A Paradelle Of A Poet (The Paradelle)
Of all the things I need to write
Of all the things I need to write
To spread my wings and be a poet
To spread my wings and be a poet
To write a spread and to be the things
I need all of my poet wings
A pen and paper in my hand
A pen and paper in my hand
I then begin to script the word
I then begin to script the word
Script to the paper I then begin
My word in hand and a pen
When I am finished with my work
When I am finished with my work
I'll grin and wrap the string on scroll
I'll grin and wrap the string on scroll
The work on my scroll I'll wrap when
I am fisnished with string and grin
To spread a write I need to begin
All of my work, hand and pen
I am a poet and I'll be the things
I script to paper with my wings.
Then the word on scroll...finished when
The wrap in string...and my grin
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Paper And Pen
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Can’t think of anything to say today
Can’t think of anything to do
Can’t think of anything to play today
Minds gone blank
Leaving me here, just sitting here
Listening to my hair grow
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
And I look towards you
For an inspiration or a word or two
I try but I find
Every road only leads me back to these lines
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Piano, guitar
I try but don't get very far
Paper and pen
Piano, guitar
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Copyright Colin Coplin 1985 / 2010
poem by Colin Coplin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pretty Paper (feat. Willie Nelson)
Kenny Chesney & Willie Nelson
Chorus:
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue.
Crowded street, busy feet, hustle by him
Downtown shoppers, Christmas is nigh
There he sits all alone on the sidewalk
Hoping that you won't pass him by.
Should you stop? Better not, much too busy
You'd better hurry, my how time does fly
And in the distance the ringing of laughter
And in the midst of the laughter he cries.
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue.
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue.
Oooh, pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue...
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I Can Only Write Like Me
Poet Poe, though 'Raven' mad
His work could all excite
Forever, I'd be mighty glad
If I could Poe-like write
I'd love to write like Shakespeare
With nothing 'much ado'
But, Bard-William, have no fear
I could never write like you
Cole Porter, clever word-king
Your songs are all the rage
My words, though to my liking
Your reign I can't up-stage
The opera Boris Godunov
Has great linguistic string
My lyrics aren't good enough
To have written such a thing
Those writers cut me down to size
It's true, unfortunately
Since I don't care to plagiarize
I can only write like me
poem by Stanley Cooper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The life of a Poet
The poet listens
the poet hears
he writes down
all his fears.
He observes things
that others don't
going to places
that others won't.
Inspired by simple things
like a sound or smell
the poet has lots
of stories to tell.
Even when asleep
his mind isn't at rest
in fact this is the time
it's at it's creative best.
The poet can be a restless soul
his life reflected on the page
some verse can be sweet and mild
then full of anger and rage.
The poet can be mysterious
and write in a strange way
he will say Black is White
and that night is day.
The poet is an artist
but instead of paint it's the word
painters want their work to be seen
but poets just need to be heard.
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Poet’s Life (Fun Poem 13)
A poet’s life is an awkward one,
he sits with pen and paper in hand,
writes down what comes into his head,
prints it up, reads it through,
only to find that someone
can’t understand
a blinkin’ word he’s written.
The most frustrating part
is that he understands it perfectly well,
so now he has to explain and tell
what the whole thing is about.
At times, a poet’s life
just wants to make you scream and shout.
So you take pen in hand again,
hoping what you write this time
they will understand.
(7 May 2007)
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When The Devil Is Finished With You
jesse james was a legend
jesse james was a killer,
jesse james was shot in the back.
There's a time to wrap it up, a time to begin,
But the devil was finished with him.
Bonnie Parker had a pistol
she robbed banks for a living,
she had the law on her trail,
good things can happen, bad things can occur,
But the devil was finished with her.
some believe in God,
some believe in the devil,
some don't believe anything at all.
you got time to work it out, until your time is through,
and the devil is finished with you
poem by Richard Jarboe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Critical Word
The poet must write a sonnet
In praise of a grand and just man.
To meet a deadline at the end of July,
He must begin as soon as he can.
He starts to compose - it's May.
We'll see this is none too soon,
For the lack of one critical word,
The poet has stalled - It's June.
He still lacks the critical word (in July)
To describe the man grand - and just.
The word comes to him now, but too late.
Worse yet, it's a pun - it's au`gust.
poem by Richard von Geldern
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pretty Paper
Roy orbison
(the pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue)
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Crowded street, busy feet, hustle by him
Downtown shoppers, christmas is nigh
There he sits all alone on the sidewalk
Hoping that you wont pass him by
Should you stop? better not, much too busy
Youre in a hurry, my how time does fly
In the distance the ringing of laughter
And in the midst of the laughter he cries
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Pretty Paper
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your present to your darlin' from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Oh, Oh pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue.
Crowded streets, busy feet hustle by him
Downtown shoppers, Christmas is nigh
There he sits all alone on the sidewalk
Hoping that you won't pass him by.
Should you stop?
Better not, much to busy
You'd better hurry, my how time does fly
And in the distance the ringing of laughter
And in the midst of the laughter he cries.
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your present to your darlin' from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Oh, Oh pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue.
Oh, Oh pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Love Letter
She wonders how to begin her letter
She knows he will read each word
Greedily for any hint of love. She knows
He will sniff the paper for any scent of her
She leans an elbow on her writing desk
And clutches her pen tight. She has got
As far as, Dear John, but then the words
Stopped coming. Before she had sat down
To write, the words flowed through her
Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing
She sucks the end of the pen. Say what
You would if you were face to face, her
Mother always said. She tries to imagine
He is there before her and what she would
Say if he was, but still no words will come
He writes to her so fluently when he writes
He always seems to know what to write
And how to put it into words. She tries again
Puts the pen nib onto the paper, gripping
The pen tighter. She reads what she’s written
Dear John. The pen moves, the words begin
To flow, her hand moves across the page
The images come into her mind as she writes
The things that they said last time they met
The things they did, she blushes slightly
That almost being caught out by the maid
In a state of undress. She pauses the pen
And sits gazing at the painting on the wall.
She looks back at the paper and starts again
The words tripping over themselves to be put
Down in ink upon a page; the images open up
In her mind, the colours, the smells, the events
The pen now stops. The love letter is written
The writing done. She looks at the words
Then she seals it in an envelope and writes
His address. She pictures him reading it: in bed
In his room, sleepy, in a state of his usual undress
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pretty Paper
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Crowded street, busy feet, hustle by him
Downtown shoppers, Christmas is nigh
There he sits all alone on the sidewalk
Hoping that you won't pass him by
Should you stop? Better not, much too busy
You're in a hurry, my how time does fly
In the distance the ringing of laughter
And in the midst of the laughter he cries
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Pretty Paper
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Crowded street, busy feet, hustle by him
Downtown shoppers, Christmas is nigh
There he sits all alone on the sidewalk
Hoping that you won't pass him by
Should you stop? Better not, much too busy
You're in a hurry, my how time does fly
In the distance the ringing of laughter
And in the midst of the laughter he cries
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
Wrap your presents to your darling from you
Pretty pencils to write I love you
Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Scroll With No Words
I saw the brown dusty scroll,
Took it with eager to have knowledge,
Might it be a lexicon i pondered?
Or rather a verbatim of illusions?
Or maybe a book of inspiration?
Reaching out to remove the dust,
The scroll automatically opened,
To the amusement of an eager man,
It was a Scripture, with no words in it
I realised the mandate, i should write it
In my scroll shall be the thoughts of you,
Writing them in consistence of love,
My thoughts i shall daily dedicate,
Writing the unexplained feelings,
So shall be my scriptures filled with you,
The poems i shall write,
The stories i shall narrate,
The myths i shall explain,
My love i shall describe,
And my scroll i shall surely write.
poem by Gaylord Munemo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
Like a Freight Train Coming
I am a poet, writer and psalmist,
Thanks to the events of a wedding reception.
Those three titles have been added to my list,
And now I write like my life is almost done.
I receive inspiration from just about anything,
From memories of old and new.
Thoughts of friends and family to me do spring
To mind, and my hand has a lot of work to do.
However, there are times when I am empty,
I can't think of anything to write.
I try so hard, it almost frustrates me
When my poem mill is void, therefore adding to my plight.
But then, there I'll be, not even trying to write,
When all of a sudden, like a frieght train coming,
Like a bolt of lightning, inspiration strikes. So, right
Then and there, I grab my book, and words from me start humming.
A mile a minute, word after word appears,
My pen can barely keep up
With my heart as it bears
The words like wine filling my cup.
poem by Greg Oosterhouse
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In the spirit of Rumi - 76 - Poetry
But is it an activity for
grown men and women?
A kind of stocktaking:
sit quietly, begin to feel grateful
for something, maybe your family,
your life even;
remember how your grandmother
said, count your blessings
and you at the age when
you couldn't wait to find them first
and then maybe remember them, maybe not.
The list grows; a feeling that
you should give something back.
It seems a small gift; just words
on paper. So you wrap it
more carefully than other gifts,
write the name of the recipient
carefully, watching the ink
make a thin river like a vein
along the paper.
Can you still remember
how to spell the name?
The address seems
sometimes very far away; sometimes
very close.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If I Could Just Get It On Paper
If I could just get it on paper
By: jimmy buffett
1981
For william faulkner
If I could just get it on paper
The things that have happened tonight
That seems to me to be the big key
Im havin too good a time to ever turn
Out the lights
Go to bed wake up with a clear head
Recallin what made it a ball
Yes if I could just get it on paper
I might make some sense of it all
If I could tell half of the stories
The funny way most things begin
Figure ways to disguise all the half-truths and lies
Find the heart of my song with the point of a pen
Simple words can become clever phrases
And chapters could turn into books
Yes if I could just get it on paper
But its harder than it ever looks
(instrumental)
All alone on the edge of the water
Hidin out by the sea of cortez
With my sketch pads and flairs
Tapes and battery spares
Its just no comprehendo to what everyone says
Time alone seemed to work well for faulkner
Time away seems to work for the kid
Life and ink they run out at the same time
Or so said my old friend the squid
Yes if I could just get it on paper tonight
I could tell you what I think I did
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
That Spot....
this is a blank slate.
when i write some words on it
and you begin to read each
something really happens
though you do not know it
because you are too busy with
the reading of the word
either a part of me dies or lives
it depends on where you stop
and when
tomorrow i shall write again
you must learn where you stopped and
when.
it is that precise moment
that you make me begin to write again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Let Your Soul Sink In
I have a pad and pen
where to start, where to end?
Just pick it up,
and begin.
Let your soul sink in,
Let the words freely fly,
write with passion, touch the sky.
Write with red, the color of love,
write for the angels from above.
Close your eyes, imagine things,
let your thoughts grow special wings.
You have a pad and pen
where to start, where to end?
Just pick it up,
and begin.
Let your soul sink in,
Let your soul sink in!
poem by Marius Alexandru (14 December 2020)
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!