En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Back Again

For days my world seemed empty,
as the words had flown
never it seemed to return.
Then I woke up this morning
and they were back again.
As if by magic,
my pen did not want to stop writing again.
The words are flowing again
like water from a full open tap,
so fast sometimes
that I can barely get them down on paper
before the next lot come around.
Where they being stored for just this certain day?
I do not care for the answer
only that they are back again
and my pen is overflowing
once more with new ideas.
All I can do is hope they will not go away again,
at least for a little while.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Magic Pen

seeking for the answer of magic pen
i was drone in d shadow of icy water
search for my way out
i was lost in the magic world

seeking for the answer of the magic world
i was suck with the love of ink
that beautified my dreams
with powerful words
it makes me never want to be found

lost and don't want the be found
because i love d world of magic pen
it make my ink never stop flowing
my words never stop topping

am coming home
home of the poet
the home filled with love
am coming to review the answers
so that your ink will never dry off

poem by Blessing Anastasia Abaka
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Empty Sky

I woke up this morning
I could barely breathe
Just an empty impression
In the bed there you used to be
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Blood on the streets
Blood flowin down
I hear the blood of my blood
Cryin from the ground
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
On the plains of jordan
I cut my bow from the wood
Of this tree of evil
Of this tree of good
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to the empty sky

song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words

Words on this paper
Words in my head
Words while I'm texting
Computing
Unsaid
Words between people
Words on the phone
Words upon words
Even when I'm alone
Words from the Bible
I question
Don't mesh
Words from pornography
Making them flesh
Words with flat letters
Written in black
Good words and bad words
You cannot take back
Words that are shallow
Words that are deep
When they're too many
They put me to sleep
Words that I'm writing
And rhyming you read
Whatever I'm saying
There's prolly no need
Words from the alphabet
Words that can't be
When you are blind
And it's Braile that you see
Words that are worthless
And said on the fly
My words or your words
Are most likely lies
Words in a sentence
Wise words or fair
The only words earnest
Are those said in prayer

Written by Sara Fielder © 2011

poem by Sara Fielder
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words (A True Poet)

We speak words of wisdom
when the heart is full of sadness
sometimes thoughts of happiness
when we bless the morning sun
other times just for fun
that's where a true poet comes from

We speak these words of poetry
in a timeless past
a masterpiece so vast
where motions and emotions
rush by so fast

We are all, but only one
on a empty highway lane
frost like snowflakes
on a window payne
we hold not the anger
from within
but express our lonliness
with paper and pen

Though our days are not forever
our words will always last
in this world of reality
like hours that never pass
in pastures of green grass
we're pieces of shattered glass
(spiritwind-1997)

poem by Spiritwind Wood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Split open

It’s split open like two pieces of land separated by a red river
But the river is overflowing
It’s flowing over the land and falling, falling down
All the way down to the floor
As the river drains the land changes color
The color of death begins to show
The world seems to stop moving
And then it too falls
The world cannot live without the water
Now the world is laying in a pool of red water, gone
Dead.
No last words.
No goodbyes
Just gone
Suddenly the planets seem to come around the world
And wonder why?
Why did she let the river flow?
No one knows
All they know is that the raging river has finally ended.
Leaving only the question
Why did she do it?
Why did she split herself open and let herself run dry?

poem by Yvonne Fernandez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Something

I'm writing in hope for something with sweet melody,
A rhythm that can be felt,
A beauty that can be read.
With words flowing like water over rocks,
Steadily without fault or obstruction.
A liquid in its purest state.

I'm writing in hope for something with sweet remembrance,
Like the scent of falling rain,
Or the memorable sound of a mothers cooing voice.
Something so memorable,
The slightest reminder sends you back to the exact moment,
Replaying in unbroken pattern of mind.

I'm writing in hope for something spectacular to happen,
For my words to form a feeling so deep they hurt,
For each image to be as clear as these words on this paper.
I want you to feel what I feel,
A feeling of lonely discontent,
Sitting alone in my own my own world, writing away.

I am writing this in hope for something to stick with you,
A message or a meaning that I've hidden inside a syllable,
A voice of reason that you have kept from yourself,
Silenced with the voice of your shallow desires.
A dream that you once had forgotten,
Lost in the darkness of the night.

I am writing this in hope for something to be brought to light.
Maybe a buried thought that you wish you never had,
Or an inner conflict that you hadn't noticed but feel tearing apart your skin,
Even an aspiration you promised to live up to but left to die.
Something so lost in the world of your mind,
Swallowed by deep chasms of thought and memory.

I am writing this in hope of telling a story.
The story of a world that can only be imagined in a dark room,
Hidden from the world and apart from anything else.
The story of a broken heart of a shortened life,
The story of the silent cries of a lost soul reaching for sanity.
My own story, perhaps, or even yours, is this your story?

I am writing in hope of making your thoughts and feelings dance,
A slow and steady music in the background,
Propelling your eyes left to right and back again.
Following the steps of each word,
The flow off each line and stanza.
An endless waltz with the reader and the writer, will you dance with me?

I am writing in hope of making an impression on your mind,
Maybe not an everlasting one, but even just a brief moment,
A moment of realization that you are now reading what I have written,
That for one moment in time our minds share the same space and thought,
Each word playing in our head the same as the other's.
Can you hear my voice, can you feel my thoughts?

I don't know why I am writing, or why I am writing what I am writing,
But I know that it has accomplished one thing,
It has given a purpose to something, if even just a piece of paper,
It has given worth to something that at one point was just a blank sheet,
Waiting for something to be etched into its surface, making it something.
I guess that's why I'm writing, I'm just writing; something.

poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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School report

You stood behind me

Watching, looking over my shoulder

I saw you writing

'Could have done better'!

I screwed up the paper

It missed the bin

My destination.... to write? ? or

There was more poetry in watching you

Unravelling the argument from your eyes

Burning still

So much passion lost in trying

So many paintings in the making

I make a sketch

Without true features

Passed blurring

Life is moving just below the windowsill

Shapes and bodies swimming

Pools of light ripple on the water

Barely visable

But not for want of trying

Crowds full of paintings

Shaken petals on a black wet pavement? I Pound a quote out!
[badly.......]
Words barely visable

Losing their way

Returning to nothing

I can see you watching

I watch you writing

'Could do better'

Barely visable

Not for the want of trying

I laugh and give myself an A for 'effort'

An A? What the hell does that mean?

In this world something has to make sense,

Survival after all must be 'worth surviving for! '

Not for the want of trying,

The want, of 'trying!

magnolia Turtle Bridge

'SCHOOL OF PROFOUND ISMS'

poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And So I'm Writing...

I'm hard-pressed for time,
yet I do have the heart
And so I'm writing
Know not what to pen down,
have a paper to write on
And so I'm writing

May be I'll write about 'you and me'
Or may be of 'us and them'
Feel like playing with words
And so I'm writing

May be that starving beggar's hungry looks
Or that homeless Child's beckoning eyes
Are making me scribble these lines to you
And so I'm writing

May be you'll find my words vague
Or you might decipher a meaning
Intend to leave you in the oblivion
And so I'm writing

Whatever might be the impression I create
Wish to see its reflection on your soul
And leave an imprint on your mind
And so I'm writing

May be you and I've become immune
To the pathos of mankind
Or may be there's still
A dropp of humanity flowing deep within us
Wish to arouse 'The Human Being' in you
And so I'm writing...

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Liberty Sought For All

Words keep filling my brain.
I rarely write them down.
Because as soon as I empty my head.
Words start filling my brain again.

I can never empty my head.
For there remains too much unsaid.
Poignant thoughts, enlightened ideas, ideals.
Waiting for a poet to bring them to heal.

Words. Words. Words. Words. Words.
Whirling Whirling Whirling Whirling Words.
Waiting for a chosen moment, of precise creativity.
Waiting for a special moment, of ordained existence.

Waiting to transform
a corrupt materialistic world.
Waiting to put compassion
back into heartless hearts.

Waiting to restore love
vitality freedom and nobility.
Waiting to herald a new age
of heaven sent realized liberty.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Naked In Front Of The Computer

My box is full
And my mouth is full
And my life is full
And now my memorys full
In how many ways and words
Can you say nothing
Millions of ways and words
To say nothing
Whatd I say,
Im empty
I bought the thing
I taught the thing
And I fought the thing
They said its normal,
But theyre keeping me dumb and hot
Youre missing something
Keeping me dumb and hot
You must be missing something
Keeping me dumb and hot
Whatd I say
Im empty
What I say
Im empty
Im sending it back to you
Im sending it back to you
Im sending it back to you
Im sending it back to you
Im sending it back to you

song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unreasonable Words (an abstraction of reason)

I tire of my old language.
So many words
no longer fly.
I'm left to ponder:
Who am I?
It seems so strange
that in my mind,
I can open doors
so wide, up to the sky, going far into rooms
containing many new wonders to find.
Yet on this wrinkled paper
it's all ancient,
old and dusty.
A few scattered syllables,
dank and musty.
How many times,
by how many people
in how many ways
can words be flown?
... perhaps as many,
and as much
as the air can be breathed
that's millions of years old...
As long as people have
been breathing,
they have been speaking.
The air will continue on,
refreshing.
I hope the words
shall also.

poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wish

Looking back on when i
Was a little nappy headed boy
Then my only worry
Was for christmas what would be my toy
Even though we sometimes
Would not get a thing
We were happy with the
Joy the day would bring
Sneaking out the back door
To hang out with those hoodlum friends of mine
Greeted at the back door
With boy thought I told you not to go outside,
Tryin your best to bring the
Water to your eyes
Thinkin it might stop her
From woopin your behind
I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go
I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go
Cause I love them so
Brother says hes tellin
bout you playin doctor with that girl
Just dont tell Ill give you
Anything you want in this whole wide world
Mama gives you money for sunday school
You trade yours for candy after church is through
Smokin cigarettes and writing something nasty on the wall (you nasty boy)
Teacher sends you to the principals office down the wall
You grow up and learn that kinda thing aint right
But while you were doinit-it sure felt outta sight
I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go
I wish those days could come back once more
Why did those days ev-er have to go

song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Guess (should i ever give the girl i love this., ,)

Guess....
Just guess.. they're 3 words thats it, not too hard
really just 3 words my dear
you have to figure them out right here
allow me to get close....close...
closer to you before i am taken by comatose,
let me lean in and whisper my 3 words to you
the 3 words i hope you know them too
one guess and one guess only, as i
tickle and tease you, galvanize your imagination so far as to fly
can you share my joy?
maybe you will share my joy after you guess, this isn't a decoy
I'm not running, I'm honest allow me to caress
you and fondle with your hair but guess
just 3 words,3 magic ones, last hint...closer..magic... heres the spell
it changes you and me to us, now you should know quite well
guess those magic words as i lean in close.... just three...magic..three...
as you stand here right next to me
come I'll whisper them to you
but first just guess and I will guess your next words too
3 magic words, , , , closer just three to change my story
this will fill those lines and change my life as i tickle you
and tease you, , ,3 words guess i ask you answer in four
let me caress you let me be close.... guess the words
Guess

poem by David Knox
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Words

Words fill my pages
as the world rages, darkness pervades
yet I pray for new days,
worlds without end
endless words

(flashy magic, shaman tricks
conjuring spirits
from spell-bound minds)
you cannot find
your answer in
words.

poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vellum

I write my name down on paper
paper that has a unrealistic desire
to be vellum

I read what I have written
for a sense of authenticity
more authentic than my image
reflected in a mirror stained with mildew
and toothpaste

The words on this paper
anyone can read
bums, whores, addicts,
homosexuals
intellectuals
and the broken old men
whose hope died
in the past

I write
but I don't speak
what I write
details what I see

The things I see
O, the things I see
could invoke suicidal tendencies
in a child who still believes
in Christmas carols
and hunting Moby Dick
whom rules the seas

How tragic it is
to let fleeting imagination
slowly die among the magic spelling
of the words we once spoke
on Christmas Eve

And now I sit
with the adulterated gift
of alcohol
and nicotine
writing down words on paper
whom wish to be vellum
but realistically
could never be

poem by Justin Tallman Gonzalez
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An Old Flame

The writing faded on the page
The paper yellowing with age
An age of innocence then died
The blurring marks where once i cried
The memories flow back to me
Why did she ever have to leave?
The writing fading from the page
The sadness now becomes of age
The paper's corner now a flame
I shall not see those words again.

poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A little Thing Called Magic

There is a sigh of words drained from the bitterness of your mouth
warning me again of the magic that is stored
this magic tricking me, scraching at my heart
making it open to the simple words of praise and fortune
opening to absorb these simple words so greatly
this magic shows how much one love can hurt
how much one life cannot heal
and how much magic cannot survive in a world that cannot believe
this magic was shown in the worst kind of statue
performing so slowly, so stiffly its as if so forgotton
so misunderstood to the one who cannot feel its presence
its lies showing simple words that deffeat the purpose of its innocence
shatttering the true beauty of the statements my magition
playing as if so played out and so perfected
knowing with all certainty that this love cannot be real
but still lying to one self to proove that it once was such magic
able to lift, to fly, to shadow the main truth of lost love asside
to pursue the greatness of a thing we call love
to hide the true facts that one cannot love
and to in fact destroy the belifs of one girl
in a little thing called magic

poem by Kristinahh KIMBER
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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
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1. One

I am trying to find my poetic rhythm.
Pen my flow of thoughts.
Words running through my mind,
Ideas running through my mind.
Incoherent, Scattered and disjointed

I am trying to make words and ideas one
Create a world of words, in this world of chaos
Words running from one end
Ideas running from one end
On a path of collision

Ideas and words unite, one
One, the beginning
One, the universal beginning
One, the number of the gods
One, my first poem

poem by Anand Dixit
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The World Has Had Enough Of My Words

THE WORLD HAS HAD ENOUGH OF MY WORDS

The world has had enough of my words.
It didn’t care for them much anyway.

Let others come and write
A few of them will have the power and beauty
I have not.

The world has had enough of my words

And if I go on writing them
Let it be in knowing silence
That dare not disturb.

Let others do what I never could.

Perhaps there is still for some
Salvation in words.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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