En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Behind The Mask

A blank sheet of stationary
lays speechless beside a keyboard.
Scores of single letters and marks-
Inert symbols invented years
Lost to man’s recent memory.
Instruments of mental fury
And human eventemperedness.
What does fate hold in store for it?
Will it be a fiery paper
With memorable rhetoric
Or the birthplace of a poem?
Both are conceivable concepts
Yet the unsullied cellulose
Is mute waiting to be unmasked.

poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Blank Sheet Of Paper

I'm just a blank sheet of paper
This fool's about to write you a letter
To tell you that he's sorry
For the way he did you wrong
To ask for forgiveness
For leaving you alone
He's been looking down at me seems like forever
he takes the top on and off his pen
It's like he can't decide
Just what he wants to say
If he'd just tell the truth
I'd be on my way
Chorus
But he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he doesn't want it to end
And now it's one hour later (four hours later)
I am still a blank sheet of paper
Sunlight is shining through the curtains
He's almost asleep pen in hand
There's a tear in his eye
That refuses to fall
If it would land on me
That would say it all
Repeat Chorus
And he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he wants it back again
And now one broken heart later
I am still a Blank sheet of paper

song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

The progress

Cooking invented, I have lost my teeth.
Tools invented, I have lost my hands
Carts invented, I have lost my legs
Electricity invented, I have lost my sight.
Calculator invented, I have lost counting.
Computer invented, I have lost faculty
Internet come, I lost neigbours.
Is mankind on march to stability?
08.05.2007

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Writers Block

The worst thing any writer can experience
is the most dreaded writers block.
Sitting in front of a blank sheet of paper
waiting and waiting for the words to come.
It is the curse of all writers
whether they are good or bad.
The frustration of trying to unblock their mind.
We try it with reading others words or soothing music
hoping to stimulate the little grey cells into working.
However it is never as easy as it sounds
as a writers block can sometimes last for years,
I know that from experience as
I have been down that road before.
Then the inexplicable happens and you pick up a pen
and that blank page is not blank anymore,
it is filled with words galore.
The torture is over and a new start begins.
You give a big sigh of relief as your writing begins again,
but being always weary in case that block comes back again.

14 January 2011

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Blank Paper

the blank paper
is like a virgin
woman,
it is not blank because
it wants to
there is this inner desire
to be scribbled
be it love or lust
or whatever
it is just its nature
to be written
anything that fills it up
with words
for its perfection
or even for its destruction
and soon
it will have its fate
a love letter kept for years
or a scratch paper
crumpled in the
bin
burned by another man's
lighter or
torn by a woman's
anger.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Past Is An Old Man's Poem

The Past is an old man’s poem
And all he was
And all he can never be again
And all the people he loved
No longer here-
And all the times he can barely remember
And never forget
And all the love lost
And all the waste
And all the sadness
And all the joy and the still strong happiness-

The Past is an old man’s poem
Written in his memory
And waiting to be said again and again
While he lives through another day and another night and another memory lost
The past is an old man ‘s poem
And that poem too will be gone before long.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Blank Mocking Paper

I stare at this paper so white
I just don't know what's so right
I want to write on it
I would love to write a sonnet
I just am alone with the green lines
The red now just starts to shine
Blank as my mind is this sheet
Please can my pen and it just meet
Instead of me sitting here dumbstruck
As if I almost got hit by a truck
Ink blue as the sky not writing
Instead on its end I keep biting
I don't want to right about a caper
So I’ll just stare at this Blank Mocking Paper

poem by Zachary Clark
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

This Poem

THIS POEM

This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Mail Call

The letters always just evade the hand
One skates like a stone into a beam, falls like a bird.
Surely the past from which the letters rise
Is waiting in the future, past the graves?
The soldiers are all haunted by their lives.
Their claims upon their kind are paid in paper
That established a presence, like a smell.
In letters and in dreams they see the world.
They are waiting: and the years contract
To an empty hand, to one unuttered sound --
The soldier simply wishes for his name.

poem by Randall Jarrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Wish Life Were Like It

when i was a child
mama would give me a blank sheet
of paper where i can draw lines and circles
where my imagination runs
unstopped like it were the wind
blowing anywhere

all colors swirl and figures of angels
and fairies and castles and horses are drawn &
after a while all these become too
crowded inside the four corners
of the large white sheet

and then tired of such figures and lines and
circles and colors crowding on that large white sheet
i decided to take it away and
crumple it and throw it on the waste basket
and i would tell mama that i am taking
another blank sheet for my use
and she says 'It's alright'

I wish my life were like it. Something that i can
change the moment i do not like it.
Something to crumple and throw when
necessity dictates it.
And then i take another for good start.

I wish it were like that. But simply said,

it isn't.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

You have a new comment about your poem...

'What is the purpose of poetry? [Candidates
will be awarded up to 80% of the total marks
for this paper on the answer to
this question. Write on one side of the paper only
but with both frontal lobes;
hearts may be used in answers to this question.]'

After the two hours is up, hand in
a blank sheet; the examiner may sigh and smile.

Some sages say - those not affected
by some academic status to uphold -
(that pause, that look, which indicates,
it's not as simple as all that...) -
that it's the oldest-fashioned thing,
to melt the heart...

but today I'd say, well yes and no -
more like a key you turn and - whoosh! -
there cascades out, all that's in their heart,
all the vast all which they have to give;
and you stand aside, stunned and humble;
such a small key; such a vast world is there.

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

This is a poem....

This isn't a poem of one direction,
This is a poem about perfection.
This isn't a poem about who won the election,
This is a poem about correction.
This isn't a poem of getting it right,
This is a poem of standing up to fight.
This isn't a poem of being lost like a kite,
This is a poem about trying to find the light.
This isn't a poem of running tears,
This is a poem about chasing your fears.
This isn't a poem of love and hate,
This is a poem of destiny and fate.
This isn't a poem of the end,
This is a poem of a heart unable to mend.
This isn't a poem of cruilty and pain,
This is a poem of a thng i need to gain.
This isn't a poem of shame,
This is a poem of fame.
Thsi isn't a poem of the life i let loose,
THIS IS A POEM OF THE TRUTH.

poem by Tammie LilAimo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A tribute to my ideas

Sometimes I wonder how I manage to write a poem,
But when it does, I sit down holding my head,
I behold the ideas put on the sheet of the paper,
They seem to say, ' You can't escape yourself from us. We shall come when we wish to come.'
I couldn't help smiling at them,
They are the inhabitants of my thought realm,
They are always welcomed,
They are the most expected guests who come unexpectedly,
They have a great hold over my senses,
They mould my tears both of joy and sorrow
Into themselves,
They access a situation even before me,
And fall on the paper like the drops of dew,
They travel with me into unknown lands,
They show me the glimpse of human sufferings and pleasure,
They are the friends of my weal and woe.
I thank them for I am nothing without them,
I can't move an inch without them,
The are the strongest links in the chain of my life,
If they are broken, I shall break.

poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Paper Door

I step through the open door
upon a blank sheet of paper.
It's a room to dream into
but, it is often cold, and so damn empty.

It's cleansed and illuminated
by the presence of a holy melancholy.
Hasten the words come, and
take the loneliness away.

The pen is a train
passing through this small paper-room.
The thoughts are tracks
it lays down.

Picking up passengers of the night
it moves ever along.
The riders so briefly talk and sing
with such sweet stories to tell.

Soon all the traveller's will have left the station
and the room again, becomes Void.
I take my leave...
and softly close the door behind me.

- so many see the facts of life all about them,
yet are blind to the beautiful metaphors within everything -

poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

One Thing Leads To Another

How many times have we
thought of one thing that led us to another
within our memory store.
We think of one thing
and our memory links us to another
that may have happened years before.
We sit for a few minutes
as our memory takes us on a trip
through the corridors
of our childhood many years before.
We remember moments
that delighted us at the time
before growing up
took those pleasures away.
Each memory hold a precious moment
we will never see again
except in our memories
when they will take us
down that road again.

27 March 2009

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Ika

Ika,
I’d love to write a poem
I’d be proud to write a poem
for you which would be
about you because
you deserve a poem

which would be about
you of course but also deeply, deeply,
about the tragic, comic, farcical
ironies of skin colour, history, earnings,
empire, class, prejudice, sheer
human thoughtlessness and cruelty; and yet
the essential goodness
of mankind

and it would somehow
have to cover
your proud Jamaican family,
stalwart, respected
in the community and then

the way that Britain invited
its fine colonial soldiers,
airman, sailors, who had
fought and lived and died
for a land they had never known,
for an Empire shortly to break up,
to come to Britain and
continue the proud record
of colonial servicemen

supported by our web of aristocracy
which knew and served and loved its Empire
full of human beings, humanity -
so that you, now retired
from the services, are
a hospital orderly who is
on nodding terms with lords and ladies,
millionaires and nobodies
and friend to everybody, who has

suffered the irony of being
mugged by white guys
disguised as joggers
because you dress so smart…
I think you’ve never quite
recovered from this
wound they’d never guess at…

and all this human thoughtlessness
and more, you turn upside down
by shopping at Harrods food store
on a hospital orderly’s pay;
while your nephews and nieces
educated in Jamaica and the States
are so magnificent, and well-off too…

there’s so much I’d like to put down
on paper, because I’m so proud
to have you as a friend, who
also represents
more recent human history
than a book of history
could contain; and yet
you’ve never lost your dignity
thank God

so

this is just to say,
you deserve a poem,
Ika,
and I’d be honoured
to write it but
I can’t even begin
you know how it is

yes indeed you do

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

And then the paper is dirty

You start with a clean sheet of paper
Write some words, scribble, draw some lines
Some curves, sharp lines, tangent to bold
Lines, and rough sketches of faces and
Bodies, thin lines that get crooked from
End to end of this limited space,
You doodle, you get wild with so
Many lines unimaginable, senseless,
The paper finally looks dirty,
And you do not like it, you crumple
It and throw it in a waste basket,

You get another clean sheet,
And this time, you think what is
It really that you want to make
Out of this new clean sheet of paper.

You think, you ponder, and you need
More time this time not to waste
This clean, glossy sheet of paper.

I think you are doing well with your life.
You see you are supposed to be careful

Every word is delicate and every paper
Is actually accounted.

Never mind guilt, set it aside for a while.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Most Famous I Am Poem

The most famous I Am poem was penned by John Clare
When he was in Northampton mental asylum and burdened by care
A poem from all others that set him apart
For life's poor and forsaken a cry from the heart,
A poem by an aged poet lost in the lost years
The most famous I Am poem move many to tears
A poem written by one who knew about despair
That poem his reality such poems are rare
The most famous I Am poem tells of an Earthly Hell
Known by the fringe dwellers the mentally unwell
The song of an old poet forsaken and gray
The truth in his words is still living today
And though the renowned old wordsmith to the reaper long gone
His famous I Am poem it is living on.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Kevin Keegan said if he had a blank sheet of paper, five names would be on it.

quote by Alvin Martin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Paper, Only for a Limited Time

Paper, blank and empty
A metaphor only meant for loneliness
White as new born snow
Lets add some words
To make a prophesized poem

Words, only meant for rhetorical use
Clouds that clear, only meant to hide the blue
The living, moving ocean that is our sky
Words, only meant for questioning
What are words but meaning

Clearing clouds, our living pulse bleeds through
Now this blank piece of paper
Has a shadow, and my shadow -combine
Lets make music together
Beautiful, wonderful, majestic music
Lets be music together-
And dance our hearts to something holy

Paper, blank and empty
But easily filled to create art
Art that can change the world
Turn it upside down, or nothing
Paper, blank and empty
But only for a limited time.

poem by Troy Clark
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Gone without Goodbye - English and Japanese

Lost letters lost letters
With the clouds may slide
After finding them waiting
On their hands you lie.

Lost kisses lost kisses
With the wind may fly
After finding them sleeping
On their shoulder you lie.

Lost hugs lost hugs
All the needy ones find
Then slowly and kind
Do hold them tight.

Roll up on them tightly
But with greatest care
Gently delicate kindly:
-Shhh! Don't let them be aware.

Letters, Kisses and Hugs
Vacuum all the cries
Spick and span cleaned
Let all smiles, rise!

I wrote this as a prayer letter for all the 3? 1 1? (March 11) tsunami victims (dead or alive) I hope will really get to the ones it was meant for..
here is the japanese interpretation by my friend Miyuki san:

poem by Elena Sandu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!