If they had said my writing wasn't good enough, fair enough, that's an opinion. But to say it's too complex is to insult the intelligence of the so-called young.
quote by Tanith Lee
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The private citizen, beset by partisan appeals for the loan of his Public Opinion, will soon see, perhaps, that these appeals are not a compliment to his intelligence, but an imposition on his good nature and an insult to his sense of evidence.
quote by Walter Lippmann
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I wasn't breathing
When I wasn’t blissfully snoring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
cistern of stupendously rhapsodic and gloriously majestic Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t unsurpassably fantasizing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
garden of ingeniously magical and miraculously mitigating Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t superbly adventuring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
an
ocean of bountifully resplendent and timelessly undefeated Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t scrumptiously relishing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
playground of optimistically enlightening and unbelievably royal
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t limitlessly triumphing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cascade of beautifully panoramic and effulgently liberating Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t pricelessly smiling; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
lantern of unendingly vibrant and inscrutably tantalizing Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t gloriously partying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
paradise of eternally vivacious and pristinely redolent Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t unassailably inspiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
festoon of incredulously ameliorating and perpetually compassionate
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t magnanimously feasting; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cocoon of symbiotically philanthropic and ubiquitously coalescing
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t ebulliently fornicating; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
mist of wonderfully reinvigorating and blessedly burgeoning Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t flirtatiously winking; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
swirl of brilliantly untainted and Omnipotently ecstatic Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t mellifluously singing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
heaven of iridescently innovative and spectacularly celestial Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t synergistically relaxing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
pearl of unconquerably seductive and unprecedentedly enamoring Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t amiably conversing; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
palette of majestically invincible and Omnipresently procreating
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t holistically earning; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
canvas of inimitably untamed and fragrantly altruistic Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t unceasingly exultating; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
tunnel of mystically replenishing and perennially enthralling Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t devoutly praying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
meadow
of vividly glorifying and fearlessly jubilant Immortal Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t ardently dancing; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
rainbow
of poignantly marvelous and unshakably subliming Immortal Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t unstoppably admiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
mirror of truthfully Omnipresent and inherently revealing Immortal Love
Poetry,
And when I wasn’t quintessentially breathing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a cosmos of unbreakably everlasting and universally bonding
Immortal
Love Poetry….
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Isa Nutter
Doc Meyers said I had satyriasis,
And Doc Hill called it leucaemia --
But I know what brought me here:
I was sixty-four but strong as a man
Of thirty-five or forty.
And it wasn't writing a letter a day,
And it wasn't late hours seven nights a week,
And it wasn't the strain of thinking of Minnie,
And it wasn't fear or a jealous dread,
Or the endless task of trying to fathom
Her wonderful mind, or sympathy
For the wretched life she led
With her first and second husband --
It was none of these that laid me low --
But the clamor of daughters and threats of sons,
And the sneers and curses of all my kin
Right up to the day I sneaked to Peoria
And married Minnie in spite of them --
And why do you wonder my will was made
For the best and purest of women?
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Young Explorers
Two young lions surveyed the land
And paused to take it in,
As if the future could be planned,
So they would always win.
With hiding places here and there,
Shade from the burning sun
And danger spots they must beware,
Yet spaces they could run...
Life wasn't always hide and seek,
Life wasn't always bright...
For soon the day would pass its peak
And fade into the night...
Two young lions with lots to learn,
Exploring now and then.
When hunting, they must twist and turn
To help them catch again.
For now, they stood with dignity
And with a sense of pride...
Majestically and mightily,
As brothers, side-by-side.
Two young lions must carry on
The legacy of life,
Aware, they, too, will soon be gone,
Though battling to survive.
Their journey started years ago
When they were cubs at play...
Not knowing who was friend or foe,
Until they found their way...
Two young lions, aware, astute...
At one with Nature's Laws...
To children's eyes, they may look cute,
Yet watch those teeth and claws!
The young explorers hold no grudge
When things are fair and square.
Most of the time, they don't ask much...
They'll take the lions' share...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Young Explorers'.
poem by Denis Martindale
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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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The Story Behind The Fire This Morning
before the house was razed by fire
the old man visited the house and cried
telling me about a young man who promised
that if he ever loves another woman
the house shall be burned
to strip it of its meaning
at 6: 30 today early morning the firemen
called it a day. The house is gone
The old man gone. The young man gone.
i like to write the story behind all these
misfortune
but i am afraid that some parts of it
may not be true
or that if true, it may not be fair at all,
or that it be totally unjust
so that there is no use
writing it anymore
The old woman died a year ago
She floated in air
suffered vertigo
she gave up finally
the young man to the world
heard the promise of the old man
who could not do anything
when the house
got burned.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dream Lover
She called out a name in her sleep,
but the name wasn’t mine.
Moans of rapture and fervour followed,
but the name wasn’t mine.
I pretended to be the man in her dreams
and spoke words of love so fine.
In a state of ecstasy she called out a name,
but the name wasn’t mine!
poem by Orlando Belo
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Writing for young children I find I often use particular jokes with words and exaggerated, funny events, but some of these haunt the more complex stories for older children too.
quote by Margaret Mahy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I won't insult your intelligence by suggesting that you really believe what you just said.
quote by William F. Buckley, Jr.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Good
Hey how ya doin yeah I'm doin mighty fine Last time I think it's been a long time Stop smilin at me get that look off your face Please don't even front stop being so fake I know you do not like me yeah you made that really clear You're always talkin'bout me from what I hear Always turn me down when you thought that you could I want you to know that im doin so good. Wasn't it you that said I thought I was all that and you said I didn't have a clue Wasn't it you that said that I wouldn't make it through Wasn't it you that said that I didn't look too good that I wouldn't do too good I'd never make it out the hood I want you to know that im doin so good I know you hate it I'm doin so so so so
song performed by by Destiny's Child from The Writing's On The Wall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I sort of was good at writing essays. I was never very good at mathematics, and I was never very good at algebra. I loved science, but I wasn't sure of it.
quote by Diane Cilento
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With A Few Good Friends
(Carly Simon)
With a few good friends
And a stick or two
A house is built at a corner called Pooh
With a friend and a stick
Or three or four
A house is built where it wasn't before
With a window here
And there a door
And a nail and peg
For the coat of Eeyore
With a few good friends
And a stick or two
A house is built at a corner called Pooh
With a friend and a stick
Or three or four
A house is built where it wasn't before
Dress it down
Or dress it up
Invite Tigger for tea
And Owl for supper
With a few good friends
And a stick or two
A house is built at a corner called Pooh
With a friend and a stick
Or three or four
A house is built where it wasn't before
With a few good friends...
[Repeat and fade]
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Appetite, with an opinion of attaining, is called hope; the same, without such opinion, despair.
quote by Thomas Hobbes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Book of Sleep
Did what you write include the book of sleep,
Or were you arranging for a marriage with words?
The writing is angry of itself.
Its difference can carry a fair work,
Belief will conquer him who slept in the book of your sleep.
I am ready of the masters in this daily life
To question nothing of the opinion and waste,
Of the deadly steadiness of our doctors.
Hats wearing the heads of the soldiers
Are called helmets and uniforms are selected of the books.
Masters of our living existence are mighty
As plains and oceans,
With children to discover from exploration.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Lonely Need Someone
If you are lonely
You simply need someone
Not just any someone
But your someone.
Finding your someone
Is apparently a simple solution
To a complex problem.
A problem as complex
As you yourself.
The problem arises
From never writing down
What your heart really wants.
It feels too corny
To write something like that
Down on paper.
But don't knock it
Until you have tried it.
poem by Lonely People Champion
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Insult Upon Injury
Insult!
How do you feel when a woman insults you oh man?
Insult!
How do you feel when a man insults you oh woman?
Insult!
How do you feel when your wife insults you?
Insult!
How do you feel when your husband insults you?
Insult!
How do you feel when a child insults you?
Insult upon injury! !
But the jury is here at last to stay on this case.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Mr. Grieves
Hope everything is alright hope everything is alright
What's that floating in the water
Oh neptune's only daughter
I believe
In mr. grieves
Pray for a man in the middle
One that talks like doolittle
I believe
In mr. grieves
Do you have another opinion
Do you have another opinion
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
Got bombed got frozen
Got finally off to a finally dozing
I believe
In mr. grieves
Do you have another opinion
Opinion
Do you have another opinion
Do you have another opinion
You can cry you can mope
But can you swing from a good rope
Oh i believe
In mr. grieves
Hope everything is alright
Hope everything is alright
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Writing In The Air
Why he is writing in the air
Why he is writing in the air
He writes but no billetdoux
There are limitless sanctions no fair
The love is all as it is not fair
The fickle-minded prima facie lost its pair
Life is not like husky flute player
poem by Hafiz Qasim
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Just Another One Of Those Poem Thingies...
Well as you can tell,
This is just another one of those poem thingies.
But I ask you,
'What is poetry? I mean,
Do people just write words in wierd orders.'
Well, poetry is an expression,
An opinion, well I guess it could be,
Anything,
From a very 'sensitive' piece of writing
To an essay that you wrote three years ago.
The definition that you find in a dictionary
Has nothing to do with poetry.
It is just a summary,
No an assumsion of what those fools writing the dictionaries
Think it is.
Poetry is whatever you want it to be.
So next time some person who thinks that they're too cool,
And that your so stupid because you like poetry,
Weather it's writing it or just reading it,
Tell them that they write it too,
Weather or not they consider it to be poetry,
It's their opinion and anything,
Can be poetry.
I have a love for poetry,
That can not be described.
I know,
That sounds obsesive.
But I really do love poetry.
I feel like I can say anything and,
It doesn't have to be serious,
I mean it can,
But it is not required.
Nothing is required of you when you write poetry.
It is relaxing,
A chance to step aside from life,
Even if it's just for a few minutes.
I do it for my own enjoyment an relaxation.
Why do you?
poem by Maddy Macleod
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Just a load of silly limericks about people I know
I know young lady called Dee
Who lived in a bubblegum tree
She savoured the view
Whilst big bubbles she blew
And she only came down for her tea.
I know I young lady called Carolyn
Who said she was gonna go travelling
She afforded the lot
By a pay out she got
When her ex got impaled by a javelin.
There once was a poet called Ben
Who couldn't let go of his pen
He had a 'to do'
With some strong super glue
And it's been stuck there ever since then.
There once was a young Mr bright
Who wanted his farts to ignite
When he lighted the match
His fart just wouldn't catch
Coz the pants he had on were too tight!
I know a young lady called Laurie
Who burped after eating a curry
By god it was loud
And for this she was proud
Then she giggled and said she was sorry!
There once was a young man called Will
Who found it quite hard to sit still
He did not sit down once
No not even for lunch
It eventually made him quite ill
I know a lady called Karen
Who hired a group of hit men
She payed a few bob
For this one special job
And her ex was not spotted again
I know a girl called Nicola
Who craved for a day at a spar
She wanted shellac
And a rub of her back
But thought waxing was going too far
poem by Stevie Taite
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