,
Says it's a mess and to clean it up!
Well dad and I try to clean,
But on the work we quickly wean
And in one of the larger nooks
You'll find dad and me reading our books.
poem by Lenore Lee
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Prescribed Thought A Prescribed Mode Of Action
There is no such a thing
There is no such a thing as a most natural way
There is no such a thing as a most natural way of expressing a thought
There is no such a thing as a most natural way of expressing a thought a mode of action
There is no such a thing as a most natural way of expressing a thought a mode of action a form of logic
After so much thought
After so much thought about loneliness
It becomes apparent
Logic can no longer be relied upon
Logic can no longer be relied upon as a base for studying the structure of language
The structure of my poetry
The structure of my soul
The structure of my God
I dare think
I dare to know
I dare to think
I will not be hardwired from the thinking of my birth rising from some dogmatic slumber.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love Erupting
For the love of leaping forward,
I am interrupted by no repetitions.
I cried today like a mound of earth and soil
Erupting from the ground by itself.
My options were clear, I had to realise
And this meant reading and writing.
I strode in bewilderment for a mile,
And half more happened to amaze me.
The twinkling running lights acted
Like cushions on my eye, and my other one.
Love of leaping backward decided
To be a love of wasting and bending
Rather like reading a bad book,
And lamenting to the ears of the eyes.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Inside the Books
It has been written of books,
Inside them we singe our lips,
Innards are displayed before the lap,
Innocent layers must majestically and magnetically
Collect like soap and water in a sink.
We are washed of the history and innocence,
You are envy, pride and all;
What is more is that you laugh of the books and you gain
A living language to matter to the rest of society.
This is the commencement of faith in books,
And you shall notice noise and writing,
You have not got writing for yourself.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I think that the online world has actually brought books back. People are reading because they're reading the damn screen. That's more reading than people used to do.
quote by Bill Murray
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When you have mastered numbers, you will in fact no longer be reading numbers, any more than you read words when reading books You will be reading meanings.
quote by W.E.B. Du Bois
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In Hell
You live by the book of wonders,
The book has hell on it when opened.
The inferno carries pits too grilling,
The grills are offered by devils,
Contagious diseases are handed over
To the body and bones, full of hatred.
A hell of books is opened by the librarian,
You choose a simple verb to read,
Then this verb is read, the verb that signals death.
Your death must never come by reading books,
Long scrolls so wonderful,
Of books the world is made
And the reason for books is reading,
Not living in Hell.
poem by Naveed Akram
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