Here is the difference between Dante, Milton, and me. They wrote about hell and never saw the place. I wrote about Chicago after looking the town over for years and years.
quote by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What They Will Say
Some times, I wonder if I write for the future.
That may seem like a strange statement to make.
Forty-three years ago, I wrote a poem
that at the time no one wanted to know.
Now it is my best-loved poem
read by countless people around the world.
Thirty years ago, I wrote two poems
and each one won me an award,
but at the time I wrote them,
no one wanted to know.
All of which makes me wonder
if what I wrote in my yesteryears
that then none wanted to know.
Could they all be popular now?
Today I started collecting and retyping
short stories I wrote twenty years ago.
At the time, publishers and agents
didn’t want to know.
Now twenty year on
I am wondering what they will say.
24 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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No More
I wrote my name on the seashore
The waves came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the air
The wind came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the sky
The clouds came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the puddles
The sun came and it was no more
i wrote my name in the dust
The rain came and it was no more
One day Gabriel wrote my name
and alas! i was no more
poem by Humna Hamid
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My Kind Of Town
My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of people too
People who,smile at you
And each time I leave, Chicago is
Tugging my sleave, Chicago is
One town that won't let you down
It's my kind of town
My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of razzmatazz
And it has, all that jazz
And each time I rome, Chicago is
Calling me home, Chicago is
One town that won't let you down
It's my kind of town
Chicago is
The Wrigley Building, Chicago is
The Union stock yard, Chicago is
One town that won't let you down
It's my
My kind of town
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You don't think it was because a white man wrote it, a black man wrote it, a green man wrote it. What - doesn't make a difference! Doesn't make a difference. I think he did a good job.
quote by Cab Calloway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All She Wrote
Something's wrong with your mind
It won't think of me anymore
Was it all a waste of time
Tell me why was I such a chore
Broken glass lies empty
Cut my voice so I can't say
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Lying here in your bed
The one that you liked to do it in
Pieces of long brown hair
Are all over it and still in my brain
I can't explain
What it's like not knowing if I'll ever cross your mind
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Sleep through the day
Fight with the night
Seven a.m. and the tv is white
Covered in snow
I never knew that hell could get so cold
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Something's wrong with your mind
It won't think of me anymore
Was it all a waste of time
song performed by by Default
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I was five years old when I wrote my first song. It was out of longing for my father that I wrote it.
quote by Shmuel Y. Agnon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Day's When We Are Dead
Listen! The end draws nearer,
Nearer the morning—or night—
And I see with a vision clearer
That the beginning was right!
These shall be words to remember
When all has been done and said,
And my fame is a dying ember
In the days when I am dead.
Listen! We wrote in sorrow,
And we wrote by candle light;
We took no heed of the morrow,
And I think that we were right—
(To-morrow, but not the day after,
And I think that we were right).
We wrote of a world that was human
And we wrote of blood that was red,
For a child, or a man, or a woman—
Remember when we are dead.
Listen! We wrote not for money,
And listen! We wrote not for fame—
We wrote for the milk and the honey
Of Kindness, and not for a name.
We paused not, nor faltered for any,
Though many fell back where we led;
We wrote of the few for the many—
Remember when we are dead.
We suffered as few men suffer,
Yet laughed as few men laugh;
We grin as the road grows rougher,
And a bitterer cup we quaff.
We lived for Right and for Laughter,
And we fought for a Nation ahead—
Remember it, friends, hereafter,
In the years when I am dead—
For to-morrow and not the day after,
For ourselves, and a Nation ahead.
poem by Henry Lawson
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She Wrote About Our Mother.
She wrote about our mother and it took me far away
And many, many years in time back home to Claraghatlea
And as I read her letter I fought to choke the tears
For Millstreet, Cork and Ireland and happy childhood years.
She wrote about our mother long under Tanyard soil
And memories flooded back to me of one with ready smile
Of woman who worked hard for us for no reward or pay
The heroine of our childhood years of happy by gone day.
She wrote about our mother with sense of love and pride
And memories flooded back to me and tears welled up inside
For one who done her best for us her very best she tried
And I still feel she is with us her spirit never died.
A letter from my sister in east Rockaway in New York
Reminding me of childhood years in Millstreet County Cork
She wrote about our mother whose passing left a void
And memories flooded back to me and tears welled up inside.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Fifteen Years Going Up (And One Night Coming Down)
15 years together
We climbed by work and will
From a simple two room cottage
To a mansion on the hill
Now theres rose in the garden
But its the coldest place in town
It took 15 years, goin up
And one night coming down
15 years of heaven
For one short night of sin
From blue skies forever
To an end
From out on a mountain
To both knees on the ground
15 years, goin up
And one night coming down
Her dreams have all been shattered
Her faith in my is gone
My tears tell her Im sorry
But they cant write my wrong
One night wrote my story
How a man can lose it all
After 15 years goin up
Its hard to take a fall
15 years of heaven
For one short night of sin
From blue skies forever
To an end
From out on a mountain
To both knees on the ground
15 years, goin up
And one night coming down
Ive been, 15 years goin up
And one night comin down
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fifteen Years Going Up
15 years together
We climbed by work and will
From a simple two room cottage
To a mansion on the hill
Now there's rose in the garden
But it's the coldest place in town
It took 15 years, goin up
And one night coming down
15 years of heaven
For one short night of sin
From blue skies forever
To an end
From out on a mountain
To both knees on the ground
15 years, goin up
And one night coming down
Her dreams have all been shattered
Her faith in my is gone
My tears tell her i'm sorry
But they can't write my wrong
One night wrote my story
How a man can lose it all
After 15 years goin up
It's hard to take a fall
15 years of heaven
For one short night of sin
From blue skies forever
To an end
From out on a mountain
To both knees on the ground
15 years, goin up
And one night coming down
I've been, 15 years goin up
And one night comin down
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is not half cooked
Having heard and read, I wrote.
Having seen and felt, I wrote.
I wrote of love and romance
From experience and perception.
As I wrote I was soothed.
Don’t scorn my writings as half cooked.
10.10.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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His Booklover
and so it came to pass
that his book lover
that he loves so much
skipped the book that he wrote
in years,
feeling dejected
he wrote another one
intended for the one
who is willing
to have him.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dont Be My Enemy
(jack hues / darren costin / nick feldman)
You had your dreams
You required a scheme of things
That evolved and resolved through the years
And I had my part
(when you wrote me out)
But you broke my heart
(when you wrote me out)
Now you spend your whole time trying
To burn me to the ground
Chorus:
Dont be my enemy
Cant you see
What youre doing to me
Dont be my enemy
Cant you see
What an effect this is having on me?
I had a thought
It was just a simple thought
Of a friend, very close, very clear
But then it stopped looking so straight
(when you wrote me out)
You found the hate
(when you wrote me out)
Now you spend your whole time trying to make
Me look like your main fool
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Wang Chung
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Waited Outside The World Of Wonder
I waited inside the world of wonder
The poems were coming to me night and day-
I knew I had a vocation at last
So I gave myself into it-
Year after year
For years I wrote poems
They came in and out of me
Like breathing
And I found them wherever I looked and walked
And took them home and wrote them down
And they became my song and my me and my life and my joy
And oh what a wonder it was to be simply to be
Writing them down-
And now writing this one down after so many years
I too still sing and wonder why God has been so good to me
And given me so much I simply love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Unrequited Love
I have immense affection for poets,
Those desperate lovers who often lose
All vestiges of sanity in amorous pursuits.
Propertius lived and wrote in Rome
A few decades before the birth of Christ,
He wrote passionately
Of his tumultuous relationship with Cynthia,
Cursing ships and seas when they took her away.
And then there is the nine year old Dante
Who sees the eight year old Beatrice
And realizes there will never be
A more beautiful seraphic girl;
He will marry another woman
For whom his father has promised him,
But he will never mention his wife in a poem
But will trust the prayers of Beatrice
To keep him and Virgil safe
Through the circles of Hell.
Less than a hundred years after Dante, enter Petrarch:
He sees Laura, a married woman,
For the rest of his life there is nothing
But love poems and tears;
He writes endlessly of her blonde hair,
Her piercing eyes,
He is envious of the ground that touches her feet;
The years achingly move forward and he only grows
More obsessed with the unobtainable Laura.
And there is my beloved Bob Dylan,
As his marriage to Sarah falls apart
He composes Blood On The Tracks
And then becomes God’s lonely man
Forever circling the globe on an endless tour
Trying to escape being Tangled Up In Blue.
When I’m alone lighting candles
And burning incense,
I fall into dreams about a tall girl,
The most beautiful I’ve ever seen,
But she’s entwined in arms that are not mine,
And I can only find solace
In the romantic and poetic defeats of the past.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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What Purpose Does A Rabbit Have
The same nightmare woke my father
every night for years.
He had no idea what it meant
and so he wrote the story down
and saved the note and hoped
some day he'd understand it.
But a note like that
can be misplaced.
Decades later Father
found the note
in a drawer of socks
he hadn't worn in years.
He found it underneath
his old glass eye the night
Mother came back on the Harley
to 'make their marriage work.'
He reminded Mother they had
been divorced for years
and then, despite her tears,
he told her, 'After all this time,
we both know now that you
were gone before you left.
But now you're back so
let me tell you all about
the nightmare I've had every night
since you took the bike and left.
I wrote the story down to tell the kids
when they grew up but they ran off
before I had a chance to ask them
if they knew what my dream might mean.
You'd like the kids. They're pretty smart.
Anyway my note says this:
'What purpose does a rabbit have
other than as prey?
What difference does a rainbow make
in a rabbit's day? '
You tell me now you love me,
always have and always will.
But the kids are gone forever
so take the Harley now and go.'
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Legends, Elegies, Pleasures And Norma Jean
The man who wrote Legends of the Fall
Wrote; 'Don't fall in love as if fallin' off a dock at night'
But when you are struck by the thunderbolt
How do you not fall?
The man who wrote the Duino Elegies
Wrote; 'Beauty is only the start of bearable terror'
But to be stuck without beauty
Is unbearable
The woman formerly know as Norma Jean
Wrote; 'I know from life one cannot love another'
I know what she meant, but to love you
How can I not?
The man who wrote The Pleasures of Hope
Wrote; 'How hard it is to find the one just suited to our mind! '
But it is just a little too easy to find one
Who is ill suited
From Legends, Elegies, Pleasures and Norma Jean
What they wrote is unforgettable
And that is what you are muse, though near or far
In every way
poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro
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A Linda Song
Music: Barry Manilow
Lyrics: Enoch Anderson
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He never wrote a song for Linda
He wrote as though he lived alone
He wrote of dreams that end
And of sad brave men
Inventing worlds he'd never known
But he never wrote a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
Loved him back to life
When his luck ran low
But he never wrote a Linda song
He nearly broke his heart at writing
Linda kept him from despair
Standin' by his side
through the hungry days
But he hardly seemed to see her there
And he never wrote a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
The one real thing in his crazy world
And he never wrote a Linda song.
When the bills piled up
He couldn't pay
He couldn't dream no more
So he hitched a ride and he rode away
And he left a note for Linda by the door
By the door
When times got rough he'd phone her
Once or twice she took the call
Then she changed her number and she turned her head
And Linda never looked back at all
He'll never write a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
All he knows is no one understands
And he never wrote a Linda song
No he never wrote a Linda song
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost poem
It was on this page, then gone
Like feathers blowing in the wind.
Where is the prose I wrote?
Not a letter is in sight.
I am looking with all my might.
Oh where is the prose I wrote?
Today I wrote a new poem,
Was it lost in cyberspace?
I hope not for I might not know it,
Even staring at me in the face.
Give me a break, my memories are at stake.
Oh where is the prose I wrote?
They Call It Gentle and Smile
The Sun wrote a poem
That is morning
The Moon wrote a poem
That is evening
I wrote a poem
That is love
You wrote a poem on your lips
They fondly call it gentle and smile
poem by Kavin Charalan
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