And I'm a slow writer: five, six hundred words is a good day. That's the reason it took me 20 years to write those million and a half words of the Civil War.
quote by Shelby Foote
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Paperback Writer
(LennonMcCartney)
Paperback writer
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It's based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn't understand
His son is working for the Daily Mail
It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's a thousand pages, give or take a few
I'll be writing more in a week or two
I can make it longer if you like the style
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
If you really like it you can have the rights
It could make a million for you overnight
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer (fade out)
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All In Love Is Fair
All is fair in love
Loves a crazy game
Two people vow to stay
In love as one they say
But all is changed with time
The future none can see
The road you leave behind
Ahead lies mystery
But all is fair in love
I had to go away
A writer takes his pen
To write the words again
That all in love is fair
All of fates a chance
Its either good or bad
I tossed my coin to say
In love with me youd stay
But all in war is so cold
You either win or lose
When all is put away
The losing side Ill play
But all is fair in love
I should have never left your side
A writer takes his pen
To write the words again
That all in love is fair
A writer takes his pen
To write the words again
That all in love is fair
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All In Love Is Fair
All is fair in love
Love's a crazy game
Two people vow to stay
In love as one they say
But all is changed with time
The future no one can see
The road you leave behind
Ahead lies mystery
But all is fair in love
I had to go away
A writer takes his pen
To write the words again
That all in love is fair
All of fate's a chance
It's either good or bad
I tossed my coin to say
In love with me you'd stay
But all in war is so cold
You either win or lose
When all is put away
The loosing side I'll play
But all is fair in love
I should never have left your side
A writer takes his pen
To write the words again
That all in love is fair
A writer takes his pen
To write the words again
That all in love is fair
song performed by by Michael Mcdonald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every peak crumbles
Four hundred million years ago,
Three hundred million years ago,
Two hundred million years ago,
And seventy million years ago,
The world had witnessed
In succession,
Major calamities of the major species,
The Dinosaur being the last victim.
Next, in midway, are we, the Homo sapiens?
30.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Will The Words Come Back?
Words slip off our pen
like warm butter off a knife.
They fall in unison across the page
with everything we write.
Then one day the words don’t flow
in unison like they used to before.
They have no rhythm within them
and just become no more than words.
We look at what we’ve written
and there is no bounce in them.
The words become no more than words
once written by a creative hand.
There is no meaning in what they say
they have no heart anymore.
They are just words written on a page
with no rhyme or reason for them being there.
Some call it a writer’s block;
others call it stagnation of the mind.
The creative juices fall away to nothing,
no spark to be kindled,
no emotions to be released,
no protests to be made,
no stories to be assembled
like a jigsaw in your mind.
Just an empty pen with words
that don’t make sense anymore.
Struggles without feeling,
ideas leading nowhere
on a spiralling downward turn.
You are no longer a writer,
your creativity is gone
and the only question you have,
will the words come came back?
13 July 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writer
Night Writer
Why not write now
No time can be righter
No one to tell you how
To live your life
Or design for you your lies
Does it suffice to have a wife
To tell you when it satisfies?
You've written before
Little at night, more by day
At night write more
You'll discover a way
To make stars into a sun
That will shine for you as gold
But gold is as good as gone
When you get to be this old
Poem writer
Up and write about modesty
It's what everyone talks about
That's you and your honesty
Who cares if the others doubt?
You came in time
But does time know who you are?
You have a claim on rhyme
But rhythm takes the measure by far
Into a new realm
Of words on words on words
They just overwhelm
Can't you hear what they've heard?
Maybe hearing loss
Is not the loss of hearing
Maybe it's that distant toss
When you hear the echo before the feeling
Now you're here and now
Now is the time's to write
Now's the time to fulfill every vow
Now's not the time to lose sight
Of what you might lose
If you don't write every night.
poem by Ragy Sandid
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words
Yeats so simply stated
' Words alone are certain good. '
And to the great poet
So highly rated
I try to listen, as I should; Yet
Being an untrained novice
Such as me
With verdant hopes of much improvement
- oh that I would -
I beg to slightly differ with W. B.
And offer here my humble opinion
- if I could -
Good certainly is not words alone,
For without humanity
To read and to write
How would they ever become known?
- For without the good of people
Who of these words would care
Ever to be heard, or even shared?
No, the good does not alone from words arise,
Rather from human beings
Whose entire story
Such words do attempt to comprise.......
- Words written in this time
May even the way
To a distant future find,
But not on their own
And never alone.
For it takes people's
- hand's to write
- eye's to read
- heart and soul to understand
The purpose, and the need.
Let it here be shown
Words alone
Are not the only good,
They need human beings
To give goodness and life
To their reason and meaning
For they are merely the vehicle
By which man's true good
Is found and understood.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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A Hundred Times Over
A hundred times over words have flowed through my fingers to the keys
A hundred times over I have released the freedom that is in my mind,
A hundred times over I have become one with my inter most longing,
A hundred times over I have taken a journey to show you my own world.
A hundred times over I have written of pain and life, of sorrow and joy,
A hundred times over I have used my art to show you what's in my mind
A hundred times over again I will show you.
A hundred times over I have cried for those, whose names are untold,
A hundred times over I have showed you their pain.
A hundred times over I have become their connection to you,
A hundred times over I have showed you the beauty of our world,
A hundred times over I have taken you somewhere you may never see,
A hundred times over my words have screamed the horror of darkness,
A hundred times over I have sung to you the beauty of light,
A hundred times over I have taken your hand to lead you to a new place
A hundred time over I have written for those who have no words to write
A hundred times over I have tried to show truth in a world of lies,
A hundred times over I have have tried to show the world's beauty,
A hundred times over again I will lead down these paths,
A hundred times over and over again I will show you reality,
A hundred times over and over again I shall show you my world,
A hundred times over and over again until you have memorised truth,
A hundred times over again until you can repeat what I have told,
A hundred times over again shall I create an art of words, time, of life.
A hundred times over again I shall do this,
A hundred times over again.
A hundred times over.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Opportune Moment
Never ask me why I became a writer
because I couldn’t tell you why.
I just pick up a pen
and the words just flow again
off the top of my head.
I never planned to become a writer,
it just happened.
One day I picked up a pen
to doodle a bit
and the words came streaming out.
Now after over forty years
the words keep coming out.
I have no problem with that,
though there is times I wish
they’d pick a more opportune moment
when they are about to arrive.
2 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do it your way for Stephen Stirk
Sometimes the words that writers use
have different meanings and values.
For words don’t always mean the same
and common words don’t play the game.
Some words can mean their opposite
A writer must be explicit
selecting words in such a way.
Their meaning is as clear as day.
Avoiding in particular
the words that seem familiar
That sound the same when they are not.
Meanings can differ quite a lot
Like seams and seems or there and their.
A writer has to be aware
Simplicity is his finest tool
and that his readers as a rule
Are not concerned with the syntax
Your words should help them to relax
If they do not then you will fail
your efforts all to no avail.
Although your words are scholarly
perfectly composed grammatically.
Successful writers in the main
make sure they write to entertain.
They cater to the public taste
they haven’t got the time to waste
Writing works which won’t be read
That will not earn their daily bread.
Those who write professionally
research their market thoroughly.
The must be certain it will sell
and some of them do very well.
Amateurs, who post on the net
are not constrained they can forget
The publishers and critics views
and simply write the way they choose.
Though they won’t earn a single cent
it doesn’t matter, They’re content
with comments that their readers make.
They love to write for its own sake.
23/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hidden Within
I write more on some days
than I do on others.
On those days there is an urgency
hidden within what I do.
I cannot explain it,
nor do I ever try.
I just sit down, write,
and write to my hearts content.
The pouring out of words
is something I have got used to.
I write wherever I am, at home,
in my car when I am not driving of course.
Walking along the street, even in my sleep.
My mind is always active
exploring new avenues,
laying waste to more words.
It is my way of life
and I would be lost without it.
I once gave up for six or seven years,
but its pull was always there.
It’s something I will never do again.
My legacy when I leave this world
will be within my words
and any good things I have done.
Hopefully, that won’t be
for a long, long time to come.
24 September 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Four Small 'End' Poems
FOUR SMALL ‘END’ POEMS
OH SADNESS
Oh Sadness
At the End of Time
The Life will end,
The Poem won’t Rhyme.
WORDS STILL COME TO ME
Words still come to me
So many years of words,
One day they will not-
Words still come to me.
HOW WILL MY DYING GO?
How will my Dying go?
Will it be slow?
How much Pain will I know?
How will my Dying go?
GOD HAS BEEN SO GOOD TO ME
God has been so good to me;
God will always Be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Will Write About You, God
I will write about You,
With my last breath I would.
Your Hand's upon my pen,
Your Words in mind again.
Tried to veer away from it,
Tried some drama and some wit,
But You are so persistent,
Gave the score for my content.
You will not let me go,
I plant Your Words, they will grow
In hearts of hardened soil so barren,
You draw them in, the souls of men.
Now is the time, now is the season,
To write Your Words that is the reason
This gift was given, it's for You.
Until the end...I will write about You.
'For it is God Who works in You, to will and to do according to His good purpose.'
Philippians 2: 13
----
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
June 5,2009
Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Writer's Block in Prison
WRITER'S BLOCK IN PRISON
22 September 2004
Writer's block is a terrible thing
It stops you dead when you need it least
They say that when the time is right
The words will flow like wine at night.
But here I sit gazing out
at the trees and the grass and the flowers about
and the little red doors of the prison cells
and my thoughts go round and nothing comes out.
Ok, to work, tutor wants words -
An essay no less - but hasn't he heard
that essays are good but not all of us can
write just like that - maybe he can!
Tutor I think wants an essay in prose
But I am finding I cannot do those.
He'll have to accept this epistle I know
'cos that's all I'm doing
and he better accept it
'cos I ain't doing no more
the writer's block is back
and that's that.
poem by Dafyd Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writer- a must?
Out of what does a writer write?
Out of hatred or perversion;
Out of denial or deprivation.
Why does a writer write?
To vent his anger or hatred.
To cry out from pain or lust.
How does a writer write?
By borrowing or distorting.
By modeling or duping.
For what does a writer write?
For an applause and a place.
It alone suits him, an idler.
What is the use of a writer?
For him to flaunt his skill.
For readers to idle away
Does the society need a writer?
Does a woman need cosmetics?
Writer is a part of civilization
16.05.2007.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Million Things
Words wont occur to me
At half past three
My reason die
Why couldnt you make that choice
Noise of life begins too soon
I closed my eyes
How could you be so cruel
Sweet vision of mine
And I keep dreaming of
A million things
And I keep dreaming of
A million things
They have wings
I layed down my sleeping head
Time burns away
Let the living creatures lie
Midnight visions awfully die
And I keep dreaming of
A million things
And I keep dreaming of
A million things
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Million Things
Words wont occur to me
At half past three
My reason die
Why couldnt you make that choice
Noise of life begins too soon
I closed my eyes
How could you be so cruel
Sweet vision of mine
And I keep dreaming of
A million things
And I keep dreaming of
A million things
They have wings
I layed down my sleeping head
Time burns away
Let the living creatures lie
Midnight visions awfully die
And I keep dreaming of
A million things
And I keep dreaming of
A million things
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Four Main Types of Writers (personal opinion)
The Lonely Writer
Some writings tell me
This person is lonely
And is reaching out
For the touch of a friendly comment
These writers are sad, solitary,
Isolated, but good persons
And quite often very good writers
The needy juvenile writer
Some writings contain words
Or language meant to shock
And to offend.
These writers are lonely also
But in a different way.
These writers are simply saying
Like a little child
“hey! I exist! Someone better
Acknowledge me! ”
These writers can often write well
But usually don’t, can’t, or choose not to
The Spite Writer
This writer can be of either gender
But seems to be in a female majority
They’ve been spurned or rejected
Two-timed or lied to.
And they are going to vent their ire
In the most public way they can.
These writers can also be very good writers
But too often let their anger get in the way.
The Religious Writer
These writers show people passionate
And zealously devoted to singing the praises
Of the Lord and goodness and charity.
They’re probably austere, honest people
Who almost always write very well.
For the most part these writers seem
To want to spread the word and
At the same time tend to be rather singular
In the subject matter of their writings,
Rarely attempting other genres.
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Speaking 4 U
how is poem..?
not Thing is thear...
ALL ARE WORDS
SOME WORDS NICE
SOME WORDS SPICE
SOME WORDS NOTHING
SOME WORDS LOVELY
SOME WORDS BEAUTYFUL
SOME WORDS HUNGRY
SOME WORDS ANGRY
THATS ALL...
WRITE IT
LOVE IT...
THIS IS FOR OTHERS
U ARE READ YOURS...
THATS ALL
TAKE A LITTLE SMILE
LIFE IS THIS..
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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