The reason that I keep writing is that all my most powerful messages about the fates of wild places that I care about need to have words as well as images.
quote by Galen Rowell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beyond Words Beyond Images
it is ironic, these words claiming
that one day, these words will be beyond words,
that these images will be beyond images
that i will be like those who went their way alone
not befriending anyone but keeps on writing
in the middle of the storm
and cyclones and typhoons
and quakes and volcanic eruptions
beyond destruction, beyond words, beyond images.
smart man.
unlimited.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Given To Be Myth-ed
Messengers with messages sent,
Has been done.
Yet...
Many await the evidence brought to them,
By images they have created...
To make the seriousness of the messages,
Worthy of them to pay attention.
And unfortunately...
Physical images given to be myth-ed,
To have people convinced to believe...
Have never existed in reality.
Especially when truth,
Has been easily distorted and fed to deceive.
And 'THAT' which 'IS' is aware of this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Good Reason
Give me one good reason
That I should care
Give me one good reason
And Ill be there
Like a thief youve stolen
Like rain on a grave
Like a priest whos spoken
But failed to save
Now the air is empty
And the ground the same
Love has gone to be buried
Beside my name
Give me one good reason
That I should care
Give me one good reason
And Ill be there
Why couldnt you have told me
About your liars kiss
I cant believe youd leave me
At a time like this
And the wind is howling
And its a dying dream
And my faith is silent
While my doubts scream
Give me one good reason
That I should care
Give me one good reason
And Ill be there
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
That I should care
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
That I should care
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
Give me one good reason
That I should care
song performed by by Eagle Eye Cherry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Images
All the images that occur in my mind
have had me think of places.
I may not have seen them in this life
But then again my memory erases
where they are from or why they are seen.
Could they be from another time?
They seem to haunt my being.
Oh that I could remember
what it is I'm seeing?
They're all mixed up with love and death
and I confess my need to know
why they've surfaced in my mind
and why they never let go.
I remember the images mostly at night
right before I sleep.
They form water-colored pictures
and sometimes make me weep.
not from sadness, but from joy.
For the images have made me think
that they have surfaced for some reason.
So from them I do not shrink.
I want them to stay. I really do.
For they connect to who I am.
For I've known since I was very young
that life after death comes again.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Images
Images.
Images invented.
Images invented to cement.
Images invented to cement and limit,
To give images purpose and intent.
A reason to solidify limitations that prevent,
A bombardment of unrestricted imaginations.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Life Is An Adventure In Writing Words
Life is an adventure in writing words
It is going out alone and finding them
Beyond where the ordinary mind and life is
It is seeking them in difficult and strange places
And discovering the most complex and beautiful of them-
Life is an adventure in writing words
Sometimes simple
Sometimes with the words themselves forgotten
As thoughts pursued through them-
The adventure goes on
My mind goes on
My life goes on
Words go on
On and on and on and on
Until we stop.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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the poem that N A M E D itself
it crawls out
slithering snake
onto the paper
spread like the Bible
out before me
and I think:
what shall I write?
and it seeps out
bleeding black
onto the paper
words that form
from the hollow
places inside me
that sometimes
I can’t find
and it calls forth
emotions that
deserve the words
I can’t give
—except
I give them
my pen is sharp
and my hand aches
the words are
pouring out onto
the face
of blank paper
and I am staring
outside myself
not writing the
words but merely
a vessel for them
to contain themselves
when it is done
and the hollow places
are silent I ask:
what shall I
call it?
but it is already
N A M E D
poem by Elizabeth Rebel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let Him Run Wild
When I watched you walk with him
Tears filled my eyes
And when I heard you talk with him
I couldnt stand his lies
And now before he tries it
I hope you realize it
Let him run wild
He dont care
Let him run wild
Hell find out
Let him run wild
He dont care
(guess you know I waited for you)
Hell do the same to other girls
That he did to you
But then one day hell run in to one
Thats gonna hurt him too
Before he makes you over
Im gonna take you over
Let him run wild
He dont care
Let him run wild
Hell find out
Let him run wild
He dont care
(guess you know I waited for you girl)
All the dreams you shared with him
You might as well forget
I know you need a truer love
And thats what youll get
And now that you dont need him
Well he can have his freedom
Let him run wild
He dont care
Let him run wild
Hell find out
Let him run wild
He dont care
Let him run wild
Hell find out
Let him run wild
He dont care
Let him run wild
Hell find out
Let him run wild
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Letter From A Writer Searching For Her Soul And Wanting To Feel Not With Her Hands
Hello (to whom it may concern) ,
It's been awhile since we exchanged messages. Sorry, I'm not much of an |'onliner' these days. I resigned from my job. I'm, in the process of soul searching. Funny but I don't really know why I'm looking for a soul, my soul, when I cannot even see it. I'm on an unplanned vacation in some quaint town some miles outside the city while writing this email.
I guess I never had the chance to tell you how you took the glint from my eye. To write from the soul and not for the awards. I have overlook that writing is an Art. Thus it is priceless. A gold medal does not define you as an artist. Write until it ceases to become a craft.But more than just stringing words after words, conscious of your weary grammar, punctuations, right words, and subject matter. To write is to turn your heart inside out.
Beyond 'writing' and its technical definitions, it is actually a journey - a self surrender - towards the oblivion you are willing to traverse with your pen. And you find yourself in another state.
To write is to 'see' but not with your eyes. To 'feel' but not with your hands. And at the end of it all, you know that it's there. Writing takes over you. Thus, I often wonder: am i writing with the pen? Or is it the pen using me to write? But I know somewhere deep inside, there is a thing mightier than the pen that prompts me to write. And that is the soul.
I want to find my center. My creative process in writing. Ironic, but to find it, I must loose myself.
hahahahaha. whew. I know i sound stupid. Sorry. Thanks for bearing with me. Hope it's not too late to greet you a Happy New Year! ! ! ! =)
Always,
(name witheld, but this could be you)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The power of words
Sometimes when you had
an idea for a poem
you didn’t jot it down
and let it be
to fade away into the naught
as if it really didn’t matter
or your words had lost their power
or was there a hidden fear,
something that you didn’t
want to talk about
or something that you didn’t
want to appear,
something that you were afraid
would kill your luck
or disturb your thoughts?
When we spoke at times
you would sarcastically say
go and write a poem about it
and I wonder if you really
didn’t care about writing
or just not about me
or was it jealousy?
Sometimes when the words
of a great poem came to me
you would demand that I immediately
do something for you
to proof my love
and not give me the opportunity
to capture the sacred words.
Yet, as time went by
and I had to leave
the words came back to you
and great verses appeared
and you said that I could string out
poems to the nth power
and wanted me
to write great messages as well
and I was afraid that card like lines
would kill the magic of words in me.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Human beings are creators, flinging powerful images into the minds of their fellow men. And all of these images are built of tiny particles of thought.
quote by Roy H. Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Vale of Llangollen
In the fields and the lanes again!
There's a bird that sings in my ear
Messages, messages;
The green cool song that I long to hear.
It pipes to me out of a tree
Messages, messages;
This is the voice of the sunshine,
This is the voice of grass and the trees.
It is the joy of Earth
Out of the heaven of the trees:
The voice of a bird in the sunshine singing me
Messages, messages.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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War is big and there are only so many reporters and only so many places for their words and images to appear. Choices are made constantly.
quote by Bruce Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem I Am Writing Now
The poem I am writing now
does not know if it will be finished
it does not even know if it will be a poem -
it is slowly appearing line by line
and making its own meaning on the page-
Is it worth anything?
will anyone care?
I don't know -
The poem I am writing now
is just these lines
and these lines like all lines
are only small words
in a vast universe
that has long lived
and will probably longer live
without them.
Why then write these words now?
The poem I am writing now is saying,
'I am here now'.
But why should this mean anything to anyone else?
The poem I have written here
is not the poem I would have posted here
It is only the poem I am finishing now
a poem without great love or belief in itself.
The poem I am writing now
is written.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Proggramed poems!
Man for his own
Creates words
To depict image
Of his emotions
Poems are one of the images
Image plays with the words.
Now programme plays with the words
Words are programmed in poems
Images after images without human touch and emotions!
poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Secret Message
A moving stream of information
That is floating on the wind
The secrets never end
And now they call,
They sing, they play, they dance
For you, from out of the blue,
What can you do?
Chorus:
The secret messages are calling to me endlessly
They call to me across the air
The messages across the atmosphere
They whisper in your ear, they're calling everywhere
Where words cascade like rainbows tumbling from the sky
Then I'll be there, I'll be there
When messages will call to you their secrets all around
Without a sound, they're all around
Chorus:
Those secret messages that spill into the air from far away
So far away
A flowing river of illusion running with confusion
Never gone - it goes on and on
Repeat Chorus
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Absence
I keep myself occupied
by searching for a job
on the Internet,
writing stories and poems,
taking care and feeding the animals
and sometimes I carry things
to the garage and back
and measure instinctively
about every step
and wonder why
I still care so much for you,
read stories and poetry books
and try to learn
something from other writers.
There are white arum lilies
that grows wild at the river
and on strange places
I see flowers
as if life makes opportunities
for the outcasts
and there are simple things
that I keep me busy with
to try and forget
how empty and painful
your absence becomes
and when we are together
things sometimes get muddled,
but without you
it’s the darkest night.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Powerful Thing
(written by al anderson and sharon vaughn)
Ive never seen two people in my life
More determined to ignore the obvious
We better stop thinking
Let our hearts start doing the talking
Youd have to be stone deaf dumb and blind
Not to see whats going on with us
So lets jump in
And get over our fear of fallin
cause what we got here
Is a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing
Our love, baby, is a powerful thing
We started out strangers on a two-way street
Neither one of us lookin to fall in love
But we dont need us a map
To know were headed in that direction
Well, its out of our hands
And over our heads
Its something thats bigger than both of us
Turnin back nows completely out of the question
cause what we got here
Is a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing
Our love, baby, is a powerful thing
Stronger than the force of a driving wind
Hotter than a forest fire
There never has been and there never will be
Nothing like the power of you and me, yeah
Its a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing
Our love, baby, is a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing
Our love, baby, is a powerful thing
song performed by by Trisha Yearwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Love Letter
She wonders how to begin her letter
She knows he will read each word
Greedily for any hint of love. She knows
He will sniff the paper for any scent of her
She leans an elbow on her writing desk
And clutches her pen tight. She has got
As far as, Dear John, but then the words
Stopped coming. Before she had sat down
To write, the words flowed through her
Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing
She sucks the end of the pen. Say what
You would if you were face to face, her
Mother always said. She tries to imagine
He is there before her and what she would
Say if he was, but still no words will come
He writes to her so fluently when he writes
He always seems to know what to write
And how to put it into words. She tries again
Puts the pen nib onto the paper, gripping
The pen tighter. She reads what she’s written
Dear John. The pen moves, the words begin
To flow, her hand moves across the page
The images come into her mind as she writes
The things that they said last time they met
The things they did, she blushes slightly
That almost being caught out by the maid
In a state of undress. She pauses the pen
And sits gazing at the painting on the wall.
She looks back at the paper and starts again
The words tripping over themselves to be put
Down in ink upon a page; the images open up
In her mind, the colours, the smells, the events
The pen now stops. The love letter is written
The writing done. She looks at the words
Then she seals it in an envelope and writes
His address. She pictures him reading it: in bed
In his room, sleepy, in a state of his usual undress
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writing The Words
I’m writing this at your funeral.
As I watch all the people in tears.
I wish I could join them,
But I know I have to be strong.
I’m writing this on my hand,
No paper to get it down on.
I want to remember your funeral,
So I’m writing this to honour you.
I’m writing the thoughts that pop into my head,
Making sure they are only the best.
I have to remember,
Because I couldn’t live with myself if I ever forgot.
I’m writing this at your funeral,
As people dropp flowers onto your coffin.
I stand up to dropp my own,
Blue, unlike the others, because I know it’s your favourite.
I’m writing this through the ceremony,
Because if I listen to the words I’ll cry.
And I know I can’t, for you,
I have to keep it together.
I’m writing the words I want to say,
To make people remember how much love you gave.
Because I want them to know,
How much of it you gave to me.
So, I’m writing this at your funeral,
To stop myself from shedding a tear.
I’m writing this at your funeral,
So that I never ever forget you.
poem by Rachel Brewer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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