The Black Art
A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.
A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren't enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A writer is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.
Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Related quotes
Love A Mortal Who Writes
This be a farce dictation.
But then,
Love a being who writes
Because a writer
Is a liar.
I will lie about how the
Night flames with the warm waters
But you will never believe me
For I am a liar
With a pen and a paper.
Love a writer
For a writer is a soldier
Regardless of state:
A drunken soldier.
An arrogant soldier.
A morose soldier.
A burning soldier.
Whichever.
Love him
For he is a liar.
He is a prolix garden
Of petty things.
He makes the moon an empire,
And the Sun, an asylum.
He will lie about certain things
With sheer beauty
That none of you
Can contain.
Why love a liar, you might ask?
Listen to a painter as he lies
And he will guise himself with
A shallow palette of colors.
Listen to a businessman lie,
And he will be easily defeated
In a warfare of witticism.
Listen to a doctor lie
But then again, science cannot
Feign states or even a love.
And you can think of any other
Occupation that holds a lie,
And I will tell you
That we are all mortals
Capable of erring,
Of lying.
A mortal who writes elegantly
Will tell an elegant lie -
That is sure.
But then,
The world of mendacity
Is a thing that he loathes.
He will come to his senses
And stop lying.
Love a being who writes
For he is a liar -
A liar turned one
Because of many other lies.
A writer can hold a flame
Without getting his hands burned.
A writer can swim through
Oceans of filth
And not drown.
A writer can go on a warfare
With only himself / herself alone
And that is what
The others lack.
A chivalry of the heart,
The mind,
And soul.
For the world that lies
Behind the verses from
A flamboyant tongue
Will appear a lie to some,
But to those who can read
Adeptly, will take these
As genuinely stable truths.
Love a mortal who writes,
For a mortal who exudes
Confidences in pen and paper
Will learn the ways
Of mendaciloquence
And change his
Or her
Ways
And tell you
All the truths
That you take
As lies.
poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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All Hail My Dear Mistress I
My dear mistress
People comment on you
Even in my presence
Your love in me is hard to take away
People respect me
Because of you
Your succulent lips
Makes me go crazy
My dear mistress
Your love in me
Is like a precious seed planted
That is hard to uproot
My dear mistress
I am happy and sad
Because I fear for the future
That we missed out on each other
My dear mistress
Oh lord!
I wish you prepared her for me
To marry in future
I wish she mothered my future children
My dear mistress.
poem by Tolulope Modupe
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Hats Off to the Woman, Who…
Hats off to the woman, who bears children
With labor-pains, completing family;
Hats off to the woman, who rears the young,
Making her babies suckle at her breasts;
Hats off to the woman, who tends to both
Husband, children, others with care and love;
Hats off to the woman, who does all things
For others’ sake, selflessly all her life;
Hats off to the woman, who keeps the home,
And raises her children in forbearance;
Hats off to the woman, who labors hard
And burns the midnight-oil for family;
Hats off to the woman, who contributes
Fiscally by working in a work-place;
Hats off to the woman, who patiently
Toils, to keep the harmony of her home;
Hats of to the woman, who can also
Extend tender, loving care to old-aged;
Hats off to the woman, who has God first
In life, and sacrifices for the rest;
Hats off to the woman, who can smile
To all, despite her grief, anguish and strife in heart;
Hats off to the woman, who turns the home
A virtual Paradise on earth all life;
Hats off to the woman, who loves to slog,
And toils to raise her family with love;
Hats off to the woman, who’s an angel
To all, by being a good example.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-21-2008
poem by John Celes
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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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Illicit Love
Are you lonely, my love
the love of your life
loves another man?
Are you in pain, my love
the love of your life
needs the other man?
Does your heart ache, my love
the love of your life
cannot forget that man?
Do I hurt you, my love
when I say to you
I can't get over that man?
Can you accept - my love
the love of your life
thinks of the other man
always, all the time?
No - I am not the other woman
in his life - as nothing works
between us...
yet I keep thinking of him
feel so deep for him
and yes - my love
wish to marry him
bed him and beget him
children...
like every woman does
for the man she loves...
Is it too much of a sin, my love
to love more than one man?
Tell me - my love
why do I need him so much
miss him every moment
of my lonesome life
being your wife
I need the husband in him
And yet - I know
I cannot do without you
I cannot choose him over you
do I forget him
and forgive myself
for the sin of being in love
with two men in my life?
Tell me - my love
how do I do this?
I am directionless...
feeling down and out
my heart in pieces
wish I could share
my life with you
and him.
Too much for the asking
I suppose...
I am being avaricious
and may be impractical
Tell me, my love
when was love pragmatic
when was love logical?
when did people say
love had a lot of rationale?
Love was always blind
blind as a bat
love feels with the heart
mind doesn't work
And here I am, my love
at your door-step
in your home
beside you, in your arms
loving you and yet
pondering over him...
Why did God give me so much pain?
Why did He fill my heart with
adulterous love?
Why did Destiny bring me
to this cross-road?
Why do I have to choose
between the two of you?
Sometimes I feel
that I could do
with neither of you
for both of you
are so precious to me
I cannot hurt one
and please the other...
They say: Love is pure,
pristine a feeling
complete devotion
and adulation
for the one man
a woman always loves
and loves for ever...
but what happens to the love
a woman feels for the man in her life
and the other man outside?
Is it so sinful a feeling?
Is it so detesting?
Do all the women
in this world
love only one man
through all their life?
And all the men
just think of only one woman:
their so-called wedded wife?
So many questions
in mind
for a heart that loves
and loves and loves...
the two men
in a woman's life
Any Answers...
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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There Are No Children Here
The untrained eye
Walks down the street
And sees children
But they're not children
There are no children here
Adults look back
With hungry eyes
And someone thinks
''They're just children
With a mother and a father
Never any fear''
And they kid themselves
As there are no mothers
No fathers
Because there are no children here
Terror doesn't care
As they cry over there
It lets someone stare
Through the sight of a gun
Seeing everyone
And just for fun
Shoot them
People rush around crying
''But they were just children!
They were just children! ''
A man with a gun
Turns and runs
But as he does they hear
''They aren't children''
And
''They weren't children''
And
''You need to know:
There are no children here''
No one makes a sound
Listening to the truth he's found
And they know:
It's our fault
We didn't save them
We could have saved them
If we cared
There would be children here
poem by Violet Llewellyn
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Jamie's Puzzle
There was grief within our household
Because of a vacant chair.
Our mother, so loved and precious,
No longer was sitting there.
Our hearts grew heavy with sorrow,
Our eyes with tears were blind,
And little Jamie was wondering,
Why we were left behind.
We had told our little darling,
Of the land of love and light,
Of the saints all crowned with glory,
And enrobed in spotless white.
We said that our precious mother,
Had gone to that land so fair,
To dwell with beautiful angels,
And to be forever there.
But the child was sorely puzzled,
Why dear grandmamma should go
To dwell in a stranger city,
When her children loved her so.
But again the mystic angel
Came with swift and silent tread,
And our sister, Jamie's mother,
Was enrolled among the dead.
To us the mystery deepened,
To Jamie it seemed more clear;
Grandma, he said, must be lonesome,
And mamma has gone to her.
But the question lies unanswered
In our little Jamie's mind,
Why she should go to our mother,
And leave her children behind;
To dwell in that lovely city,
From all that was dear to part,
From children who loved to nestle
So closely around her heart.
Dear child, like you, we are puzzled,
With problems that still remain;
But think in the great hereafter
Their meaning will all be plain.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Toss and Grab 1,
Kept you under the wings,
for you to grow warmer,
kept away those strangers,
for you to grow stronger,
picked those worms,
for you to grow smarter,
opened these two wings,
for you to grow wiser.
This world belongs to you,
my dear children,
You have every right to explore,
my dear children,
There may be petty problems,
on the way, children!
smash those issues,
my dear children.
Make mistakes, that,
not affect your health,
my dear children,
Take decisions, that,
not affect your integrity,
my dear children.
Be kind to your subordinates,
my dear children,
they are the ladder,
for you to climb up,
my dear children.
Get wiser day by day,
my dear children,
Speculation is not a plays,
my dear children,
you will bring corn,
my dear children,
They will bring husk,
my dear children.
When blow and share,
my dear children,
You will lose my dear children.
When there is a sale,
the market is quiet
enter to trade,
my dear children.
When there is a crowd,
everyone talks for million,
sell your share and run away,
my dear children.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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A Damed Society
Is society damed
all across this land by the hands of man
as poverty and crime shine from the front page
of every paper and every television set
i sit and wonder
what will be left for our children or their children
will they have to fight for their food
or be the next victim on tv
why cant people see
that human life is precious indeed
for all to love one another
wouldn't that be grand
close your eyes and imagine
no more gangs in the streets
and
everyone has enough to eat
no more wars to be won or lost
sounds like a place for the
human race
I'm not a man of faith
but it sounds like a place
a god would create
maybe in the end we all will find this
place
poem by Art Kuttler
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Beauty
In a minute dear, in a whole second, it? ll come clear
Do you see beauty, do you see love
Right away dear, in the desperate way, no one hears you call
Do you see beauty, do you see love
In the morning light you lay by my side
In the evening it gets so your love begins to shine
The world is changing but my love will remain
Do you see beauty, do you see love, do you see anything at all
Theres a love that never comes back down
It feels like something is gonna happen now
Love it calls your name no matter how you try
And I can? t recall a time when I didn? t love you
Do you see beauty, do you see love, do you see anything at all
In all this time we waste precious time you waste
I can? t hide it anymore x2
Love, love, love
Love is what you keep
Love is what you need
song performed by by Veruca Salt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Was Nothing Left To Write
THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT TO WRITE
There was nothing left to write
Everything had already been written
And was being written over again and again
By thousands elsewhere-
There was nothing left to write
And nothing new to say -
And no need for anything he had to give-
It was over for him as a writer
Whether he accepted it or not-
No one would ever need or want anything he could do again-
And so when he despite all this still wrote
It seemed to many simply pathetic-
The obsessive reflex of an already lost soul-
Who wrote and wrote and wrote
Who writes and writes and writes
Who cannot stop
However senseless all he does, is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Prayer On Child Abuse
Dear God Above
Bless the children that need your love
Bless the lives that are about to end
Caused by a stranger, relative, or even a friend
Children sometimes become confused
That's no reason for them to be abused
Children shouldn't be considered a game,
Nor should your child feel shame
To play with their favorite toy
Like any other girl or boy
Child abuse is a serious crime
But it happens all of the time
If the child is too much trouble
Please send help there on the double
Please don't take the child away
Because someone got angry today
But if these precious children should have to die
Please take them to your home in the sky.
poem by Ginny Cadle
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I'm Thinking Tonight Of My Blue Eyes
I'M THINKING TONIGHT OF MY BLUE EYES
Writer A.P. Carter
'Twould been better for us both had we never
In this wide and wicked world had never met,
For the pleasure we've both seen together
I'm sure, love, I'll never forget.
Oh, I'm thinking tonight of my blue eyes
Who is sailing far over the sea.
I'm thinking tonight of my blue eyes
And I wonder if he ever thinks of me.
Oh, you told me once, dear, that you loved me;
You said that that we never would part.
But a link in the chain has been broken
Leaves me with a sad and aching heart.
When the cold, cold grave shall enclose me
Will you come dear and shed just one tear
And say to the strangers around you
A poor heart you have broken lies here
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Since You Left
My dear, since you left
Rain of tears have been
Falling down my eyes.
My dear, when you left
My eyes knew no smile,
You took all with you
When you left.
My dear, what would I do
If not for your beautyful smile.
My dear, since you left
This cold has become
My best friend without
You to hold?
Since you left, my dear
Since you left.
My life knew no other you.
I love you my dear,
I love you.
Would you come back now
And stay as close to my heart
Like you were,
Before you left.
Now you know I love you
My dear, I love you.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Mary Loves Precious
Mary loves her Precious so dear—
she misses Precious who passed last year.
Precious was Mary's companion and pet
she still has her Brownie who is her very good friend.
Mary gave Precious a happy life-
she was there for Precious in her time of strife.
Mary gave both dogs the love they needed—
Mary has happily and joyfully succeeded—
To experience the lasting unconditional love
of Precious who is with the angels up above.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Mama was my angel
Her touch to me was gentle,
Her voice was soft and mild,
Mama was my angel,
And I her loving child.
Her love for me was pure,
So precious and so dear,
Mama was my angel,
Who washed away each tear.
The gift of life she gave me,
Cared for me like no other,
Mama was my angel,
And a dear and precious Mother.
Her life on earth is now over,
But I still love her as before,
Mama was my angel,
Is now and for evermore.
By
Richard Netherland Cook
poem by Richard Netherland Cook
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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
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Daddy Why?
Daddy why did you leave Mommy before I was born?
Daddy why weren't you there for my birth?
Daddy why did you divorce Mommy when I was only five months old?
Daddy why did you day those mean things about Mommy?
Daddy why weren't you there for my first birthday?
Daddy why weren't you there when I took my first step?
Daddy why weren't you there when I got hurt?
Daddy why weren't you there when I became a teenager?
Daddy you're not going to be there when I turn 16.
Daddy you're not going to be there when I graduate from high school.
Daddy you're not going to be there when I get married.
Daddy you're not going to be there when I have children of my own.
Daddy you're NEVER going to be here.
Daddy you had a choice.
Daddy I chose too.
Daddy I NEVER WANT TO BE LIKE YOU!
poem by Emily Gucciardo
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Just Saying A Prayer
I am just saying a prayer to our world
Dear Lord
The world is getting worst every single day
Why?
Why can't there be peace?
Why can't people love you also Like I love you
Dear Lord
Don't you abandom me
Because I will not abandom you also
Dear Lord
Love your children
Because you are a good father to your children
Dear God please feed the hungry children in the world
Because there are so many children that are starving inthe world today
Amen
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Emphatically Expressed
A writer doesn't write to attract readers.
Maybe gossip columnists do.
To sell images and ruin a few.
But a writer who is true,
Writes because that is what writers do.
I wrote years before anything I wrote was read.
It wasn't to impress.
Those issues express about me,
Have long been put to rest in my head.
If something I write is read...
I hope a connection is made from what I've said.
Some also make claims they too like to write.
And I say to myself,
'Liking and loving are different appetites.'
No one who 'is' a writer takes it 'light'.
And those who feel this way...
May stay up night after night,
After many a sleepless night.
And it isn't for fame or money.
Trust me on that.
And I thank God what I do isn't done for the glory.
That's another story.
However,
When my contributions do become discovered...
It will be 'seen' there is some depthness meant.
Something within me that seems never to be solved.
Something with content I can not just dissolve.
And there is nothing to glorify,
When someone who writes for nourishment...
To feed others,
Do not think themselves to eat or drink.
Not when a thought comes to possess their minds,
With a desire to be completed.
Coming with a sensation one should heed.
And most of the time this is the writer's deed.
Whether the one who 'writes' gets a wink of sleep,
Or blinks.
And no matter if what is written is accepted,
Or thought to be rejected and stinks!
This kind of discipline...
Does not seek to reach for that attention!
Unless,
Money becomes mentioned.
And only then,
Of course...
What I have just emphatically expressed,
You have my permission to ignore.
Since my intention will take upon another direction,
To excite my need to explore...
With a more deepened Introspection.
I do write.
But biting into a good meal,
Intrigues!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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