But usually I'll wake up and start writing about nine o'clock. I'll probably write for about three hours, and I'll do that over the next month and a half.
quote by Stanley Tucci
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Writing Is My Strength
I love to write.
I can sit and write
for hours and hours.
I love to write poetry
on how I feel.
It’s so great to have
writing as your strength.
I like it when people
read it too
But.....WRITING IS MY STRENGTH!
poem by Lisa Parks
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It Is Time To Write A Poem For My Soul
IT IS TIME TO WRITE A POEM FOR MY SOUL
It is time to write a poem for my soul-
To wake it up a bit this morning
So many errands have been done
So much walking and looking and buying and bringing
So much cleaning and eating and drinking
So many many physical things-
It is time to write a poem for my soul
And wake up a bit this morning
And come back to who I really am
When I feel I really am-
Writing a poem gives me my soul back-
And writing this I come home to who I am-
A poem is my soul
And I am writing it now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Writing It Down
I was born on the cold side of the mountain
I wanna wake up on the warm side of the bed
How I start here
And how I end there
That is the part I aint worked out yet
Every day I climb a little bit higher
Every night I learn something new
Im writing it down
In case I forget
One day itll be my story for you
CHORUS
On every page you will know how much I love you
In every line you will see how much I care
With every word well grow a little closer
Even though we both know I cant be there
Thats why Im writing it down down down down down
Ohhhhhhhh Im writing it down
For you and for me
And for the whole wide world to read
Ohhhhhhhh Im writing it down
All my life Ive been hoping and praying
For my time to finally arrive
To put down this pen
To say its the end
And wake up back home with you by my side
REPEAT CHORUS
I was born on the cold side of the mountain
I wanna wake up on the warm side of the bed
How I start here
And how I end there
That is the part I aint worked out yet
song performed by by Uncle Kracker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poet 2 Poet
We all have different writing styles, and we
May not all have grace and poise.
But when we do write, it’s all to make some noise.
We want to be recognized by the co-poets
All fair and true.
For writing our poetry is what we all like to do.
So I welcome all my co-poets who take this beautiful ride
And all their dreams and visions, they do find.
We do not only write what comes into our minds
But we write from the heart
And this is where poetry gets its start.
So continue to write all that you see and feel
Because these are human emotions.
That from us, no one can steal.
WELCOME ABOARD THIS TRAIN OF POETRY.
poem by Louis Rams
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Black Hole
“Now, what was I gonna say? ”
I forgot. It’s gone.
out the window
through the black hole in time
and my head,
like so often
before.
Along with
wallet,
keys
and this month’s
rent.
Hours wasted
around midnight.
As my clock showed a
million to something,
it struck me:
I could be dead
tomorrow
or better off.
Waking up with V.I.P
monster truck tickets,
half empty bottles
of 21 year old whisky
or a younger naked whore
besides me
and a dick that itches,
without knowing why or how.
Scratches my itch
I unscrew the cap,
screw the whore,
wondering where those hours
went, and if life would
have been
more fun
wasting sober?
poem by Carsten Thomsen
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I Need to Write
I need to write a poem, but how shall I do it,
First of all shall I write standing up, or just sit;
Until I get comfortable, I won't be able to start,
All the words will be muddled up, and then it'll fall. Apart.
Now! I got it right, I will choose the title to write about,
No good getting frustrated, or even sit or pout;
Just need to relax, and then the words will come easy,
Cause if I try to hard, Then my stomach will feel queasy.
I know what sort of holiday would people like,
And as I start the poem, the hall clock did strike;
Oh! It is now is what I can do, write about the time passing,
And so I have the heading, the thoughts on paper lasting.
It's got colour, size, And description, and the taste of art,
It's come from my mind, emotions, and also from the heart;
It has vision, and thoughts about where I want to go,
Yes! I think it'll get some to agree, to me they'll show.
So if you have a problem to write a poem or story,
Just read this poem, as a help, it's a help from me;
Don't force the idea, or rush it through at all,
Just go have a cuppa, read an article or a friend call.
Eventually it'll come, the words will flow along,
You might even end up, turning it into a song;
Writing poems will be rewarding, just give a go,
And you might enjoy it, they may end up in a show.
poem by Margaret Haig
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What Will I Do Today And What Will I Do Tomorrow?
What will I do today and what will I do tomorrow
And what will I do for the rest of my life?
Write and write and write
Until I can no longer write –
And even if this writing is never known?
And even if this writing is wholly lost?
And even if this writing is not really worth very much?
And even if it is known only a little?
And even if others are highly critical of it?
And even if it seems vanity of vanity and only vanity?
Write and write and write
To the end of my life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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How to write a Poem?
Must I know what I write down
Meaningless or meaning found
Making poem, don’t know how
Must I know what I write down
Does a poem need to breathe
To plan a knit into a weave
Or can it start not to conceive
A poemed haze is free to breathe
Writing breath from writing down
The poem tilts as I think now
Bias nature changing how
The poem writes, still writing down
No thought, no poem, here with me
Should I stop or let it be
Bleeding brain, becoming free
Rereading, learning, me for me
poem by Paul Moosberg
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Writers Block
He was going to write a brilliant poem
probably the best one he'd ever done
but when he sat down at his desk
the inspiration just wouldn't come.
No matter how hard the poet tried
to get some ideas down onto the page
nothing worth writing about arrived
leaving him on the verge of rage.
Then an Eureka moment hit him
while listening to the ticking of the clock
he'd write a poem on the frustration
of that dreaded writers block.
He ended up writing five verses
about a poets worst nightmare
when your wanting to write a masterpiece
but end up pulling out your hair.
So the moral of this poem must be
that writers block isn't so bad after all
as you can use it as a poetry subject
instead of sitting there staring at the wall!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Write
Write, keep writing lot
Write, write before you forget
Write, make it as reminder
Write, write before words disappear
Write, for you to contemplate
Write, write before your mind changed
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Ne'er To Pause
I think I must keep on writing
For if I should stop
I may never
Start again
If I should stop
There’d come that awful
Awkward pause
That we all fall victim to…
Now and then
When The dice are tossed
And the thread is lost
And the losing number
Comes up again
I think it best, I must keep on writing
To gamble on rambling
without a rest….for if then
Should I stop…nor e’en to pause
I may ne’er start
To write again
poem by David Whalen
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To be a writer
They say, when you have nothing to say
Do not say anything
They say when you have nothing good to say
Do not say anything
He is not convinced
He wants to be a writer and to be one he must write
What is in his mind
To be a writer he must write and write and write
Even when there is nothing to write
Even when there is nothing to say even when nobody listens
Even when the word is dead even when there is no sense at all
Even when he gets blind and deaf and mute even when his fingers are cut even when his mind is blank even when his consciousness is lost
Even when you are angry even when you say what is written is nothing
But trash, dung, cadaver, corpse, poo, pee, even when there is nothing
Anymore,
He writes because he is a writer and no one can stop him now.
he is
he is writing
he is writing always
he is writing always whatever that needs to be written
and here you are foolishly reading. thanks to you, audience of one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I write from instinct, from inexplicable sparkle. I don't know why I'm writing what I'm writing. Usually, I sit and I let my hands wander on my guitar. And I sing anything. I play anything. And I wait till I come across a pleasing accident. Then I start to develop it. Once you take a piece of musical information, there are certain implications that it automatically contains — the implication of that phrase elongated, contracted, or inverted or in another time signature. So you start with an impulse and go to what your ear likes.
quote by Paul Simon
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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No One Can Stop Us To Write
and they must know the reason why,
simple enough
we are writers and our essence is to write
for writing's sake
nothing aimed nothing gained nothing lost
we write because we are here
and we are here because we write
we write because if we do not
we no longer become ourselves
we lose our salt we become just like any
flesh, rotten, infected with bacteria
foul, and finally become just dust
on the corner of the road
we write and we keep on writing
because we are
we do not need the praise
or the condemnation
we do not need an audience
or an empty space
we write because we are
that is our essence and no one can stop us
except perhaps when the word is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Write And Write And Write And Write
I WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE
I write and write and write and write
I write and write and write and write
I write.
And all this writing and all these words and all I am
Forever unheard.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Work - the cycle
Wake, work, home, eat sleep
This cycle keeps on and on
As the time it takes is so long
Wake, work, home, eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
This cycle don’t seem at all to end
All your life in work you seem to spend
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
You start to see your life is slipping away
As people no longer around you stay
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
I’m surprised now I’m even getting time to eat
It would be bliss to stop rest my feet
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
You doing so many hours you feel ill
And you keep doing the cycle still
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
People bosses customers just keep adding more
You start to long for sleep and to snore
Wake work home eat sleep
Wake work home eat sleep
Something drastic happens the cycle breaks
And that all that it really takes
Wake work home eat sleep no more., ….
Whatevah
write
till it does not hurt anymore
write
till all the happy moments are consumed.
write
till all the aches are justified
write
till all your revenge is dissipated
write
till all angles are examined
write and keep on writing
till all of you is hidden, till all of you is folded back
write and keep on writing still
because you are your writer and there is no one who knows you well
except yourself, and what they know shall only be
skin deep
because you want it so,
you are the king in the jungle of your uncertainties
the Tarzan hitting his chest before Jane came and ruined it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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And So I'm Writing...
I'm hard-pressed for time,
yet I do have the heart
And so I'm writing
Know not what to pen down,
have a paper to write on
And so I'm writing
May be I'll write about 'you and me'
Or may be of 'us and them'
Feel like playing with words
And so I'm writing
May be that starving beggar's hungry looks
Or that homeless Child's beckoning eyes
Are making me scribble these lines to you
And so I'm writing
May be you'll find my words vague
Or you might decipher a meaning
Intend to leave you in the oblivion
And so I'm writing
Whatever might be the impression I create
Wish to see its reflection on your soul
And leave an imprint on your mind
And so I'm writing
May be you and I've become immune
To the pathos of mankind
Or may be there's still
A dropp of humanity flowing deep within us
Wish to arouse 'The Human Being' in you
And so I'm writing...
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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It's Five O'Clock Somewhere
[Alan:]
The sun is hot and that old clock,
is movin' slow, and so am I.
Work day passes like molasses,
in winter time, but it's July.
Getting paid by the hour,
and older by the minute.
My boss just pushed me,
over the limit.
I could call him something,
think I'll just call it a day...
Pour me something tall and strong.
Make it a hurricane, before I go insane.
It's only half past twelve. But I don't care,
it's five o'clock somewhere.
This lunch break is gonna take
all afternoon, half the night.
Tomorrow morning I know there'll be hell to pay,
but, hey, that's all right.
I ain't had a day off now, in over a year.
My Jamaican vacation's gonna start right here.
If the phone's for me you can tell them
I just sailed away....
Pour me something tall and strong.
Make it a hurricane, before I go insane.
It's only half past twelve. But I don't care,
it's five o'clock somewhere.
[Instrumental]
I could pay off my tab, pour myself in a cab,
and be back to work before two.
At a moment like this, I can't help but wonder,
what would Jimmy Buffett do.
[Jimmy:]
Funny you should ask Alan, I'd say...
Pour me something tall and strong.
Make it a hurricane, before I go insane.
It's only half past twelve, but I don't care.
[Together:]
Pour me something tall and strong.
Make it a hurricane, before I go insane.
It's only half past twelve. But I don't care,
it's five o'clock somewhere.
[Alan:]
... but he don't care, I don't care.
Together
It's five o'clock somewhere.
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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