Related quotes: Writer folk across the bay...

Borrowed Brains

Writer folk across the bay
Take the pains to see and say
All their upward palms in air:
'Joaquin Miller's cut his hair!'
Hasten, hasten, writer folk
In the gutters rake and poke,
If by God's exceeding grace
You may hit upon the place
Where the barber threw at length
Samson's literary strength.
Find it, find it if you can;
Happy the successful man!
He has but to put one strand
In his beaver's inner band
And his intellect will soar
As it never did before!
While an inch of it remains
He will noted be for brains,
And at last ('twill so befall)
Fit to cease to write at all.

poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

Lady Writer

Lady writer on the tv
Talk about the virgin mary
Reminded me of you
Expectation left to come up to yeah
Lady writer on the tv
She had another quality
The way you used to look
And I know you never read a book
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time, another place
Lady writer on the tv
She had all the brains and the beauty
The pictures does not fit
Youd talk to me when you felt like it
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time another place
Yes and your rich old man,
You know hed a call her a dead ringer
You got the same command
Plus your mother was a jazz singer
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time another place
Lady writer on the tv
She knew all about a history
You couldnt hardly write your name
I think I want it just the same as the ...
Lady writer on the tv
Talking about the virgin mary
You know Im talking about you and me
And the lady writer on the tv
Talking about the virgin mary
Yeah you know Im talking about you and me
And the lady writer on the tv

song performed by by Dire Straits
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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A Writer's Dream

A writer's dream
You keep trying
Never denying to one day achieve
Despite what most believe

A writer's dream
You never give up
Regardless of what others may say
But wait patiently until that day

A writer's dream
Although it's been a while
It made you smile
To see your dream coming through

No matter how long it seemed to you
A writer's dream
You always believed in yourself
That's why your time has come

To be a successful writer
With the privilege of making much income
A writer's dream
You're happy to finally get this far

The world knows just who you are
Now this new sudden fame
Makes you feel like a star

poem by Donielle Smith
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Magic writer

Am the writer who going to write about the truth
Am the writer who going to write about the things you went throw
Am going to take all the pain out of you
And make magic to it and make it go away
Am the magic writer
I was born in the magic city
Where every one was smiling and happy
Where every kid had their own magical talent
I had the talent to write about people’s pain
And I could take it away
Because am the magic writer

poem by Aliyah Aliyah
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The Wind-Child

MY FOLK’S the wind-folk, it’s there I belong,
I tread the earth below them, and the earth does me wrong,
Before my spirit knew itself, before this frame unfurled,
I was a little wandering breeze and blew about the world.
The winds of the morning that breathe against my cheek
Are kisses of comfort from a love too great to speak;
The whimpering airs that cry by night and never find their rest
Are sobbing to be taken in and soothed upon my breast.
The storm through the mountains, the tempest from the sea,
That ride their cloudy horses and take no thought of me,
They are my noble brothers that hasten to the fight,
They fill my heart with singing, they fill my eyes with light,
They’re a shield upon my shoulder, a sword by my side,
A battle cry for weariness,—and a plume of pride.
But sometimes in the moonlight, when the moon is in the west,
Young and strange and virginal and dropping to her rest,
There comes a wind from out the south, a little chill and thin,
And draws me from the human warmth that houses it within.
My soul streams forth to follow a soul that lures it on,
The sleepy flesh calls kin to it, and murmurs to be gone;
Across the dreaming dewy flowers and through the shadowy trees
The sweet insistent whisper comes, and I am ill at ease.
How, they have not told me, and where, I do not know,
But the wind-folk is my folk, and some day I’ll go.

poem by Enid Derham
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In America only the successful writer is important, in France all writers are important, in England no writer is important, and in Australia you have to explain what a writer is.

quote by Geoffrey Cottrell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Workbox

See, here's the workbox, little wife,
That I made of polished oak.'
He was a joiner, of village life;
She came of borough folk.

He holds the present up to her
As with a smile she nears
And answers to the profferer,
''Twill last all my sewing years!'

'I warrant it will. And longer too.
'Tis a scantling that I got
Off poor John Wayward's coffin, who
Died of they knew not what.

'The shingled pattern that seems to cease
Against your box's rim
Continues right on in the piece
That's underground with him.

'And while I worked it made me think
Of timber's varied doom;
One inch where people eat and drink,
The next inch in a tomb.

'But why do you look so white, my dear,
And turn aside your face?
You knew not that good lad, I fear,
Though he came from your native place?'

'How could I know that good young man,
Though he came from my native town,
When he must have left there earlier than
I was a woman grown?'

'Ah, no. I should have understood!
It shocked you that I gave
To you one end of a piece of wood
Whose other is in a grave?'

'Don't, dear, despise my intellect,
Mere accidental things
Of that sort never have effect
On my imaginings.'

Yet still her lips were limp and wan,
Her face still held aside,
As if she had known not only John,
But known of what he died.

poem by Thomas Hardy
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To be a writer

They say, when you have nothing to say
Do not say anything
They say when you have nothing good to say
Do not say anything
He is not convinced
He wants to be a writer and to be one he must write
What is in his mind
To be a writer he must write and write and write
Even when there is nothing to write
Even when there is nothing to say even when nobody listens
Even when the word is dead even when there is no sense at all
Even when he gets blind and deaf and mute even when his fingers are cut even when his mind is blank even when his consciousness is lost
Even when you are angry even when you say what is written is nothing
But trash, dung, cadaver, corpse, poo, pee, even when there is nothing
Anymore,
He writes because he is a writer and no one can stop him now.
he is
he is writing
he is writing always
he is writing always whatever that needs to be written

and here you are foolishly reading. thanks to you, audience of one.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Morning At The Barbershop

This morning at the barbershop,
a barber is busy with the hair
of a much older grey haired man
that he is trimming neatly
and a young man
sits in one of the barber’s chairs.

When I sit down to wait
the young man rises
turning to me
and asks if he can cut my hair.

I was happy to get attention immediately
while the other barber was finishing
with the older man,
as he looks to finely tuned to me.

My hair was smartly cut
with a pair of scissors
and the young barber
held his fingers
to determine the length
and I wanted it shorter
than just cutting off the ends

while the other barber
first took a hair blower
from a drawer,
sprayed something over his own hair
before he started to blow it in the mirror
and he then said
that he cannot go
to the bank to wait in line
with a head looking like Tut’s ass

and I saw my locks
falling dark brown
with dots of grey around me
and saw the other barber
combing his long hair
and smiled at myself
about the vanity of humanity
while I looked at myself
and were starting to look much better.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Writer's Ink

I am the writer's ink,
So just write with me without any fear;
I will move more than expected,
I will write more than expected,
I am the writer's ink.
Use me slowly or even faster,
I will talk more than expected;
I do have the message to teach everyone.
Of the beauty of communication,
I am used by everyone;
I am the writer's ink,
I do make people sad or glad;
My ink makes rulers sad,
My ink makes personalities sad,
My ink makes the common man sad,
The way i am used matters.
I am the writer's ink,
I am not expensive;
Buy me and use me always.
How can a country like Ghana be poor? !
Ghana has gold, oil, cocoa and timber;
There are also diamond, bauxite and other minerals;
How then can Ghana be poor? !
The writer's ink should tell us more.
Mismanagement is the food in the country,
Ghana has really more than it needs;
This country shouldn't be poor.
What the leaders say on air is not,
What we see on the ground;
I am the talkative ready to talk.
I am the writer's ink,
I will always speak the truth!

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Young folk, silly folk; old folk, cold folk.

Dutch proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All These Things

Sometimes I don’t feel who I am.
I don’t feel like what I write
because I don’t want to be pigeonholed
for just one thing I do.
I think myself as a whole
and not just one object.
I call myself a writer,
not a poet,
not a novelist,
neither a songwriter
nor a short story writer be.
I am a writer
because all those things
emulate from within me.

10 April 2009

poem by David Harris
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'Made it as a writer'? I'm still wondering if I've made it as a writer. I've made it as a published writer of the type of SF that I want to write and read, but I'm still waiting for that big breakthrough.

quote by Eric Brown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hymn 15

Our own weakness, and Christ our strength.

2 Cor. 12:7,9,10.

Let me but hear my Savior say,
"Strength shall be equal to thy day,"
Then I rejoice in deep distress,
Leaning on all-sufficient grace.

I glory in infirmity,
That Christ's own power may rest on me:
When I am weak, then am I strong,
Grace is my shield, and Christ my song.

I can do all things, or can bear
All suff'rings, if my Lord be there;
Sweet pleasures mingle with the pains,
While his left hand my head sustains.

But if the Lord be once withdrawn,
And we attempt the work alone,
When new temptations spring and rise,
We find how great our weakness is.

[So Samson, when his hair was lost,
Met the Philistines to his cost;
Shook his vain limbs with sad surprise,
Made feeble fight, and lost his eyes.]

poem by Isaac Watts
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A literary critic is someone who can't write, but who loves to show he would have been a wonderful writer if only he could!

quote by Brian Lumley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He invented this idea of telling the life story of a great writer through becoming his characters and becoming him. It was such a pleasure and I thought we must find another writer.

quote by Simon Callow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Writer and The Soldier

The Writer and The Soldier
By
Tolly Rebeka Christian BlackWolf Hawk

The writer writes a sad lament for the love that he lost long
ago,
The soldier mourns the loss of a fellow slain long ago.
The writer has lead and ink on his hands,
The soldier has blood on his.
The writer can wash away the pigments and with them his
memory’s go, but the soldier can only wash the blood on his
skin; he can not wash the blood on his heart nor
The memory’s in his mind,
Burned into his mind with canon fire and the cries of
His falling comrades.
Oh,
When the two meet, they give to each other much needed gifts;
The writer gives the soldier understanding and a few happy
tales to think of when tears try to strike him down,
And the soldier gives the writer a new sad lament to write, and
a new meaning to the word friendship.

Written August 14,2008

poem by Tolly Rebeka Christian BlackWolf Hawk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A writer

Out of what, does a writer write?
Out of hatred, out of denial,
Out of failure, out of perversion,
Out of insult or out of neglect.

Why does a writer write?
To vent his anger, anguish and agony.
To bend his feelings in catharsis.

From what does he write?
From borrowings, being inspired,
Or pouring old wine into a new bottle.

For what purpose does he write?
For an applause, to show his skills
And to earn a place and money.

Why at all must he write?
For an idler, what else can he do?

What lacks in one’s writing?
His concern for you lacks.
Your vow to pursue it lacks.

He writes and forgets
You read and forget.
When you are gone and when he is gone
The relevance to his writings is gone.
Bubbles are formed and burst.
12.04.2007