Shakespeare, Your Pen!
Seasons
Moons over moons
Letters
Pages over pages
Words
Quotes over quotes
Rock
Wind and rains
Ever fresh
Your penned letter, Shakespeare!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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More Letters
More letters found stuffed
Beneath his brown best shoes,
Which had yellowed with age.
Love letters with small crosses
For kisses at the bottom
Of the page. Words neatly penned,
Love spoken of, gifts thanked for,
Places seen, shared and remembered.
He was a dark horse, Mother said,
Never knew he had these, so many here,
Stuffed, forgotten or out of sight and mind.
Granddad had had some woman
On the go at some time and place
Years ago, before Gran, before
The whole circus of living had ended.
A photograph tucked between pages,
Some woman in old-fashioned hat
And dress and wide-open eyes.
Secrets hidden and kept, words
Upon words on pages, scribbled
By a hand now sure to be dead.
Best burn them, Mother sighed,
Nothing to be gained, best nothing’s said.
poem by Terry Collett
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Back To Nature....
sad to say
you have been looking on the pages of the book
away from the landscapes of the mountains
the calm unfolded soft linens of the sea
pages of days
the chapters of those seasons
a butterfly floating
is enough poem without so much use of words
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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(Father&Writer Poem) A Coversation
The teacher speaks of quotes and double quotes.
I think hes right.
Not to put myself in the spotlight.
My grammar is lacking
I am still interacting.
Learning only so slow.
In then out.
It's a midnight show.
We keep moving on.
Put it in reverse.
Lets go backwards.
Down to the first word of a thought.
'What was that my son? ''
It was dad.
Doesn't that make you sad?
Already gone, and still here.
He says, 'Everyone should have a job right now.'
Well if their being so handed out 'where's mine'? .
No last words.
Silence filled the room.
Most thought their was going to be a fight breaking out.
But I was already gone.
In a different state mined.
That was my indifference.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
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What Is Written In Red
I am written in red,
I am sliding across the page of life.
I am racing across the lines of language.
I am red.
I write words,
I create lines and sentences,
I am kept in solitude
I am red.
I create paragraphs.
I create signatures.
I know what you're thinking before you speak,
I am red.
I cannot breath because I am enclosed in a capsule.
A capsule that covers the knowledge inside.
All I do is stare at pages,
All I know is pages,
I become apart of the pages,
And the pages become apart of me.
I become apart of english,
I become apart of words,
I am RED.
BY: Takisha Fields
poem by Kiesha fields
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Without A Promise
On the eve of dawn,
The words seem to scramble,
Forging their own messages,
Their own secrets.
The words are lying,
Leaving the pages scandalously clad.
A letter to remember;
The letters so empty.
The words have no meaning,
They rest as empty shells,
For metaphor upon metaphor.
poem by Daniel Yetman
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The Memory Place
Shelves tower over me; crowed with bound pages
of events, people, places, ideas.
Of memories.
Of captured feelings pressed like flowers between the pages;
for people to be inspired by someone else's words.
My eyes caress the titles printed on bright spines
as I run my fingers across
what holds the memories together.
I pick up a book, turning yellowed pages,
the scent of gentle time traveling to my nose.
I close my eyes and smile:
it brings back memories of my own,
but these pages are not for me.
I put back the soft bundle of pages
and continued to search in the Memory Place
until I find my own belonging among the words.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Old Love Letters
Faded love letters
Written from the heart
Pages faded yellow
While we’ve been apart
New loves come
And old loves disappear
But Your old love letters
Will always be here
There’s a tear on every page
For the nights I cried for you
The love within those pages
At the time was very true
But the years of being apart
Has let our love slip away
And all I have left now
Is faded love letters from you
poem by David Harris
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Destiny Life Leaf Pages
manuscripts we all life write
destiny life leaf pages
some leave empty pages white
others shimmer reflecting light
some smear pages with dirt
record chaos rip rub out hurt
how shall we fill manuscript pages...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Distinct Work
Never be hard at distinct work,
For you delve into the nightmares;
Open the work of the words you write,
Closing the pages as you send letters.
The better writer forces his mind
To act in a strange way, almighty at last.
The work carries on working like words,
Worlds of pictures design our images so late.
May the weight of the pages abhor the life
To come. It defines us as we write on the shelf.
Opening words of slaughter is like being drunk,
Heavy business is about, with clarity.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Written In Blood And Love
In pages written in blood, in pages written love.
Stories are told of you grow old together.
Live to dieing forever.
Scarred by the pain of misery.
Scarred by the imperfections the have created so many rejections.
Give me the antidote to the poison that I have slipped in my own drink.
Let me breath the life in again.
Drowned out all the cowardliness of my angel who holding me up.
Such a beautiful crutch.
Still in the pages written in blood, in the pages written love.
We are just one of millions.
Every story is the same.
All that's changed is the names, places, and faces.
Erase it all.
Rewrite the entire fall.
Let the wind take me.
Let the lightning strike me here and now.
For i will not let it cloud my judgement.
No matter the storm that's brought on.
In the pages written in blood, in the pages written in love
Hate me for the right reasons
Hate me because I am what you wanted me to be.
In all the irony.
I didn't change for you.
It was done way before you came along and sang your song.
All the pages have been written, in blood and love.
The Shakespeare play Romeo and Juliet to the fullest.
Its the cruelest games in tragedy strikes without a ounce of leniency.
No mercy to those who are jumping without a life line.
Protection against the evil of an accident so quick.
A slip becomes a fall.
Next your trying to stall buy a little time.
But its in vain.
Nothing can be changed.
Its sink or swim till you reach shore.
So long off stripped of everything you thought was important.
Values so mixed up in these pages written in blood, in the pages written in love.
We have killed another pair of doves.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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There are two kinds of marriages - where the husband quotes the wife and where the wife quotes the husband.
quote by Clifford Odets
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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COULD WE BE FRIENDS? [BY Redscar & Moons]
MOONS:
Could I be your FRIEND, my friend?
For ‘Redscar and Moons’ sounds sweet
What I mean do you comprehend?
When things went bad I almost quit.
I long for this; could we try to blend
Now that we share a sweet lit seat?
Could I be your FRIEND, friend?
REDSCAR:
Please be my FRIEND, oh friend!
Behold, my bad I won't repeat;
I'll never act like a dire fiend,
And from candor I won't retreat!
...So I beseech that we blend,
For us to make all that is sweet -
Be my FRIEND, my dear friend!
MOONS:
I found a niche in you friend,
Like hearts in rhyme with a beat,
I may not have enough to spend,
Let alone excess for a treat,
Words, these words are all I lend,
...May be as meaningless as skit,
Could I be your FRIEND, Friend?
REDSCAR:
In you I've found a special friend
For with you, my life has no dent;
I'd love to retain you till the end -
As a FRIEND, my, you are God-sent!
...And now in you I highly depend,
For care, and the good that's latent;
Be my FRIEND, my dear friend!
MOONS:
Listen carefully oh friend,
My words are truly meant,
On this Moons you can depend,
My all would certainly be lent,
But am scared should you turn a fiend,
I may crumble not being a magnificent.
Could I be your FRIEND, Friend?
REDSCAR:
God forbid: I'll never be a FIEND,
Never to do anything you dissent!
I love you dearly - I don't pretend
To ever be FRIENDS I beg your assent;
...Like ere my blessings to you I send,
Rebuking all that bring predicament;
Be my FRIEND, my dear friend.
MOONS:
Then, I'm honored my Friend,
Confidants we've just begun to be,
With every additional dividend,
I invest again in You and Me,
This relationship I'll tend,
...A Moons and Redscar spree,
I'll be your FRIEND, Oh dear Friend.
REDSCAR:
How I thank you, my dear friend
For accepting to be in this with me!
I'll cherish your amity till the end,
And I'll shower you with much glee;
...For you, I promise to ever fend -
The only Moon in my sky you'll be;
I'm glad you are my dear FRIEND!
©2010 Redscar McOdindo K’Oyuga
& Muna Moons Ahmed
poem by Redscar McOdindo K'Oyuga
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Last Letter
Thou left me in lachrymose
State when I got at my
Door letter placed with rose
And penned upon sorry…
The letter was little curled,
And was wet with pearls
Pain and rain was limpid
In words like the crystal…
Single glossy wisp of your hair
Left in enclosed pages
Burning both of us desire
Without any hope in fire…
Over any misunderstanding
Won't we change or leave hand,
Why then you did so leaving
My hand with cureless pain?
Because I loved you more
Than anything in the world,
Was that my fault to be
With you to the last breathe?
I want nothing but mine
Heart that you've taken away
From me and leaving pain
with untimely full rain…
poem by Narendra Rai
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The Author Of My Life
My God has penned the pages that told of my first breath
and has carefully written the paragraph depicting my death.
Then by grace the myriads of paragraphs between
are the pages which record my life on this earthly scene
For the God and author of all human history
has chosen to weave my name into its' tapestry.
Carefully mapping out my life well before my birth
and then He chose to walk with me each day on earth.
Based on Psalm 139: 13-16
A WayFarer
The cliffs are the edges of paper--
That time has torn away...
Eroded rock-solid paper...
Jagged reminders of yesterday;
Once a diary of stone-hearted entries--
Surfaced as hardened clay...
But worn away from the Springtime downpours...
And collapsed in Wayfarers Bay;
Pages and pages of dogeared cliffs...
Hanging with no support in mid air...
Rock solid words of our ending---
Oh, the stories the sailors do bear;
Longings from eternities upon the ocean...
Needs that we all have been known to share...
Are written upon the cliffs of yesterday---
Eroded in rock solid despair;
The Essence
July,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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Between the pages
Between the pages
~
between the pages
we line ourselves in verse
where we play out a story
of our own making
the turns and twists
brought through words
etched upon the page
ink flows to its own beat
like a raging heart
pouring out before the eyes
a world becomes forgotten
lost in the celebration
between pages
each line shared
written
in its own breath
creation begins
time lapses
into our verse
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Wing Pages Of The Butterfly
at the nursery
while people
are at purchase
and at transactions
a blue butterfly
comes by
and opens its pages to me
swift and quick
and it says to me:
'Read! Read!
Read my pages! '
'I can’t read, '
I say,
amused
at this brash butterfly
'Read and write!
Read and write
about me,
and all flitting butterflies
Read
and write, you silly! '
it commands
And so I read
and I copy
and these are the words
the words from those
pages
the butterfly
holds up to me
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Blank Pages
Blank pages
Blank books
Lie with only drowning white
No pretty messages in the sand
No clocks to turn a hand
Blank pages
Blank books
Looking into an empty void
Like staring at purgatory
Words with no meaning making up a story
Blank pages
Blank books
Stay staring at the celing
Empty without effort
Nothing without words
poem by Autumn Winds
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Tracks, Trails, Lines and pages
Tracks in forests… of woodland creatures
Trails of shooting stars in summer skies
Tracks of rockets o’er bloody battlefields
Traces of wrinkles round wizened eyes
Lines of wisdom on wrinkled faces
Lines of ants upon the floor
Lines of prose on parchment pages
Lines of carts inside the stores
Pages of life, inside old diarys
Pages dog-eared to mark the places
Pages filled with tales sad and fiery
Pages filled with empty spaces
poem by David Whalen
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