My books are elegiac in the sense that they're odes to a nation that even I sometimes think may not exist anymore except in my memory and my imagination.
quote by Richard Russo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
I do not exist
I do not exist,
I do not breath,
I do not bleed
I do not hurt
I do not exist in your eyes,
not anymore,
I am far, far away, like
the stars that don't exist,
but still they shine and
you can see them far away,
but there not alive, there not
really there. Yes I am not there,
not for you, I do
not want your pity.
I do not want my broken smile
painted in your thoughts.
I do not exist, I am not there,
do not look for me, I do not
exist, I am not there, I am not there
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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People who think my books are autobiographical, which they're not, credit me with having a much better memory than I do. I do, however, have a powerful imagination.
quote by Curtis Sittenfeld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time does not exist
time does not exist
we made it up...
imagine you ask someone
for the time and the
reply 'time is a fabrication of
the mind to cope with change.'
you'd think them to
be strange.
but the more you think about it
the more sense it makes.
time does not exist
when you finally comprehend it
everything else becomes a lie,
science will make no sense
history will not be in the past
time does not exist
what else doesn't exist...?
poem by Jeremy Rascon
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Dont Want To Fight Anymore
Dont want to fight anymore oh no
Dont want to cry anymore no more
Dont want to fight anymore oh no
Dont want to cry anymore no more
One nation
One family
No limitation
No enemy
No I dont want to fight anymore
No I dont, I dont, no I dont
No I dont want to cry anymore
Dont want to cry
No I dont, I dont
No I dont, oh no
No weapons
No secrecy
All slogans
Blind loyalty
No I dont want to fight anymore
No I dont, I dont, no I dont, no I dont
No I dont want to cry anymore
No I dont, I dont, no I dont, no I dont
You know I dont, you know I dont
You know I dont, you know I dont want to cry
You know I dont, you know I dont
You know I dont, you know I dont
You know I dont, you know I dont
You know I dont, you know I dont want to fight
You know I dont, you know I dont
No righteous
No cruelty
No weapons
No self-defence
No quarrel
No arrogance
No hurt you
Rise above revenge
No I dont want to fight anymore
No I dont, no I dont dont dont
No I dont want to cry anymore
No I dont no I dont
Do I want to fight anymore oh no
Dont want to cry anymore no more
I dont no I dont
No I dont want to fight anymore
I dont no I dont
Dont want to fight anymore oh no
Dont want to cry anymore no more
No I dont want to fight anymore
No I dont no I dont
No I dont want to cry anymore
No I dont no I dont no I dont!
song performed by by Howard Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A man at work, making something which he feels will exist because he is working at it and wills it, is exercising the energies of his mind and soul as well as of his body. Memory and imagination help him as he works.
quote by William Morris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You exist now only in my heart
You exist now only in my heart...
You exist now only in my heart,
An ode to my internal defeat
A fading memory from an eternal realm,
A time gone by and incomplete.
You exist now only in my heart,
A message which truly proclaims
Your very essence and nature changed,
speaking softly your innumerable true names.
You exist now only in my heart,
As the wind carries my thoughts of you
Toward the angels standing in the clouds,
Innocently fairing me to bid you adieu.
You exist now only in my heart,
In the nature of who you've been,
But now, you are more than I'll ever know,
as I walk along this grassy knoll, ever so green.
You exist now only in my heart...
poem by Chad Fisher
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I'm kind of surprised that so many of those other books were almost exactly like mine. They even follow the form. There were some books that even copied the stamp. It shows so little imagination.
quote by Don Novello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meeting Blake
November light, low and strong shadowing the room
leaving a blue haze around the room
reading in bed, books everywhere
when do I stop this game: consumption of books
when should I give reign to imagination
in front of me thousands of poems that
distract the soul, leaving me without purpose
more imagination, less meticulous attention
smoking the hours away, dawdling time
I wanted to write a poem. I lacked the courage
an epic breathless like Jerusalem
from a distance I saw a figure dressed in black
white collar, eyes wide shining like diamonds unmoving.
He saw me correcting my hand
with reassuring smile said: ‘Fire thy Imagination’
poem by Bassel Almasalmeh
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Memory Bag
I sit in silence with my own blank thoughts
Bored out of my mind my imagination rots
I turned to music, television, the books on my shelf
I gave up, looked up and said to God, 'Humour Me'
The sky grew darker as i waited to see,
A bag of memories forgotten, dropped on me
The past, the good things and the bad,
all the wonderful laughs that i had
Going through the memory bag kept me occupied
more than television, music, or books on shelves
God looked down on me and said, 'Humour yourself'
Copyright © 2010 by Sneha Murali
poem by Sneha Murali
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Memory Song
His memory is lost now
And his memory can't be recovered
Anymore
It is sad
Because he can't reconize us anymore
We try to talk to him
Just to see if he will reconize us
poem by Aldo Kraas
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There's a real purity in New Zealand that doesn't exist in the states. It's actually not an easy thing to find in our world anymore. It's a unique place because it is so far away from the rest of the world. There is a sense of isolation and also being protected.
quote by Elijah Wood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tell Me I Was Dreaming
Tell me I was Dreaming
When I woke up this morning
And wiped the sleep from my eyes
I found a new day dawning
And suddenly I realize
Your gone
Tell me I was dreaming
That you didnt leave me here to cry
You didnt say
You dont love me anymore
It was just my imagination telling lies
Tell me that you didnt say goodbye
Im in a state of confusion
I hope things arent what they seem
If this is really happening
Just let me go back to dream
Your home
Tell me I was dreaming
That you didnt leave me here to cry
You didnt say
You dont love me anymore
It was just my imagination telling lies
Tell me that you didnt say goodbye
Tell me I was dreaming
That you didnt leave me here to cry
You didnt say
You dont love me anymore
It was just my imagination telling lies
Ohhh, Tell me that you didnt say goodbye
Dont tell me
You didnt say
Goodbye
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Second Hand Books
Books! Books! Books! There are so many different designs.
There are some which, by the author, are personally signed.
Some books have pages with gilt edges, which look all posh.
Some have nice pictures on their covers, which are embossed.
Some books have hard covers, while some have soft.
Some are all dusty, where they’ve been kept in the loft.
Some books have fancy covers; some just have plain.
Some have suffered mishaps, and are now all stained.
Some books are all dog-eared at the corners of their pages.
Some have gone yellow, where they’ve been around ages.
Inside some books, there can be seen a pencilled name;
Someone, who once, on this particular book, had a claim.
Some are obviously well read; their spines are all creased.
From out of a book, amazing adventures can be unleashed.
Some books have pages which are spoiled or a bit torn.
Some have covers which are grubby and look well worn.
Some just have text, while others also include illustrations.
Some are former prize winners; once the toast of the nation.
There are books by famous authors, as well as the lesser known.
Some are former library books which, to the public, were loaned.
There are romances, poetry, classics, sci-fi, humour, and histories;
Gardening, cookery, travel, thrillers, manga, and murder mysteries.
In wooden bookcases, the books are categorised, and are neatly lined.
In a second hand bookshop, you just never know what you may find.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Imagination
I look at photographs of you
Sweat and shame till the sun comes through
I think of things I ought not to
Ive hung your memory on the wall
A life-size portrait ten feet tall
I feel my skin begin to crawl
Suddenly I see you take a breath
And out of the cameras you come through
Is it you
Must be my imagination
Must be my imagination
Must be the shock waves of the moon
The entertainment of a lonely room
The devil playing that same old tune
cause something strange is happening to me
Feel in the land of make believe
Please look me up and swallow the key
cause I feel your fingers running through my hair
I feel the human touch of you
Must be my imagination
Must be my imagination
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Innocent`s Farewell
innocent`s farewell
i`m not dead
you will see me again for so much you loved me
let your innermost peace
i`m going to the world of poetry
where i will be eating poetry, drinking poetry
hate me no more now allow my soul to rest in peace in the world of poetry.
i`m not dead
i`m going to the world of poetry
where love dont exist but only wisdom
where there is no weapon but just pen and paper
where hunger and anger don`t exist but only joy.
i`m not dead
thy shall not cry for that is the waste of tears
i feel no pain anymore but only joy
i have no problems anymore but only progress
i`m not coming backto life
for where i`m death does not exist
i`m not dead but i`m living in the world of poetry
i`m with poets
we don`t get bored we are always writing poems.
poem by Innocent Mkhwanazi
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Just A Memory
Here you are again
Back in my memory
You said you didn't love me anymore
And if the love we shared
Is just a memory, then
Why are you still here?
Haunting my memory,
Invading my soul
Since our love is gone
And my life is shattered
I guess you're just a memory.
poem by Rachelle Sowders
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My intellectual shortcomings
He loves books
Books that he cannot buy
He gets the intellect
He gets the mind
He gets rich in time
Trusting his instincts
He buys books
That he cannot read anymore
He gets so many minds
He loses his intellect
With all regret to what
Happened, he loses his face
And wants to recover at least his eyes
By writing some of these poems.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Feel a Sense of Worthlessness
If those 'things' did not exist,
Would you still be who you are?
They have given you a sense of status.
And without them,
You feel a sense of worthlessness.
And you have paid a price to have them.
Even when they must be taken away...
They seem to stale with the commonplace of their use.
Taken for granted and has seduced...you,
Into shameless needing!
Like an appendage depended upon.
And you?
You try not to feel lost without them!
But you lay craving their use.
Feeling useless.
You can not do without them.
They are attached like a habit.
Like a muscle flexed.
They grow on you to affix themselves.
Like a missing leech recognized when absent.
However...
These taxing blood suckers have no feeling for you at all.
They are just things!
Things.
Things.
And yet those things...
They stay on your mind!
On your mind they stay.
And yet...those things?
If those 'things' did not exist,
Would you still be who you are?
Would you recognize yourself,
Without them?
Who are you anyway?
Do you know?
Have you cared to know?
If those 'things' did not exist,
Would you still be who you are?
They have given you a sense of status.
And without them,
You feel a sense of worthlessness.
And you have paid a price to have them.
Even when they must be taken away...
They seem to stale with the commonplace of their use.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Hoarder Or Collector (Fun Poem 101)
Some of us are hoarders
and we don’t know where to stop.
We say we are collectors,
of rubbish maybe.
For a long time I have loved books
and collected every waif and stray.
People gave them to me by the dozen
and I never turned them away.
My collecting went so mad
I have now ten thousand or more
within my library.
Enough is enough I would say,
but still more arrived.
Now I don’t live in a house anymore,
as it has become a library.
There are books in every room
and not just one or two,
but dozens and dozens of them.
Everywhere you go;
there are books here and there.
Now I must down size
and my problem is
which ones do I let go,
and then I think
I might want to read a couple of them.
I am confused at what to do.
I know if I don’t do it soon
we won’t be able to
even get into the loo!
19 April 2009
Author’s note:
Loo is a word we use instead of saying Toilet. And, yes, I have that many books and I do have to get rid of some.
DVH
poem by David Harris
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The House of Odes
Writing
these
odes
in this
year nineteen
hundred and
fifty-five,
readying and tuning
my demanding, murmuring lyre,
I know who I am
and where my song is going.
I understand
that the shopper for myths
and mysteries
may enter
my wood
and adobe
house of odes,
may despise
the utensils,
the portraits
of father and mother and country
on the walls,
the simplicity
of the bread
and the saltcellar. But
that's how it is in my house of odes.
I deposed the dark monarchy,
the useless flowing hair of dreams,
I trod on the tail
of the cerebral reptile,
and set things
-- water and fire -
in harmony with man and earth.
I want everything
to have
a handle,
I want everything to be
a cup or a tool,
I want people to enter a hardware
store through the door of my odes.
I work at
cutting
newly hewn boards,
storing casks
of honey,
arranging
horseshoes, harness,
forks:
I want everyone to enter here,
let them ask questions,
ask for anything they want.
I am from the South, a Chilean,
a sailor
returned
from the seas.
I did not stay in the islands,
a king.
I did not stay ensconced
in the land of dreams.
I returned to labor simply
beside others,
for everyone.
So that everyone
may live here,
I build my house
with transparent
odes.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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