Were there stories I wrote along the way that were terrible clinkers? God, yes. But they were all a product of their time, and I did the best I could.
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It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What They Will Say
Some times, I wonder if I write for the future.
That may seem like a strange statement to make.
Forty-three years ago, I wrote a poem
that at the time no one wanted to know.
Now it is my best-loved poem
read by countless people around the world.
Thirty years ago, I wrote two poems
and each one won me an award,
but at the time I wrote them,
no one wanted to know.
All of which makes me wonder
if what I wrote in my yesteryears
that then none wanted to know.
Could they all be popular now?
Today I started collecting and retyping
short stories I wrote twenty years ago.
At the time, publishers and agents
didn’t want to know.
Now twenty year on
I am wondering what they will say.
24 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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Stories
Through every window, we look out
what we see on the other side
holds many stories waiting to unfold.
Stories of great achievements
within someone’s life.
Stories of gathering love
found with in open arms.
Stories of perusing heartaches
where someone has gone away.
Stories a million fold
that surround every living thing.
Stories we are not aware of,
but happen before our eyes.
Stories to share with all
from those who can see them unfold.
The next time you look out a window
try and see what is really there,
the stories that are everywhere.
26 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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All She Wrote
Something's wrong with your mind
It won't think of me anymore
Was it all a waste of time
Tell me why was I such a chore
Broken glass lies empty
Cut my voice so I can't say
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Lying here in your bed
The one that you liked to do it in
Pieces of long brown hair
Are all over it and still in my brain
I can't explain
What it's like not knowing if I'll ever cross your mind
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Sleep through the day
Fight with the night
Seven a.m. and the tv is white
Covered in snow
I never knew that hell could get so cold
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Something's wrong with your mind
It won't think of me anymore
Was it all a waste of time
song performed by by Default
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What's funny about Jesus' Son is that I never even wrote that book, I just wrote it down. I would tell these stories and people would say, You should write these things down.
quote by Denis Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For me, being a writer was never a choice. I was born one. All through my childhood I wrote short stories and stuffed them in drawers. I wrote on everything. I didn't do my homework so I could write.
quote by Laura Hillenbrand
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Change Of Time!
A change of time changes everything in life!
Glorious poetry turned into prose for use earlier;
Stories, novels and articles ruled prominent;
With the coming of computer poetry resurrected!
Now everybody enjoys indulging in poetry for fun;
Articles, stories and novels are superseded by poetry!
Many poetry websites entertain new poets daily;
Many enjoy poetry reading and writing at anytime!
Poetry has become cheap product for all to use;
Nobody thought that such a thing could happen!
Nobody buys poetry books but novels and magazines;
Is poetry a use and throw material only in market now?
The things that cannot be expressed in stories, novels
Are done in poetry to satisfy heart, thought and spirit!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Stories
when we were young stories were told
That I'd kiss you sweet like
People said there was a connection between us
Now that we're old stories are told
Of how I hold you tight
Whenever I see those people I tell them they were right
Stories will be told
From when our children are young
until they're old
About our endless love
We must have had a blessing from above
Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time
Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time
Until the sun won't rise
Oh
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Writing from a Brilliant Soldier
And there was a time
he wrote stories and rhymes
a name between every line
most of all, favorites of mine
Soldier was a name
i called him without any claim
nonsense i thought whenever every line came
hadn't the spirit my self i blame
and the words he wrote to me sounded the same
Till one time he put away the shame
came to me with a song he sang
at the end 'a brilliant soldier' called himself
again to me sounded like a deaf
When he disappeared i found the words in my shelf
with every line i remembered his hand on my shoulder
suddenly my blindness vanished like a powder
again the end, he wrote 'writing from a brilliant soldier'
for every word opened in my heart a new folder!
poem by Nina Joseph
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No More
I wrote my name on the seashore
The waves came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the air
The wind came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the sky
The clouds came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the puddles
The sun came and it was no more
i wrote my name in the dust
The rain came and it was no more
One day Gabriel wrote my name
and alas! i was no more
poem by Humna Hamid
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I didn't finish the stories until we went to the Philippines and I got malaria. I couldn't work and I didn't have any money, but I had seven stories. So I wrote three or four more.
quote by Denis Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Debateable Point
I did something
I said I would never do.
I looked back at the first pieces
of writing that I ever wrote.
They were supposed to be
lyrics for songs.
As I read through them
I wondered what I was thinking of then.
They were so terrible,
but they were the first things
I ever wrote.
I was pretty naïve then
and had a lot to learn.
Whether or not I have learnt anything
is a debateable point.
9 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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The problem, for me, with the writing programs is that they produce a terrible uniformity of product.
quote by Peter Davison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anyone who wants simple, pat stories should buy another author's product. The real universe ain't that way, and neither are my fictive ones.
quote by David Brin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We lived on a farm in the English countryside, where we wrote a lot of our music. You really were treated like an artist during those days-not like product, which is now the mode.
quote by Gary Wright
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now on the other hand, if someone is selling a product, opening a dance studio, or has some other aim to help themselves, then I tend to look askance at some of these strange stories from outer space.
quote by Robert Stack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wondrous Stories
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wondrous Stories
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories
Every year has its own stories in this life,
Every month has its own stories in this life,
Every week has its own stories in this life,
Every day has its own stories in this life,
Every hour has its own stories in this life,
Every minute has its own stories in this life,
And like the muse of the mind as we grow up;
So, we are all with stories to tell in this world.
As white as snow,
As red as blood,
As balck as charcoal,
As green as the grass,
As blue as the sky;
But everybody has stories to tell in this world!
And like the muse o love in the land of beauty,
For each year has its own story.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wonderous Stories
(anderson)
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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