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And every friend I've got has been writing Mars stories. It was pretty clear I'd never catch up.

quote by Larry Niven
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dear Friend

i always love to write, as early as
gradeschool when we were classmates
while you were playing and chasing and stumbling
i just sat on the grass of the playground under a tree and scribble anything
and read a lot about some stories with lots of pictures
and colors of fairies and kings and queens and butterflies and bees,

i do not stop writing, in fact, writing has become my life
that without words i may die an instant death
i dream that i have written novels and stories and lots of poems
i wake up with some ideas like some seeds that i want to sow
and grow in the field and see them become shrubs and trees and forests

and i keep on this life writing and writing and writing and writing
for writing's sake and i wish i may live longer so i may write
some more, some sequels of my love stories and suspense thrillers
and write finally all the poems that are inside my mind
hanging like ripe grapes and creeping like vines on my fence

as i am writing now as you always want to read me
until such time my friend that i will die, or end my life myself (who knows?)
(i will not talk about it now, it is something bizarre and makes me
shiver, but who knows, well you know, all are but possibilities and nothing
but possibilities in this vast wide world of realities and dreams)

there is something i must say somehow
there is something that i must have forgotten, i have not written about myself
i have always written about them, about you, about the world,

please do not refuse me, stop playing with your life,
gradeschool ended
a long time ago, i have one and ultimate request:

write the story of my life, because it is you who only knows about it.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writing is hard work. Generating stories that catch people's attention and holding it are very difficult.

quote by David Ogden Stiers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I started writing, or rather, thinking, stories as a child, and at that time the reason was very clear.

quote by John Sladek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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A Revolution Poetry Is....!

Are you writing words of rhythm according to thoughts?
Or are you coining words of thoughts according to rhythm?
Or are you writing poetry both working at the same time?
Asking so, if they ask me how to write poetry, what shall I say?

Poetry writing is natural, spontaneous expression from heart!
How can this be taught to anyone to write poetry ever at all?
Poetry is a spontaneous flow of words direct from heart ever!

I wonder many a time how am I writing poetry at all ever!
But this is happening to my great surprise since longtime!

Due to engagements ever poetry only I am able to write
Though my aim in the beginning was writing stories.....,
Novels, short stories and nonfiction articles of criticism!

Poetry books too I have completed writing so since long
But what a pity there is no reception for poetry books...!

poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Have A Friend

I have a friend who cannot walk
I have a friend all he does is talk

I have a friend, Philippe is his name
I have a friend and we are just the same

I have a friend he’s seventeen years old
I have a friend who has a heart of gold

I have a friend who would catch me if I fall
It is only that he has no legs at all

I have a friend and when my friend was seven
A car ran over him and he almost went to heaven

I have a friend with a smile that I adore
I have a friend who lives in a house of four

I have a friend his family is his home
I have a friend who dreams of visiting Rome

I have a friend who is still finishing school
Yet some people tell him that for that he is a fool

I have a friend they say he is disabled
He has no legs and for that he is labeled

I have a friend who has a friend
They were made for each other; their love will never end

I have a friend who likes to name the stars
I have a friend and what he hates is cars

I have a friend who’s happier than you and me
I have a friend who’s shown me how happy I can be

I have a friend who’s had his bad times too
I have a friend who’s better than me and you

I have a friend so dear to me and kind
That another one like him I shall never find!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

poem by Some One
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writing is writing, and stories are stories. Perhaps the only true genres are fiction and non-fiction. And even there, who can be sure?

quote by Tanith Lee
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Writing detective stories is about writing light literature, for entertainment. It isn't primarily a question of writing propaganda or classical literature.

quote by Steig Larsson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Guitars

Senorita I'm in trouble again
and I can't get free
(Senorita) You're exactly what the doctor ordered, come
on talk to me
(Ah) Can't crow before I'm out of the woods
But there's
exceptions to the rule
(Ah-ah) Senorita, do you need a friend? I'm in love
with you
Catch as catch, catch as catch can
Anybody in their right mind could see,
it's you and me
Oooh-ooo-ooh
Oooh-oooh
You say you're lonesome, just getting by
But you turn your eyes from
me
Be sure you're hurting long before you fly 'cause, you've got me
Catch as catch, catch as catch can
Anybody in their right mind could see,
you and me
Catch as catch, catch as catch can
When I see you, all your
little guitars sing to me
I can see you don't know which way to turn
But the sun still
shines
(Senorita) Don't you know that you can dance with me, anytime?
(Ah)
Can't crow before I'm out of the woods
There's exceptions to the
rule
(Ah-ah) Senorita, do you need a friend? I'm in love with you
Oooh-ooo-ooh
Oooh-oooh
Oooh-ooo-ooh
Oooh-oooh
Oooh-ooo-ooh
Oooh-oooh

song performed by by Van Halen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories and dreams

Stories and dreams
~
Still writing stories and dreams
Into poetry the essence of life
Waiting to become written
Into a real memory
If every poem tells a tale
It becomes a step away from reality
A hope held, the fantasy
And all of it is beautiful
Even in the deepest tragedy
Sewn through verse to be spoken
In words carefully chose
Picked like flowers gently
Into the vase upon the page
Replacing dying laments
Picked so long ago
That even dreams forget
And so it goes on without end
Writing into the night
Stories and dreams all waiting
To become a real memory

poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I am the Pretty Girl-Chapter One

Pretty Hurts
 I am the  pretty one,

the one the girls hate

and the boys pant for

and I stand aloof because

there is no room for me to be

who I am.

All I get is people reacting

to how I look

and I see them whisper

'She's so stuck up.'

I am not.

I am lonely and superior to them

that make these kinds of comments.

So all day I have to take the stares

and the mini-hatreds

just because I am pretty.
 

I like being pretty

it comes easy to me;

takes no effort.

My hair is beautiful and I don't have to do anything to it.

My skin is good. Thank God, no zits

My figure is good

but I get the comments when I walk through-

the Neanderthals always make comments-

and I cannot help it if my parents are rich.

So I am trapped behind this wall.

I don't have to study hard to get good grades;

this school is easy.

I don't have to work hard for anything.

Things just come to me.

But, it has made a prison for me

and because I don't have to get smart

or work hard-

I can get by on my looks,

my teachers like me-

one too much;

so in the end I am doing what I hate

others do-

seeing me only in terms of how I look-

and I realize I am doing the same thing to myself.
 

I am my looks.
I am trapped.

So when boys try to talk to me I clam up

because I think there is only one thing they want.

And most of the time I am right.

They do-just want

one thing.

Other's of them just want to say I am their girl friend

even if that is not true just so they can brag to their friends.

Some of them lie and claim they had you,
or you

are lesbian
just because you don't like them.

I am the pretty girl and most times that is pretty sad.

So I don't talk to anyone except other pretty girls.

They understand. They have the pretty girl thing too.

So we stand around sometimes and think we are superior

but we also think secretly we might be inferior and lonely too

and who is going to feel sorry for the pretty girl? Nobody that's who.

So I dated the football guy who was pretty too.
It seemed he would understand-handsome and pretty,
the same thing I thought.

Boy was I wrong. He was his mothers' boy
and only liked me

because he thought there was prestige in it.
And I did it for the same reason.

We both were boring when alone
and tried to look like the super couple
when people were around.

I was bored and truth be told I was also boring.

I had nothing to say
and all's he wanted to talk about was football

and sex.

I told him no.

And then he latched onto my best friend, well I called her my best friend, but 

we were not really friends. We just sorta hung out together.

My real best friend was Alma for a while.
She was the ugly sidekick

pretty girls seem to attract.
All she wanted to do was be with me.

She did everything I asked her to,
sometimes without me even asking.
I began to think that just maybe being pretty was being superior.
People like Alma

made it easy to think that.
She seemed to think I was superior.

I used to lie to her about all the boys coming on to me
and things they said and she believed those lies.

I felt I had to tell the stories
because the stories seemed to mean so much to her.
Besides telling her the phony stories
gave me a fantasy life to make up for my real one.

We were a good pair of friends for a while
until Alma told me one day about her love;
Her love for me.
And I realized she was not talking about friend love.

That's another thing,
you get come on's from both genders
and some like Alma turn into stalkers.

She lied and told her friend that we had been together.
A total lie.

That is why high school is prison camp for the pretty girl.

I broke down one day while talking to Geek Billy
who came over to my house to fix my computer.
He was rad-geek and shorter than me
and I never really considered him a real person or anything
so I was talking like he was not even there.
I was saying why me, why does everyone hate me?

He started yammering that he didn't hate me,
and put his arm around me.
I looked up and saw that he was not trying to jump my bones,
he really was trying to comfort me
like he understood and all that.
It was laughable you know.

I was so above him and everything
but he seemed that day like a real person to me
for just a tiny minute.

He left and I lay on my bed
and wrote into my diary-
'Geek boy loves me.'

I wrote: 'I am the pretty girl no one likes
because I am above them.' 

poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bad Pretty Girl

I am the pretty one,
the one the girls hate
and the boys pant for
and I stand aloof because
there is no room for me to be
who I am.

All I get is people reacting
to how I look
and I see them whisper
'She's so stuck up.'
I am not.
I am lonely and superior to them
that make these kinds of comments.

So all day I have to take the stares
and the mini-hatreds
just because I am pretty.
I like being pretty
it comes easy to me;
takes no effort.

My hair is beautiful and I don't have to do anything to it.
My skin is good. Thank God, no zits
My figure is good
but I get the comments when I walk through-
the Neanderthals always make comments-
and I cannot help it if my parents are rich.

So I am trapped behind this wall.
I don't have to study hard to get good grades;
this school is easy.
I don't have to work hard for anything.
Things just come to me.
But it has made a prison for me
and because I don't have to get smart
or work hard-
I can get by on my looks.
My teachers like me-
one too much,
so in the end I am doing what I hate
others do-
seeing me only in terms of how I look
and I realize I am doing the same thing to myself.

I am my looks. I am trapped.
So when boys try to talk to me I clam up
because I think there is only one thing they want.
And most of the time I am right. They do-just want
one thing.
Other's of them just want to say I am their girl friend
even if that is not true just so they can brag to their friends.

Some of them lie and claim they had you, or you
are lesbian just because you don't like them.

I am the pretty girl and most times that is pretty sad.

So I don't talk to anyone except other pretty girls.
They understand. They have the pretty girl thing too.

So we stand around sometimes and think we are superior
but we also think secretly we might be inferior and lonely too
and who is going to feel sorry for the pretty girl? Nobody that's who.

So I dated the football guy who was pretty too. It seemed he would
understand-handsome and pretty, the same thing I thought.
Boy was I wrong. He was his mothers' boy and only liked me
because he thought there was prestige in it. And I did it for
the same reason. We both were boring when alone and tried to
look like the super couple when people were around.
I was bored and truth be told I was also boring.
I had nothing to say and all's he wanted to talk about was football
and sex.
I told him no.
And then he latched onto my best friend, well I called her my best friend, but
we were not really friends. We just sorta hung out together.
My real best friend was Alma for a while. She was the ugly sidekick
pretty girls seem to attract. All she wanted to do was be with me. She did
everything I asked her to, sometimes without me even asking. I began to think that just maybe being pretty was being superior. People like Alma
made it easy to think that. She seemed to think I was superior.
I used to lie to her about all the boys coming on to me and things they said and she believed those lies. I felt I had to tell the stories because the stories seemed to mean so much to her. Besides telling her the phony stories gave me a fantasy life to make up for my real one.
We were a good pair of friends for a while until Alma told me one day about her love. Her love for me. And I realized she was not talking about friend love.
That's another thing, you get come ons from both genders and some like Alma turn into stalkers. She lied and told her friend that we had been together. A total lie.
That is why high school is prison camp for the pretty girl.
I broke down one day while talking to Geek Billy who came over to my house to fix my computer. He was rad-geek and shorter than me and I never really considered him a real person or anything so I was talking like he was not even there. I was saying 'why me, why does everyone hate me? '
He started yammering that he didn't hate me, and put his arm around me. I looked up and saw that he was not trying to jump my bones, he really was trying to comfort me like he understood and all that. It was laughable you know. I was so above him and everything but he seemed that day like a real person to me for just a tiny minute.
He left and I lay on my bed and wrote into my diary-'Geek boy loves me.'
I wrote: 'I am the pretty girl no one likes because I am above them.'

poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saint

Im taking my time
Ill fix it, dont worry now
Im needing you there
Make sure that youre coming too
All of my life
Is all Ill give you here
The meaning of me
Is something to pursue
You think Im a saint
Its in your pretty head
Stretched out like a saint now
I love you to death
Catch another dream now
We can find them somehow
I know that theres a boy inside the man
Catch another dream now
Take all we are allowed
For I know that theres a man inside the boy
Grown ups dont know
How to dream anymore
Their heads in the sand
And they choose to ignore it all
All of my life
Is all Ill give you here
The meaning of me
Is something to pursue
You think Im a saint
Its in your pretty head
Stretched out like a saint now
I love you to death
Catch another dream now
We can find them somehow
I know that theres a boy inside the man
Catch another dream now
Take all we are allowed
For I know that theres a man inside the boy
You think Im a saint
Its in your pretty head
Stretched out like a saint now
I love you to death
Catch another dream now
We can find them somehow
I know that theres a boy inside the man
Catch another dream now
Take all we are allowed
For I know that theres a man inside the boy
Catch another dream now
We can find them somehow
I know that theres a boy inside the man
Catch another dream now
Take all we are allowed
For I know that theres a man inside the boy
A man inside the boy
You think Im a saint
Its in your pretty head

song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Saint

Im taking my time
Ill fix it, dont worry now
Im needing you there
Make sure that youre coming too
All of my life
Is all Ill give you here
The meaning of me
Is something to pursue
You think Im a saint
Its in your pretty head
Stretched out like a saint now
I love you to death
Catch another dream now
We can find them somehow
I know that theres a boy inside the man
Catch another dream now
Take all we are allowed
For I know that theres a man inside the boy
Grown ups dont know
How to dream anymore
Their heads in the sand
And they choose to ignore it all
All of my life
Is all Ill give you here
The meaning of me
Is something to pursue
You think Im a saint
Its in your pretty head
Stretched out like a saint now
I love you to death
Catch another dream now
We can find them somehow
I know that theres a boy inside the man
Catch another dream now
Take all we are allowed
For I know that theres a man inside the boy
You think Im a saint
Its in your pretty head
Stretched out like a saint now
I love you to death
Catch another dream now
We can find them somehow
I know that theres a boy inside the man
Catch another dream now
Take all we are allowed
For I know that theres a man inside the boy
Catch another dream now
We can find them somehow
I know that theres a boy inside the man
Catch another dream now
Take all we are allowed
For I know that theres a man inside the boy
A man inside the boy
You think Im a saint
Its in your pretty head

song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lying Reasurrance

you get what you want
you dont call me again
thats how it usually goes
that how it usually ends
too bad that i trusted you
i believed all the lies
pretty sad i found
reassurance in your eyes
i thought i could change you
like how stories always go
but you knew the ending
most guys always do
pretty sad i thought i could rewrite it all
its pretty sad the way i miss you like i do.

poem by Shelby Burnside
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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By ignoring a lot of American culture you can write more interesting stories. Unfortunately, if you were writing about America as it is, you'd be writing about a lot of people sitting in front of television sets.

quote by Richard Russo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Come Alive In Writing

I come alive in writing
Even if the writing means nothing to anyone else-
I come alive in writing
Even if I am totally deluding myself as to its value-
I come alive in writing
Even if at times while writing there is an underlying hopelessness and despair -

I come alive in writing
As if writing is what God has given me to do-
I come alive in writing
As if through it I can truly give to and help others-
I come alive in writing
As if life has meaning through it-

I come alive in writing
Even when I sense the writing is not good or great
As I would wish it to be.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Mars Bar

Oh, lord have mercy for the blessed Mars Bar!
I taste the nought and caramel in my mouth,
And it goes so far,
Just that one Mars Bar!

That Mars Bar can ease my troubles,
And leave me at peace,
For chocolate bars are both a blessing and a curse,
I can't choose which is worse,
Oh, heavenly Mars Bar!

And in the shop I look around,
And see other chocolate and candy bars,
Feeling so ravenous and famished,
Sometimes a galaxy bar will do,
But I always come back,
To the faithful Mars Bar!

The naughty ritual of the schoolgirl,
Pressured to diet,
Dreading the day she will be middle aged and fat,
Not to mention a housewife,
But times are changing,
Curvy is in,
For eating never was a sin,
Oh, wonderful Mars Bar!

I am older now,
But remember fondly those trips,
To the corner shop,
Feeling quietly delighted,
At the same time,
Oh, glorious Mars Bar!

poem by Paula Glynn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Mistake I Made

There is a question I ask myself repeatedly.
Why did I become who I am today,
a writer of songs, poems, short stories and novels?
In reality, I do not know, but I tell everyone who asks
it was simply a mistake I made.

Many will say I had it in me,
that I was born to do it.
Remembering how it started
I am not so sure of that.
It started with the words to a friend
if they can do it why can't we.

Now almost fifty years have passed
from that fateful day I picked up the pen.
If asked what I have achieved
in all that time of writing.
I would answer there is plenty,
but none of it is money.

My rewards for my writing
is bringing a smile to someone's face
someone whom I might never see.
The inspiration I have passed on to others,
but the best of all to me are the numerous friends
I have gathered from around the world.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I can't tell you exactly how I found it. It was just a process of writing a lot of stories and reading a lot of stories that I admired and just working and working until the sentences sounded right and I was satisfied with them.

quote by Jhumpa Lahiri
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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