You shouldn't even be writing this story if you haven't heard me play live. You can't write with the passion you receive until you see a Dick Dale concert.
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The Dying Soldier
Yes! raise me on your arm, Dick Dale,
My comrade old and true.
And let me of the glad earth take
One last and lingering view.
When yet a few brief moments more
Of this flittering hour have fled,
You’ll shed an old friend's tear, Dick Dale,
Above your comrade's head.
We fought together, side by side,
In many a bloody fray,
From Malvern Hill's dark hour of strife,
To fierce Antietam's day.
And when again the 'long roll' calls,
For battle to prepare,
You will not fail the flag, Dick Dale,
But I shall not be there.
You will not soon forget me, Dick!
I know it by that sigh;
I know it by those tears that shine
In your half averted eye.
But my dear old comrade's heart will swell,
I know with honest pride,
When he thinks that for the grand old flag,
His old companion died.
Cut off this light brown lock, Dick Dale,
For the girl that waits at home.
Yes! Hoping waits her soldier love,
Who never more can come.
'Twill soothe perhaps her bleeding heart
To know that watched by you,
The boy she loved, at least has died,
With one who loved him too.
You'll visit all the quaint old nooks
We sought when we were boys,
And thoughts of me will come, Dick Dale,
With thoughts of childhood's joys;
And when you reach the old playground
Where once you used to play,
You’ll not forget your friend, Dick Dale,
In his lone grave far away.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Guitar Player Magazine says Dick Dale is the father of Heavy Metal, blowing up 48 amplifiers, creating the first power amplifier.
I don't play pyrotechnic scales. I play about frustration, patience, anger. Music is an extension of my soul.
After The Long Run
AFTER THE LONG RUN
After the long run
I stand and wait
And write a poem
On no real subject for no one in particular-
Perhaps- No poem at all-
I write and rest
And in the writing live-
This has been my story for years
I write and live.
And thus in the quiet
Quickened by the soft morning breeze
Redeem another day – again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The story drove the book. That had a very seminal effect on the way I saw writing and storytelling. If you can set a character in a story that is compelling and has a backbone, you draw people in.
I can play every instrument there is, every horn, I've played all the saxes and trumpets and everything and keyboards.
I always felt people should live with animals.
We've Heard It All Before
Einstein, he said, nothings original
Find something new, That's easy for him to say
Took his whole life explaining his theory
Try squeezing your life into 3 minute songs like
"My love, your face is a symphony
You play the strings of my heart
Say that we never shall part
If you say goodbye, then I'll surely die without you"
Oh, we've heard it all before
Oh, we've heard it all before
Don't wanna hear it anymore
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've come a long way from mono to stereo
Mozart would freak at the crap on the radio
Hits all produced by computer technology
Stick it in one end, it comes out the other
"My love, your face is a symphony
You play the strings of my heart
Say that we never shall part
If you say goodbye, then I'll surely die without you"
Oh, we've heard it all before
Oh, we've heard it all before
Don't wanna hear it anymore
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
You plug us in and we regurgitate the hits
Bombard your senses with sound of microchips
Program it digitally into the top five
Brainwash your ears, is it tape or is it live?
Live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live
Oh, we've heard it all before, we've heard it, we've heard it
Oh, we've heard it all before, we've heard it, we've heard it
Don't wanna hear it anymore, we've heard it, we've heard it
Oh, we've heard it all before, we've heard it, we've heard it
Oh
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Shouldn't … but, I do.
I like the way you look at me,
Every time you look at me...
I shouldn't
But I do
I shouldn't
But I do.
I like the way you talk to me,
When you say the things you shouldn't be...
I shouldn't
But I do
I shouldn't
But I do.
I liked the feeling of your company,
When you'd carve out some time for me...
I shouldn't
But I do
I shouldn't
But I do.
I like the sound of your voice,
Pulling at me, like I have no choice,
I shouldn't
But I do
I shouldn't
But I do.
Thoughts of you are frequent for me,
Though, I try not to think of you.
I shouldn't
But I do
I shouldn't
But I do.
I can't help that I feel this way,
Believe me, it's much to my dismay,
There wasn't
But,
NOW
There is a
YOU...
If you only knew,
How much I try,
How often I fail..
When I try
To try
Not to think of
YOU.
poem by Rabia Minhas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Will I Do Today And What Will I Do Tomorrow?
What will I do today and what will I do tomorrow
And what will I do for the rest of my life?
Write and write and write
Until I can no longer write –
And even if this writing is never known?
And even if this writing is wholly lost?
And even if this writing is not really worth very much?
And even if it is known only a little?
And even if others are highly critical of it?
And even if it seems vanity of vanity and only vanity?
Write and write and write
To the end of my life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dear Friend
i always love to write, as early as
gradeschool when we were classmates
while you were playing and chasing and stumbling
i just sat on the grass of the playground under a tree and scribble anything
and read a lot about some stories with lots of pictures
and colors of fairies and kings and queens and butterflies and bees,
i do not stop writing, in fact, writing has become my life
that without words i may die an instant death
i dream that i have written novels and stories and lots of poems
i wake up with some ideas like some seeds that i want to sow
and grow in the field and see them become shrubs and trees and forests
and i keep on this life writing and writing and writing and writing
for writing's sake and i wish i may live longer so i may write
some more, some sequels of my love stories and suspense thrillers
and write finally all the poems that are inside my mind
hanging like ripe grapes and creeping like vines on my fence
as i am writing now as you always want to read me
until such time my friend that i will die, or end my life myself (who knows?)
(i will not talk about it now, it is something bizarre and makes me
shiver, but who knows, well you know, all are but possibilities and nothing
but possibilities in this vast wide world of realities and dreams)
there is something i must say somehow
there is something that i must have forgotten, i have not written about myself
i have always written about them, about you, about the world,
please do not refuse me, stop playing with your life,
gradeschool ended
a long time ago, i have one and ultimate request:
write the story of my life, because it is you who only knows about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Favourites
Authors are funny creatures
whenever we write.
Most of the time
we don’t like what we’ve written,
but there are occasions
when we will write something
that we really do like,
then we hate
letting that fledgling out of the nest.
I’ve been writing for more years
than I really care to admit,
and yes, I have my favourites
among all the writing I’ve done.
A novel called Blind Tiger
has never left the nest
and a short story called
The Man Who Was Always Late,
again never seen by anyone.
However is saying that,
there have been a couple
I have actually let go.
Both were originally song lyrics,
which I’ve turned into poems.
One I actually sang in a concert at one time
with the curious title of
I’ll Take All The Blame.
The other has really done me proud,
it has reached the dizzy heights
of the top 500 poems here.
It was only released
because I felt it was the only good thing
I had at the time
and is called
Just Beyond The Sunset.
I loved it when I wrote it
on a merry-go-round
some forty odd years ago
as I looked towards the west
at a setting sun.
Now it is the best-loved poem I have
with another fifteen others
adding it to their favourites as well.
26 December 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shouldn't Be Ashamed
To live without a savior, answer to his name,
Shouldn't be afraid, shouldn't be ashamed
Like a kid behind the counter remembering your name,
Shouldn't be afraid, shouldn't be ashamed
If it's not like I told you, then it's still your call
You should live how you want, stay with me, we should stay apart
Just shouldn't ever have to be this hard
Like a man on the sidewalk remembering your face,
Shouldn't look away, shouldn't be afraid
He remembers when they still wore gaiters, World War One
Shouldn't be afraid, shouldn't be ashamed
If it's not like I told you, then it's still your call
You should live how you want, stay with me, we should stay apart
Just shouldn't ever have to be this hard
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every time I went into the studio some engineer tried to impress me with how they're going to capture my sound with all kinds of tricks. But they limited the sound and never allowed me to play how I felt.
Childhood Lost?
Can you tell me a story, Mom and Dad
Have to finish my office work, Dad said
I am watching my favourite TV serial, said Mom
Little, just a little story ('time', he meant)
Did you finish your homework
Haven't you any story books to read
Or Disney movies to watch on the VCR
Or games to play on your play-station
Dear, I have to finish my project
Let me watch TV in peace, darling
OK. No problem, said the child
Silently curled up in his bed and prayed
Tell me GOD, will they tell me a story tomorrow
?
poem by Sameer Sanjay Ganu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Write the kind of story you would like to read. People will give you all sorts of advice about writing, but if you are not writing something you like, no one else will like it either.
For this I write
I write not for consensus sake
Why should I? People don’t partake
In my insights, designs and schemes
Nor inhabit my nightly dreams.
I write because it’s a passion
My own particular fashion.
Whether those enjoy what I write
Or find fault with it, that’s alright!
The satisfaction I receive
Is from the notions I conceive
Expressed in rhythmic poesy.
This from me is a guarantee:
When inspiration finds me home
I am sure to write a poem.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writing Is Like A Diet
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it...
Writing is like a challenge.
An obstacle to face.
And when confronted,
To make use of it...
A discipline applied,
Is what it takes!
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it.
Those who do may not sleep,
At night.
Or discover they have lost an appetite.
Writing is like a diet.
And accepting it becomes a way of life.
Those who ask how writing is done...
Usually have no idea,
Of what they must overcome.
Some believe writing is nothing but fun.
But those committed...
Know writing is more like a spouse,
That can be quiet as a mouse.
Then at other times a shouting occurs...
Heard from the inside,
With a wish to come out!
Writing is like a diet.
And accepting it becomes a way of life.
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it!
Writing is like a challenge.
An obstacle to face.
And when confronted,
To make use of it...
A discipline applied,
Is what it takes!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Blue Pen
A pen, what is a pen?
An instrument for writing, a tool, a path to wisdom?
Or is much more than that?
What means this blue pen to my heart?
I'm writing with this pen all my thoughts, my hopes,
I'm keep it in my hand to help my ideas flow,
This blue pen is the bearer of all my joy and pain,
And when i'm writing, its blue ink holds my dreams.
I'm writing with my blue pen,
Which he gave it to me,
To never forget and to write,
Our impossible love story in the book of life.
poem by Cristina Teodor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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69
Dick meets jane and a fire starts
Jane leaves dick and it breaks his heart
Dick asked jane, whyd you leave me?
Cause youre not dangerous, rough or sleazy
Now dicks dangerous
Now dicks rough
Now dicks sleazy
Nice guy dick dont live here anymore
Dick bought a swanky love pad down by the shore
Chorus
Hes going prime time
Online
69
All the girls come around to get dick
They all adore him now cause he acts like a prick
Each one tries to tie dick down
Dick never falls in love, on the girls start coming round
Dick dont fall for their sweetness
He knows their weakness
Dick knows a secret
Secret is dick leased himself a nice car
Girls like car
Girls like dick
Dick scores
Chorus
Solo
Suddenly jane wants back in dicks life
cause jane hears dicks a popular guy
Jane looks good, dick takes her home
Dick kicks hers out after he gets his bone
Now jane wants him
Now jane needs him
Now jane loves him
Jane loves dick now that she got the heave ho
Jane got what she wanted
Dick aint a nice guy no more
Chorus
Spoken by woman: but I want dick!
Solo
song performed by by Poison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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