Sure, some journalists use anonymous sources just because they're lazy and I think editors ought to insist on more precise identification even if they remain anonymous.
quote by Ben Bradlee
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anonymous Ghurl
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to her mother
'I'll be me and no one else
I'll never be another'
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to her dad
'The things that you have done to me
They make me feel so sad'
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to God
'How can I belive in you
You are such a fraud'
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to her friend
'I don't want to go on any more
I want it all to end'
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to no one
'I can't go on anymore
As she pulled the trigger of the gun'
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to me
'Leave your body far behind
And you too can be free'
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't You Sign Anonymous
Don't you sign anonymous,
To notes that you drop.
Don't you sign anonymous,
To get my head all heated up until it pops!
Be with me upfront and prepared.
Don't start a scavenger hunt to dare.
And please don't leave me grieving,
To be stunned as you run.
Don't scurry as you hurry...
To inflict me with dirt!
Knowing what it is that will get to me and hurt.
Don't you sign anonymous,
Be real and confront me.
Don't you sign anonymous,
To rile, torment and test me.
Don't you sign anonymous to throw in an 'if'!
IF I don't apologize,
You would be broken like a vase...
But away you'd fly.
Don't you sign anonymous,
Be real and confront me.
Don't you sign anonymous,
To rile, torment and test me.
Don't you sign anonymous to throw in an 'if'!
IF I don't apologize,
You would be broken like a vase...
But away you'd fly.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Anonymous
Well I wrote our names a thousand times
Just to see yours sitting nest to mine
Sent you flowers cards unsigned....anonymous
In days to come like days that passed
My heart beats for you, always has
Though you know me only as....anonymous
In dreams at night I carry your books for you
And when I rise a flame for you
Always too shy to carry the whole thing through
Like the light from that eternal flame
Burns for one without a name
My love forever will remain....anonymous
Oh youll always wonder who it was
Who it was
It was just....anonymous
Well I wrote your names a thousand times
Just to see yours sitting next to mine
And I sent you flowers card unsigned
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anonymous
Anonymous: there's comfort in numbers,
Safety and security in being
Faceless, nameless, no one who's worth seeing
When the crowd keeps tight knit and together.
Anonymous: it's ok to wash out
Against quickly cascading cavalcades
Rushing, crushing and forcing you to fade
In two doses of self-pity and doubt.
What does it matter if nobody cares
And no one notices the difference
Between you and this sea that surrounds you?
This shallow pool, all around, ev'rywhere
Dictates the tide of your non-confidence
And your anonymous nothingness too.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There was an honorable tradition of using anonymous sources that was ruined by Jayson Blair.
Some of the best stories that I've gotten, that others have written about this administration, about the previous administration, you have to rely on anonymous sources.
quote by Michael Isikoff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anonymous Poet
then anonymous poet
keeps on writing
his critic is the curtain
his reader his own
computer keys
the walls around him cheer
the ceiling stares
the beams comfort him
and the floors
say that his poems
are interesting
he does not really mind
after all
he is anonymous
and he likes it
that way
his life a mystery
his name a nobody.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Anonymous sources are a practice of American journalism in the 20th and 21st century, a relatively recent practice. The literary tradition of anonymity goes back to the Bible.
Artist Unknown
Much of our literature
has come from his pen-
or was He a She?
I can't say I ken.
When not writing poems
or dabbling in prose
Beautiful songs
Anon oft would compose.
Anonymous never gained
fortune or fame.
The works are immortal,
Their maker, unnamed.
Since the first of his line
painted Bison on stone,
Anonymous is
the artist unknown.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The real literary editors have mostly been fired. Those that remain are all ""bottom line"" editors; everything depends on the money.
quote by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lovers Anonymous
Doctor, Im getting in deeper
Show me, the way I can slow myself down
You can talk me round
Im a fool for falling in love again
Youve gotta save me
Take away the temptation
Wake me up when its over
Oh yeh, youve gotta talk me down
Talk me down
Im calling lovers anonymous
Im calling lovers anonymous
You talk about your troubles
And we throw you a line
Doctor, its draining my body
Help me, to pick up the pieces Ive found
You can help me put them together again
Youve gotta save me
Take away the temptation
Wake me up when its over
Oh yeh, youve gotta talk me down
Youve gotta talk me down
Im calling lovers anonymous
Im calling lovers anonymous
You talk about your troubles
And we throw you a line
Call us up, we will answer night 'n day
Talk to us, were the ones who found the way
Doctor, its happened again, please
Help me, shes moving me more than a friend
And Im heading for trouble
Its heaven again
Youve gotta save me
Take away the temptation
Wake me up when its over
Oh yeh, youve gotta talk me down
Youve gotta talk me down
Im calling lovers anonymous
Talk about your troubles
And we throw you a line
Im calling lovers anonymous
Talk about your troubles
And we throw you a line
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A publisher should always be on the receiving end. He should take an interest in almost any subject and remain anonymous, letting the author take center stage.
quote by Cass Canfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Like Unsung Heroes
'Tis of the unsung heroes I wish to hear
Their names in the newspapers never appear
They don't seek the praise and they don't seek the fame
They keep a low profile few know them by name.
Like the teenager who saved the young girl from the house fire
About him there is so much for to admire
To save someone else's life he did risk his own
Yet the anonymous hero remains as unknown.
Her parents wish to thank him the one they do not know
But for the deserved plaudits he has failed for to show
For to bask in the limelight does not seem his way
As an anonymous unsung hero he would prefer to stay.
I like unsung heroes though unsung they remain
From their acts of unselfishness and bravery they do not wish to gain
Like the teenage house fire hero he surely is brave
The life of a five year old girl he did save.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Does advertising corrupt editors? Yes it does, but fewer editors than you may suppose... the vast majority of editors are incorruptible.
quote by David Ogilvy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Small Anonymous Word
A SMALL ANONYMOUS WORD
A small anonymous word
A word of praise-
How much this can mean,
To the lonely writer.
Writing far away and unseen
Forever to be unknown?
A small word of praise
How much it can mean?
Thank you my few readers
Whoever
You are.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No, there are no hard and fast rules about sources, no printed booklet to help journalists through.
quote by Ian Hislop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Planned
After the first glass of vodka
you can accept just about anything
of life even your own mysteriousness
you think it is nice that a box
of matches is purple and brown and is called
La Petite and comes from Sweden
for they are words that you know and that
is all you know words not their feelings
or what they mean and you write because
you know them not because you understand them
because you don't you are stupid and lazy
and will never be great but you do
what you know because what else is there?
Anonymous submission.
poem by Frank O'Hara
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To the one who stole my poem
I had this poem
it was a particular poem
made many cry
told my story
to the person who is using my account
which i used to post my poem
which had been deleted from my computer
and only existed here in cyberspace
to this person
who added his/her poems to my name
i hope you, as a fellow poet
understand how a poem nursed
is not dissimilar to a child
i lost my child,
my poem.
if you have it please put it back
the name was 'father'
if you deleted it please write a poem
in this poem tell me that you have
i just need to know if my baby Poem is dead forever
or if it lives on your hard drive
poem by Anonymous Anonymous
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lazy People
Lazy is as lazy does,
Which is do nothing really,
Coz Lazy is as always does,
Make us do nothing freely.
Lazy people are no crazy people.
Lazy people are truly smart people.
Fast tricks, short fix type of people.
So Lazy has it's good and bad,
Are you lazy? Ask your Dad.
We have our lazy days,
We have our lazy ways.
Do you qualify the breed?
Bring your eyes to feed,
On lazy poems, read.
On the road to Gundagai
Oh, we started down from Roto when the sheds had all cut out.
We'd whips and whips of Rhino as we meant to push about,
So we humped our blues serenely and made for Sydney town,
With a three-spot cheque between us, as wanted knocking down.
Chorus
But we camped at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai.
The road to Gundagai! Not five miles from Gundagai!
Yes, we camped at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai.
Well, we struck the Murrumbidgee near the Yanko in a week,
And passed through old Narrandera and crossed the Burnet Creek.
And we never stopped at Wagga, for we'd Sydney in our eye.
But we camped at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai.
Oh, I've seen a lot of girls, my boys, and drunk a lot of beer,
And I've met with some of both, chaps, as has left me mighty queer;
But for beer to knock you sideways, and for girls to make you sigh,
You must camp at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai.
Well, we chucked our blooming swags off, and we walked into the bar,
And we called for rum-an'-raspb'ry and a shilling each cigar.
But the girl that served the pizen, she winked at Bill and I —
And we camped at Lazy Harry's, not five miles from Gundagai.
In a week the spree was over and the cheque was all knocked down,
So we shouldered our "Matildas," and we turned our backs on town,
And the girls they stood a nobbler as we sadly said "Good bye,"
And we tramped from Lazy Harry's, not five miles from Gundagai.
poem by Anonymous Oceania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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