In the late 60s and early 70s, I did get interested in voices, and in narration and embodying the voice, making the poem sound like a real person talking.
quote by Robert Morgan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Voices from beyond
Voices from beyond and afar.
Are talking to my adding to my fears.
They are driving me mad.
Sending me around the bend.
Making life all the more twisted.
Voices grind me down.
Keep it to myself.
I wont let on.
Not that people who should listen do anyways.
The voices are after me pushing me
Into an early grave.
They want me dead.
And they want me gone
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Some autistic children cannot stand the sound of certain voices. I have come across cases where teachers tell me that certain children have problems with their voice or another person's voice. This problem tends to be related to high-pitched ladies' voices.
quote by Temple Grandin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Late Night Poem
THE LATE- NIGHT POEM
The late- night poem
Is a tired poem
It wants to sleep,
But it has not done what it should do-
Once it is written
It can go to rest.
The late- night poem
Is not a real poem,
Nothing is,
Not tonight,
In all this tiredness.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The fate of attention
I grew interested.
I became interested.
I stayed interested.
I was no more interested.
I was no longer interested.
I grow uninterested.
It is so for every person
And for every thing
We focus our attention on.
29.11.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I Wanted My Poem To Be A Real Poem
I WANTED MY POEM TO BE A REAL POEM
I wanted my poem to be a real poem-
I have read and studied and memorized
So many real poems-
I wanted my poem to be one of them
Which others would read and feel and memorize
And make their own –
We want and we want and we want
And who are we with all our wanting?
Who am I with all my wanting?
One more dreamer
One more ambitious person
One more lover of poems
One more writer of poems
One more wanter of real poems
Who writes this poem
For others
who dream like me
of writing real poems.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's really the sound of the voices, the sound of the words, the sound of the sound that we're interested in.
quote by Anne Dudley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sinners Inc.
Voice 1:
Sin, Sin, Sin! You're all Sinners!
Your all goin' to a painful, everlasting, fiery Hell.
Voice 2:
It's all there is. It's all there is.
It's all there is. It's all there is.
Voice 3:
I wish I could die.
Voice 1: (slow and muttled)
There is no escape from _____ ______ _____
(The last two or three words overlayed by...)
Voice 3:
I don't know what's going to happen, to any of us.
Voice 2:
It's all there is. It's all there is.
It's all there is. It's all there is.
It's all there is. It's all there is.
It's all there is. It's all there is.
Voice:
There's nothing to explain.
It's to late... to late... to late... to late... to late... to late... to late...
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I was a teenager in the late 30's and early 40's, electronics wasn't a word. You were interested in radio if you were interested in electronics.
The Last Poem I Came To
The last poem I came to
Was not my own-
It came from other voices elsewhere
And had a thousand broken signatures written in it -
It was all my reading and all the voices of others I had heard-
It sounded like a mess,
And it frightened me by its mixed- up- ness -
But I have been reading and listening too long
The voice was of the others
But it had become mine also-
And now when I try to sound like myself
I hear them calling me by their own lines and names
And writing these words as I write them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wanted A Poem In The Early Morning-Even Before The Darkness Had Gone
I WANTED A POEM IN THE EARLY MORNING
I wanted a poem in the early morning
Even before the darkness had gone-
I wanted to hear words
That meant music
That said I was alive and could write-
I wanted a poem in the early morning
So that I could be justified
For the rest of the day-
Time and again I have written that poem
I write it now -
How wonderful when it flows as if it is real
I may never know that it is
But in writing it, thank God, I feel alive and blessed
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Have A Voice Of My Own
I HAVE A VOICE OF MY OWN
I have a voice of my own
It is a small quiet voice
It does not know violent metaphor
And it cannot surprise very much
It is a small quiet voice
And a quite simple one
It loves to think it tells the truth of my soul
But no doubt it has its own forms of ironies and deceptions-
There are other voices much greater than it
Stronger voices and more poetic voices
And voices which rightfully more appeal to others
But my voice is my voice
And it is the one
I am trying to
speak to you with now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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And There is...an Echo
And there is an echo
A voice without voice
Floats and repeats
The real sound of voice
That is echo
Praised by the mute
Who shouts in the sea of mist
Without someone to know
That is echo
Swing by the name
But it ignores and says
Steals the sound of real voice
But let the echo
Takes the voice and echoes
Before the power is gone
And disappears word by word
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Middle of a Crowd
Today I was in the middle of a crowd and that when I heard her. Her sweet voice filtered out all the cell phones with the different ringtones. All the voices of the people from a businessman making a million dollar deal to a toddler having a tantrum because his mom won't buy him a juice-box. Her voice even may the barking dogs bark mute and the birds chirping song silent and her voice was the only one my ears heard. In the middle of a crowd is where I wrote this poem because the lady's voice I heard was poetry.
Ocean's Rose
The ocean's rose The ocean's rose
Is a sight
Is a sprite
Is a playful child
Dancing along the Dancing along the
Shore, Shore,
A lion's roar,
A squeaky door,
Making a sound, a
Difference somewhere, Change in the air,
A change in the air, A difference somewhere,
Pulling and tugging Pulling and tugging at
Your mind,
At your heart,
The feeling you get
When the ocean's waves
Scroll over your feet
Getting you wet.
The ocean's rose The ocean's rose is a
Memory of something
Long forgotten:
A seashell, a clam, a
Boot, nasty and rotten.
Better than a picture,
A souvenir for life,
From the early ages of
Childhood, to the Childhood, to the
Moment when you are
Laying on your deathbed,
And you hand it off to your
Children as you
See the light.
See the light.
-refrain-
And the memory lives And the memory
On. On.
**This poem is a two person poem. While one person reads the right column, the other person reads the left column, **
poem by Alex M.ller
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My Life As a Tweeter on Twitter: 9-20-11 Entries
'If your history is full of tv commercials, then you are in trouble.'
'I had put his book down, it was talking me to death.'
'Meaning is inversely proportional to the number of words used to express meaning.'
'In music, you are not making a statement, you are showing who you be, if not you are just jamming.'
'You can't speak to another person's soul if you are talking.'
'I try to make all the characters in my books better than I am or much worse.'
'Stay calm, stay centered, summon your peace and you'll prevail against anything.'
'If someone calls you a name demand details. 'Cow? ' What kind? Jersey, Holstein. You don't know, what do you know? Quells bigots every time.
'Never stop a speaker while they are in the middle of being wrong. Let them ramble.'
'The problem with reality is that it reads too much like fiction.'
'Note to writers & musicians: people often aren't interested in your art, as much as they are interested in you, so show'em who you be.'
'Never end a chapter without leaving 'em wanting more. Try to do it with sentences too.'
'The adventure is not in knowing; the adventure is in not knowing.'
'The secret to great writing is to put one or more of the five senses in every sentence, otherwise you're doing journalism.'
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Voices In The Sky
Bluebird, flying high
Tell me what you sing
If you could talk to me
What news would you bring
Of voices in the sky
Nightingale, hovering high
Harmonize the wind
Darkness, your symphony
I can hear you sing
Of voices in the sky
Just what is happening to me
I lie awake with the sound of the sea
Calling to me
Old man, passing by
Tell me what you sing
Though your voice be faint
I am listening
Voices in the sky
Children with a skipping rope
Tell me what you sing
Play time is nearly gone
The bells about to ring
Voices in the sky
Just what is happening to me
I lie awake with the sound of the sea
Calling to me
Bluebird, flying high
Tell me what you sing
If you could talk to me
What news would you bring
Of voices in the sky
Voices in the sky
Voices in the sky
Voices in the sky
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Hear The Voices Of Others In Me
I HEAR THE VOICES OF OTHERS IN ME
I hear the voices of others in me
It does not mean I have a voice of my own
I feel their lines and their poems their melodies and their harmonies
I feel the beauty of what they say
Each one in his own exceptional way-
I hear the voices of others in me
And wait to hear my own voice
And stumbling fumble these lines and more lines and lines
And I do not know
And only hope
That I am me
And I am real
And I have a voice of my own.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Walking In The Light
The sun woke me up real early, its a beautiful morn.
cause Im going down to the river to be reborn.
Now me and jesus did some heavy talking last night,
So Im going down to be dipped and come up walking in the light.
(la la la la la la la la la la,
La la la la la la la la,
La la la la la la la la la la,
La la la la la la la.)
So Im going down to the river real early this morn.
Jesus said through him we can be reborn.
Oh the joy thats come inside me
Laughter fills my night and fills my day,
With the song of love to guide me,
And the happy words you send my way.
Life with you has made me feel the miracle of making melody;
Just a simple wonder when youre walking in the light.
(la la la la la la la la la la,
La la la la la la la la,
La la la la la la la la la la,
La la la la la la la.)
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Out Of My Bones
Im in need of a remedy to cure me from loving you
It may sound a little extreme Ill do what I have to do
Chorus:
Bury your jacket in my backyard
Carry your picture in my shoe
Keep walking till the hurting stops
Keep walking till my temperature drops
Keep walking till the fever is gone
And youre out of my bones
Im in need of a medicine
Something strong thatll work real fast
That I can take to fortify me
To keep my arm from taking you back
Chase that ghost out from under my bed
Still these voices in my head
They keep talking weaving their spell
But Im talking to myself
I keep em talking to daylight to dawn
Till youre out of my bones
Sweet amnesia come and set me free
I just need to get you out of me
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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