The beautiful part of writing is that you don't have to get it right the first time, unlike, say, a brain surgeon. You can always do it better, find the exact word, the apt phrase, the leaping simile.
quote by Robert Cormier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They Say It Is My Brain That Is Writing This Poem
THEY SAY IT IS MY BRAIN THAT IS WRITING THIS POEM
They say it is my brain that it is writing this poem-
They can see areas of it shutting down
And others lighting up more intensely,
As the words come down-
But I know it is me who is writing this poem
And my brain is only ‘part' of who I am
Whatever that means.
I am writing this poem
And you are reading it
And we are human beings
Aren't we?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Like A Surgeon
I finally made it through med school
Somehow I made it through
Im just an intern
I still make a mistake or two
I was last in my class
Barely passsed at the institute
Now Im trying to avoid, yah Im trying to avoid
A malpractise suit
Hey, like a surgeon
Cuttin for the very first time
Like a surgeon
Organ transplants are my line
Better give me all your gause nurse
This patients fading fast
Complications have set in
Dont know how long hell last
Let me see, that i.v.
Here we go - time to operate
Ill pull his indsides out, pull his insides out
And see what he ate
Like a surgeon, hey
Cuttin for the very first time
Like a surgeon
Heres a waiver for you to sign
Woe, woe, woe
Its a fact - Im a quack
The disgrace of the a.m.a.
cause my patients die, yah my patients die
Before they can pay
Like a surgeon, hey
Cuttin for the very first time
Like a surgeon
Got your kidneys on my mind
Like a surgeon, ooh like a surgeon
When I reach inside
With my scalpel, and my forceps, and retractors
Oh oh, oh oh, woe, oh
Ooh baby, yah
I can hear your heartbeat
For the very last time
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With All The Reading and Writing I Do
With all the reading and writing I do
With all the work of the mind and heart
There comes a time
It can be any time
There comes a time
When the Poem must enter-
The Poem?
The deeper feeling-
The Music of the soul-
What I most need to say inside
The Writing which somehow surpasses all the other
In its inner intensity in its deepest feeling –
I write a poem now
All my heart mind soul
Go into every word and phrase.
The Poem? The Poem?
For which I write to live
And which through writing
I most live in Writing-
The Poem that this is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Observations on Eloquence
precise speakers
don't coin metaphors
sloppy seakers,
for want of exact similies
create a new phrase
sometimes more colorful
originated for want of language
or poverty,
the test of a new phrase or metaphor
is time
if adopted or repeated
alas eloquence is the lilt
and cadence sonorus
baritone or tenor
poem by Shimon Weinroth
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Deeper Inner Meanings
Let us ponder
the words and phrases
poets and artists
have used
as we delve
into obvious
and deeper
inner meanings.
What is exact origin
of these so often
quoted famous
choice chosen words?
A spontaneous
eureka phrase
born instantly
in the mind
or a protracted
laboured discourse
cunningly created
a deliberate conceit.
Writers so love
their ingenious
imaginative poetic
chosen images
writing must contain
such images
as metaphor simile
personification
a comparison
which is extreme
or far-fetched
wins accolades.
However the exact
meaning as envisaged
by moods of original
penmanship are not
conceived embodied
as a clone interpretation
by readers separated
by time space cultural bias.
We the reader impose
individualistic insightful
meaning as dictated by
personal taste possibly
skilled literary criticism.
Rhetoric discourse read
might be described as
a clever trick of arbitrary
whim, written by magicians
of illusion; yet many scripts
can be traced to proven
historical events which
occurred in the artists lifetime.
Good criticism will progress
from an introductory How
into What a text means, based
upon insightful and plausible
readings, with appropriate quotes
to sustain the argument chosen.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Thoughts And Thoughts
face the monitor
multitasking, whatever is always
whatever, and nowhere,
and somewhere,
surfing, and writing, whatever
word comes inside my brain,
linking, i like linking whatever
with nowhere, nothing definite,
like simply sitting on the shallow
part of the river and
rinsing my feet, nothing to clean
in particular, just looking at
the flow of the water,
like i am a part of everything
yet i belong to no one,
just it, this and that, and
nothing specific,
this is what i like doing now.
i am no one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I will not go so far as to say that to construct a history of thought without profound study of the mathematical ideas of successive epochs is like omitting Hamlet from the play which is named after him. . . But it is certainly analogous to cutting out the part of Ophelia. This simile is singularly exact. For Ophelia is quite essential to the play, she is very charming-- and a little mad.
quote by Alfred North Whitehead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You're an ancient walker
You're an ancient walker down the pallid walls of silence
Who likes to creep in all horror stories in design
There are so many things I hate about you
As they look like too much of myself
But unlike me you can't change your faces from morn to eve
And unlike me you sometimes
Neatly wear your mind where your heart should be
With a repelling urge to push things into words
Only because you want them to survive
Only because you want to survive
At the expense of the world crumbling down
Just to fit the measure of the simile you normally get stuck in
Perfectly aware that a is not b since a long time ago
That a cannot be b no matter how hard you try
To shift it back into a mythos time
Revive in vacuum reanimation
Your own heart when softly you lick
Those wounds that only you understand and care about
And when despair driven you want them to survive
For it may mean that you will survive as well
I am touching you like a disease
A hypochondriac infliction in love with itself
That never wants to heal
You will eat up the best part of me
Long before I'll be able to reach myself
But to survive at the cost of myself
Is far from my finishing line
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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If The Poems Keep Flowing
IF THE POEMS KEEP FLOWING
If the poems keep flowing
And the metaphors ripen on the trees
And the dreams say words even they do not understand
And all life in sound becomes a magical prescence of music
If all good things come in this process of writing
And my silence is forever stricken from the record of Time
Then why and how and where and must will I become again
Carry me along taddy like you done at the toy fair?
So after all the years of reading
Lost too in the flow of the words of others
Unable to hear myself without hearing them
Because all other poets are the poet I am and would be
And all I take in me slowly memorizing line by line phrase by phrase word by word
Is a kind of blessing
Which even this hushed hearing now cannot really explain
Or take away on the river of lost light forever
Shabbat Shalom.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My companion
I don't know where I'll be,
when who ever buys my book to read.
I was just writing the date on my new
notebook, and these thoughts came to my mind.
Sometimes when I'm going over some
writing I see the date on the paper,
and it brings me memories of
how I felt at the time when I
wrote those poems,
Those notes, they have the flavor
of me. My intimate thoughts my most
saddest and happiest moments of
my existence.
My poems my notes my
stories and my hands, they are one.
One memory in all together.
The way my hands clinch my
writing my every move of prose.
I don't know who
Will want to read the writing coming
from a stranger a none-known poet.
From lonesome I, no one
knows who she is.
I cherish every letter,
word and phrase my hands have writting.
Because all of this has been to me a wonderful
companion of my lonesome life of appetence to feed.
Copyright©ElenaToledo2011
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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A New Simile
IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT
LONG had I sought in vain to find
A likeness for the scribbling kind;
The modern scribbling kind, who write
In wit, and sense, and nature's spite:
Till reading, I forget what day on,
A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon,
I think I met with something there,
To suit my purpose to a hair;
But let us not proceed too furious,
First please to turn to god Mercurius;
You'll find him pictur'd at full length
In book the second, page the tenth:
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,
And now proceed we to our simile.
Imprimis, pray observe his hat,
Wings upon either side--mark that.
Well! what is it from thence we gather?
Why these denote a brain of feather.
A brain of feather! very right,
With wit that's flighty, learning light;
Such as to modern bard's decreed:
A just comparison,--proceed.
In the next place, his feet peruse,
Wings grow again from both his shoes;
Design'd, no doubt, their part to bear,
And waft his godship through the air;
And here my simile unites,
For in a modern poet's flights,
I'm sure it may be justly said,
His feet are useful as his head.
Lastly, vouchsafe t'observe his hand,
Filled with a snake-encircl'd wand;
By classic authors term'd caduceus,
And highly fam'd for several uses.
To wit--most wond'rously endu'd,
No poppy water half so good;
For let folks only get a touch,
Its soporific virtue's such,
Though ne'er so much awake before,
That quickly they begin to snore.
Add too, what certain writers tell,
With this he drives men's souls to hell.
Now to apply, begin we then;
His wand's a modern author's pen;
The serpents round about it twin'd
Denote him of the reptile kind;
Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy slaver, venom'd bites;
An equal semblance still to keep,
Alike too both conduce to sleep.
This diff'rence only, as the god
Drove souls to Tart'rus with his rod,
With his goosequill the scribbling elf,
Instead of others, damns himself.
And here my simile almost tript,
Yet grant a word by way of postscript.
Moreover, Merc'ry had a failing:
Well! what of that? out with it--stealing;
In which all modern bards agree,
Being each as great a thief as he:
But ev'n this deity's existence
Shall lend my simile assistance.
Our modern bards! why what a pox
Are they but senseless stones and blocks?
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Writing this book feels like a completely different activity from writing my comic strip because it's about real life. I feel like I'm using a part of my brain that's been dormant until now.
quote by Alison Bechdel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Addiction for M lady Kim
Addiction
I’ll exercise self discipline.
Today I will not write a word.
I have decided it’s no sin.
This constant scribbling’s absurd.
I choose a book and start to read
but then some phrase enraptures me.
Quite suddenly I feel the need
I have to write and urgently,
Before my train of thought is lost
I find my pad take up my pen
and writing in the style of Frost.
I find I’m scribbling again.
My muse cannot contain her glee.
She knows that she’s in charge not me.
20-Aug-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Blackboard Of My Heart
You wrote your words so carefully
on the blackboard of my heart.
Writing of the passion,
you held inside for me.
Writing that we would never part,
you would always be with me.
Writing every word with love’s pen
on the blackboard of my heart.
21 April 2009
poem by David Harris
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Woman
Give us that grand word ‘woman’ once again,
And let’s have done with ‘lady’: one’s a term
Full of fine force, strong, beautiful, and firm,
Fit for the noblest use of tongue or pen;
And one’s a word for lackeys. One suggests
The Mother, Wife, and Sister! One the dame
Whose costly robe, mayhap, gives her the name,
One word upon its own strength leans and rests;
The other minces tiptoe. Who would be
The perfect woman must grow brave of heart
And broad of soul to play her troubled part
Well in life’s drama. While each day we see
The ‘perfect lady’ skilled in what to do
And what to say, grace in each tone and act
(‘Tis taught in schools, but needs some native tact) ,
Yet narrow in her mind as in her shoe.
Give the first place then to the nobler phrase,
And leave the lesser word for lesser praise.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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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
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For Years I Thought Each Word And Sentence- Sacred
For years I thought each word and sentence - sacred
If I had written it down it must be saved-
Now the piles of pages lie mostly unread
They will never be seen by anyone
Most of what I have done will be
Time passed and unremembered-
Will I be able to save some small part of this
Select the best of it?
A small part has been published
And now I post more –
Will any of it be cared for?
Is another question-
Most of what I have done
Writing that is passing time
Forever to be unknown much less remembered-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Swinging the Lead
Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "I've got noises in me head
And a kind o' filled up feeling after every time I'm fed;
I can sleep all night on picket, but I can't sleep in my bed".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "Do you think they'll send me back?
For I really ain't adapted to be carrying a pack
Though I've humped a case of whisky half a mile upon my back".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
"And my legs have swelled up cruel, I can hardly walk at all,
Bur when the Taubes come over you should see me start to crawl;
When we're sprinting for the dugout, I can easy beat 'em all".
And the Surgeon said,
"That's Lead!"
So they sent him to the trenches where he landed safe and sound,
And he drew his ammunition, just about two fifty round:
"Oh Sergeant, what's this heavy stuff I've got to hump around?"
And the Sergeant said,
"That's Lead!"
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Beautiful
I am beautiful
Not only because of the curve of my hips
Or the shape of my body
Not only because of the fullness of my lips
Or the curl of my eye lashes
I am beautiful because I want to be
I am beautiful because God made me that way
I am beautiful because in my eyes
There is no one more beautiful than me
I am beautiful because I have a heart
And that is a beautiful thing
I am beautiful because I have a brain
And that is a beautiful thing
I am beautiful because I give advice
And that is a beautiful thing
I am beautiful because I want to be
I am beautiful because God made me that way
I am beautiful because in my eyes
There is no one more beautiful than me
I am beautiful because I have confidence
I am beautiful because I have determination and wit
I am beautiful because I have goals and I plan to reach them
I am beautiful because I am always there to lend a helping hand
I am beautiful because I want to be
I am beautiful because God made me that way
I am beautiful because in my eyes
There is no one more beautiful than me
2/9/08
poem by Candice George
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My Beautiful Darling! !
You are beautiful
Not only because of the curve of your hips
Or the shape of your body
Not only because of the fullness of your lips
Or the curl of your eye lashes
You are beautiful because you want to be
You are beautiful because God made you that way
You are beautiful because in your eyes
There is no one more beautiful than you.
You are beautiful because you have a heart
And that is a beautiful thing
You are beautiful because you have a brain
And that is a beautiful thing
You are beautiful because you give advice
And that is a beautiful thing
You are beautiful because you want to be
You are beautiful because God made you that way
You are beautiful because in your eyes
There is no one more beautiful than you.
You are beautiful because you have confidence
You are beautiful because you have determination and wit
You are beautiful because you have goals and you plan to reach them
You are beautiful because you are always there to lend a helping hand
You are beautiful because you want to be
You are beautiful because God made you that way
You are beautiful because in your eyes
There is no one more beautiful than you..
poem by Samuel Newton
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