Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.
quote by Isaac Asimov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Thinking
The pen is gripped between my fingers.
The tension grows, an idea lingers,
And yet somehow it’s stuck.
I’m thinking, ‘just my luck’!
The pen is starting to want to play,
Upon the paper, and have its say.
And yet there’s no feedback.
I’m thinking, ‘I’m off track’!
The pen is tapping away frustrated,
The owner’s now infuriated.
And yet one shall still strive.
I’m thinking, ‘it must arrive’!
The pen is gyrating all about,
There’s something definite coming out.
And yet, a nervous time.
I’m thinking, ‘will it rhyme? ’,
The pen is slowing, and it will stop.
It’s done its writing and needs to flop.
And yet, this work of art,
I’m thinking, ‘is from the heart’!
The pen has finished its job and rests.
It has done well, its achieved its best.
And yet, it will do more,
I’m thinking. ‘That’s for sure’!
The pen - has run out of ink.
I think!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Thinking Process..
i go back to the pages
and i know i am shocking perhaps to all of you
having written much on some things that
perhaps i have not thought of so well...
but they are there and they confront me
that i own them and i feel a little bit awkward
when and how have i written these
matters of the heart
and soul and affection and
(well,) alienation and
stressful situations, not counting
the reality of depressing
expressions in the form of
concealed metaphoric devices,
at any rate, i accept this kind of ability to
just be writing for no purpose, except to express,
for simply writing what i must say
without so much thinking that in the future
i may regret what
ought not to be written...
well, this is it, this is life, and this is what is it
all about...a river simply flowing to the sea
what more? what should it be?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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United In Pain
my fingers
are not mine anymore
they are running
out of control
i do not wish
to write some more
to infuriate you
but my hands are
rebels
coming out from
my arms
into their
fingers
writing these
lines
i am detached
severed
from the rest of my
parts
i have no more control
about
destiny in the making
birds of blue
feathers
are coming out
from my mouth
and they are not
coming back
my fingers are
automatons
writing now on
their own
i am not
responsible for your
anger
i am a useless man
and my fingers
are not mine anymore
my C5 chokes a nerve
i am numb
my fingers are at war
against
each other now
thoughts converge
without much meaning
united
in pain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not The Poem Then
NOT THE POEM THEN
Not the poem then
Although it can be the poem
Writing
Simply writing
This is the duty and the meaning
And the release from meaninglessness
And the ‘enabling me to go on’
The poem is only one form of it
It is the writing which matters
My life has been this
This writing
Even if it is a poor poem now
As I write these words
I live.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Talking About Us
(j. spinks)
Late last night I was sitting all alone
You were there on the end of my phone
I was thinking bout you
You were talking bout us
In my mind I just wanted you there
Run my fingers through your hair
I was thinking bout you
You were talking bout us
I closed my eyes cos I was out of control
From fingers to the tip of my toes
I was thinking bout you
You were talking bout us
Late last night you know I needed you there
I was sitting kinda back in my chair
You were talking to me I was thinking bout us
All I wanted was to see you undress
I could picture you more or less
I was thinking bout you
You were talking bout us
I closed my eyes cos I was out of control
From fingers to the tip of my toes
I was thinking bout you
You were talking ? bout us oh, la, la, la, la
Oh oh la, la, la, la
Last night it was getting kinda late
I got the message and you knew I couldn? t wait
I was thinking ? bout you you were talking bout us
I closed my eyes cos I was out of control
From fingers to the tip of my toes
I was thinking bout you
You were talking bout us
That? s you and me babe
I was thinking bout you you were talking bout us
I was thinking bout you you were talking bout us
song performed by by Outfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Talking 'bout Us
LATE LAST NIGHT I WAS SITTING ALL ALONE
YOU WERE THERE ON THE END OF MY PHONE
I WAS THINKING 'BOUT YOU
YOU WERE TALKING 'BOUT US
IN MY MIND I JUST WANTED YOU THERE
RUN MY FINGERS THROUGH YOUR HAIR
I WAS THINKING 'BOUT YOU
YOU WERE TALKING 'BOUT US
I CLOSED MY EYES COS I WAS OUT OF CONTROL
FROM FINGERS TO THE TIP OF MY TOES
I WAS THINKING 'BOUT YOU
YOU WERE TALKING 'BOUT US
LATE LAST NIGHT YOU KNOW I NEEDED YOU THERE
I WAS SITTING KINDA BACK IN MY CHAIR
YOU WERE TALKING TO ME I WAS THINKING 'BOUT US
ALL I WANTED WAS TO SEE YOU UNDRESS
I COULD PICTURE YOU MORE OR LESS
I WAS THINKING 'BOUT YOU
YOU WERE TALKING 'BOUT US
I CLOSED MY EYES COS I WAS OUT OF CONTROL
FROM FINGERS TO THE TIP OF MY TOES
I WAS THINKING 'BOUT YOU
YOU WERE TALKING ?BOUT US OH, LA, LA, LA, LA
OH OH LA, LA, LA, LA
LAST NIGHT IT WAS GETTING KINDA LATE
I GOT THE MESSAGE AND YOU KNEW I COULDN?T WAIT
I WAS THINKING ?BOUT YOU YOU WERE TALKING 'BOUT US
I CLOSED MY EYES COS I WAS OUT OF CONTROL
FROM FINGERS TO THE TIP OF MY TOES
I WAS THINKING 'BOUT YOU
YOU WERE TALKING 'BOUT US
THAT?S YOU AND ME BABE
I WAS THINKING 'BOUT YOU YOU WERE TALKING 'BOUT US
I WAS THINKING 'BOUT YOU YOU WERE TALKING 'BOUT US
song performed by by Outfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When We Do Nothing, A Philosophizing
did he tell you
that even those who stand and wait
also serve?
which means precisely that those who do nothing
(also does something)
that by doing nothing
they also share
what you are thinking right now
do we think that writing is doing something
that thinking is also doing something?
what is it that which is nothing that we can do?
tell me.
everything is everything and it includes nothing actually.
everything embraces also nothing.
so when you do everything you also do what nothing is.
there is nothing that we can do.
everything is here, including this 'nothing'
do you really do nothing?
try thinking some more. try doing nothing, if it is possible at all.
i tell you, it is not.
really, it is.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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I Waited Outside The World Of Wonder
I waited inside the world of wonder
The poems were coming to me night and day-
I knew I had a vocation at last
So I gave myself into it-
Year after year
For years I wrote poems
They came in and out of me
Like breathing
And I found them wherever I looked and walked
And took them home and wrote them down
And they became my song and my me and my life and my joy
And oh what a wonder it was to be simply to be
Writing them down-
And now writing this one down after so many years
I too still sing and wonder why God has been so good to me
And given me so much I simply love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Am Eating Peanuts
at the very moment when
i am thinking of how to plagiarize
a part of your
creation, i am picking peanuts
from a jar, and
i stop writing when i have to
use two hands to
swallow the nuts
and then chew
right there, the ideas pop out
that this could have
been better if
you thought about it
i simply thought of making an
improvement
from a previous one
made by a lousy
man.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Don't Have To Think To Write A Nice Poem
why think? poetry does not demand
thinking
it demands feelings, your feelings,
and you have lots of them,
these feelings
of loss, of joy, of sorrow, of bliss,
of sadness, and happiness,
of longings, and regrets
of losing and gaining,
all these, do they require
so much thinking
and evaluating? no, they are there
with you, always waiting to be written
and sometimes
mind you, just put your hand
on the keys
and they start writing about
themselves
try the trance
lose yourself, be the breath
from your mouth
be the air from your nostrils
be the wind
be the spirit from your body
for once
let it fly away and take the
whole world
in the tips of your fingers
in the blink of your eye
in the slip of your tongue
in the wink
of your mind
poem by Antonio Liao
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Fingers
In that photo of yours
I saw you –
Your face, your shoulders,
Your hands, and then
Your fingers…
My lips quivered
So did my hands
And I felt like touching you,
With my quivering lips
And unsure hands,
Those very beautiful
Exquisite fingers…
Reading your poems of love
And pondering over your letters…
Sometimes I imagine
You writing to me
With those very same
Slender and artistic
Adept fingers…
Very often I feel
And wonder…
If your fingers
Ever do ache
Writing so long,
So nice,
And so very endless,
Day after day…
And if they do, my Love
I feel like pampering them
With tender, loving care
A kiss here, a kiss there…
Holding them,
Caressing them,
Sucking them slow…
Your fingers in my mouth
Taking turns to go
One by one,
I feel them,
Nibble them,
Suckle them,
Make love to them,
Within the deep recesses
Of my oral crevice…
Till they feel pampered
And satiated
And I feel the same too…
Contented and happy
Making love to you
With your fingers
In my mouth…
A wonderful tryst
Of love and lust,
Warmth and arousal,
And then if you wish…
And if I'm also willing,
We can play this game
All night long…
Where you don’t win
And I don’t lose
We both win over together
And lose ourselves
To each other…
I give free rein to
Your fingers…
To touch, feel
And explore
The inner crevices
And every pore
Of my body…
The mouth has had its turn
Now, do you wish to go
Further down..?
And see how it feels
To caress my breasts,
My derriere and my
Yoni,
With those seeking,
Exploring fingers of yours…
You’ve penned a lot of poetry
And your letters intoxicate me…
How about writing
Some letters of love
And a few lines of love ballads
On the spaces and margins
Of my body…
Dipping your fingers,
And drinking into
The juice of my
Dripping Yoni…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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It's For Me
Poetry for me, is just like breathing
I inhale Life and exhale poems
It's for me - I do the writing
No matter, if ever, comments come.
As chosen words come out soothing
Release the pained and burdened heart
I find relief in simply writing
Touching others with what I impart.
But always the joy is within me
The reading by others may truly bless
I'm grateful they read my poetry
But the writing is my true happiness!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The real danger of writing a great song when you're on something is that it might get you thinking that the only way to repeat that is by only writing when you're high.
quote by Barry Mann
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Write A Poem While You Are Mumbling
while you mumble
about the lives of other people
those that i am also complaining about
knocking at our doors
at early dawns
while we are still feeling
what the world
will be
today
i decided to
simply think about myself
what can i do
to make a silent exit where no one
cares to notice
that i am rushing to
for a trip somewhere
i remember
when the door bell rings
because she is depressed
about the world
what it did to her
that she cannot just forgive
i hide myself and pretend
that this world is dead
and keep my own life to
myself
writing poems
and thinking about more
metaphors
about how to be strong
and kind and gentle
and compassionate
about
a lost soul
screaming to be taken
to our arms
tragic,
ironic,
what i do
is not what i want to do
and then she screeched her motorcycle
away
leaving me
writing another poem
and feeling so empty
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Actually, that's one of the things I was thinking about writing a story about me, loosely based or autobiographical. I just don't want to be like some people that are in their twenties and writing autobiographies.
quote by Matthew McGrory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thinking Man's Blues
i was thinking about Jesus
i was thinking about robbing a bank
thinking about the band a playin'
while the Titanic sank
thinking 'bout salvation
thinking about getting free
thinking and a wondering
do you ever think about me?
i was thinking about generations
i was thinking about saving grace
i was thinking about truth and lies
thinking about flesh and lace
thinking about redemption
and rivers running to the sea
thinking and a wondering
do you ever think about me?
i was thinking about the Dharma
'bout Martin Luther King
thinking about Merle Haggard
thinking about James Dean
thinking about the costs of war
about moral depravity
thinking and a wondering
do you ever think about me?
thinking and a wondering
do you ever think about me?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I lost that excitement I had when I first started out. It was all about the need to just get a job, and so I found the joy again when I was writing Deuce Bigelow. I was laughing so hard and along with my writing partner at the time, simply laughing until we cried.
quote by Rob Schneider
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am unable to convince you
I do not expect
Anything from you
Nor do I have
Love designs for you
I remember you
Write to you
Simply because
I like you
Adore you
From the core
Of my heart
Though I try to
But simply cannot stop
Myself
From writing to you
Increasing your doubts
About my intentions
About you
My biggest agony is
I am unable to
Convince you
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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I work eight hours a day, but I'm not writing all that time. I'm thinking, editing, looking something up. Thinking is what I do a lot of.
quote by Barbara Taylor Bradford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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