Blackboard Of My Heart
You wrote your words so carefully
on the blackboard of my heart.
Writing of the passion,
you held inside for me.
Writing that we would never part,
you would always be with me.
Writing every word with love’s pen
on the blackboard of my heart.
21 April 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Come Alive In Writing
I come alive in writing
Even if the writing means nothing to anyone else-
I come alive in writing
Even if I am totally deluding myself as to its value-
I come alive in writing
Even if at times while writing there is an underlying hopelessness and despair -
I come alive in writing
As if writing is what God has given me to do-
I come alive in writing
As if through it I can truly give to and help others-
I come alive in writing
As if life has meaning through it-
I come alive in writing
Even when I sense the writing is not good or great
As I would wish it to be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Small Time
small time, you call it small time
writing
is small time, there is no money
in writing, like a
politician, look at him, he does not
write, someone writes for him
and he gets the prize
the money
the pot
the jackpot
and look at you
you keep on writing
and writing
and writing
oh la la
poems, fit for a woman
her limited mind
her gullibility
her passion for words and words and words
her imagination
and look at you
poor man, poor, poor, poor
what you give
to this world, what are you giving to this world
it is not even a flower
just a poem for her, and you claim that you are winning her heart?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writing The Words
I’m writing this at your funeral.
As I watch all the people in tears.
I wish I could join them,
But I know I have to be strong.
I’m writing this on my hand,
No paper to get it down on.
I want to remember your funeral,
So I’m writing this to honour you.
I’m writing the thoughts that pop into my head,
Making sure they are only the best.
I have to remember,
Because I couldn’t live with myself if I ever forgot.
I’m writing this at your funeral,
As people dropp flowers onto your coffin.
I stand up to dropp my own,
Blue, unlike the others, because I know it’s your favourite.
I’m writing this through the ceremony,
Because if I listen to the words I’ll cry.
And I know I can’t, for you,
I have to keep it together.
I’m writing the words I want to say,
To make people remember how much love you gave.
Because I want them to know,
How much of it you gave to me.
So, I’m writing this at your funeral,
To stop myself from shedding a tear.
I’m writing this at your funeral,
So that I never ever forget you.
poem by Rachel Brewer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writing To
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Writing every emotion..
With such a white background.
It makes no sound
Even as the keys I pound.
Let my words have bite
Let from my words drip out meanings beyond meanings
Its something I try to be constantly be achieving.
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
I want every heart and mind
Sucked in cause this is my world stage
No sense of the time.
Never to turn the page
Stuck in to a world oh so oh so fine
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Listen to her melody, as she sings.
Let chaos reign down from the skies
What will this day really bring?
Will the letter say good bye?
Will it mend everything?
Making everything better.
Destroying all the consequences
That exist in your world.
Welcome to the place I visit daily.
Inspirational maddness,
It attacks, attacks, and attacks.
With perfect sadness
I must let go once more.
And then the words hit the floor
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
Becoming one with my soul.
Fighting for its one and only control.
Its mine, Its mine. Its mine.
In this reality it subsequently is not
A constant questioning of what?
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
With every sound, taste, and light.
The worlds get get oh so oh so bright
Understand that which is not so forthright
This is my night, and day.
So come on join me, please this way.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And I'm writing
The purpose of writing poem
Is not known and I'm writing.
Excuse me, I'm writing
And writing
And writing is natural
As natural as wind
As natural as light
And I'm writing
Writing and pervading
Everywhere.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Revolution Poetry Is....!
Are you writing words of rhythm according to thoughts?
Or are you coining words of thoughts according to rhythm?
Or are you writing poetry both working at the same time?
Asking so, if they ask me how to write poetry, what shall I say?
Poetry writing is natural, spontaneous expression from heart!
How can this be taught to anyone to write poetry ever at all?
Poetry is a spontaneous flow of words direct from heart ever!
I wonder many a time how am I writing poetry at all ever!
But this is happening to my great surprise since longtime!
Due to engagements ever poetry only I am able to write
Though my aim in the beginning was writing stories.....,
Novels, short stories and nonfiction articles of criticism!
Poetry books too I have completed writing so since long
But what a pity there is no reception for poetry books...!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Writing
is talking aloud to myself
i'm the first recipient of my communication,
first translator of my emotion into words.
first witness to the subtle unfolding within
writing is my strength.
writing is my weakness too
to me writing is meditation.
writing is prayer!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With All The Reading and Writing I Do
With all the reading and writing I do
With all the work of the mind and heart
There comes a time
It can be any time
There comes a time
When the Poem must enter-
The Poem?
The deeper feeling-
The Music of the soul-
What I most need to say inside
The Writing which somehow surpasses all the other
In its inner intensity in its deepest feeling –
I write a poem now
All my heart mind soul
Go into every word and phrase.
The Poem? The Poem?
For which I write to live
And which through writing
I most live in Writing-
The Poem that this is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They Say It Is My Brain That Is Writing This Poem
THEY SAY IT IS MY BRAIN THAT IS WRITING THIS POEM
They say it is my brain that it is writing this poem-
They can see areas of it shutting down
And others lighting up more intensely,
As the words come down-
But I know it is me who is writing this poem
And my brain is only ‘part' of who I am
Whatever that means.
I am writing this poem
And you are reading it
And we are human beings
Aren't we?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Blue Pen
A pen, what is a pen?
An instrument for writing, a tool, a path to wisdom?
Or is much more than that?
What means this blue pen to my heart?
I'm writing with this pen all my thoughts, my hopes,
I'm keep it in my hand to help my ideas flow,
This blue pen is the bearer of all my joy and pain,
And when i'm writing, its blue ink holds my dreams.
I'm writing with my blue pen,
Which he gave it to me,
To never forget and to write,
Our impossible love story in the book of life.
poem by Cristina Teodor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lure Of Writing
The lure of writing
is not an easy one to break
once it has you in its grip.
It won’t let you go,
make no mistake.
You can struggle all you want,
but you can never win.
You can turn your back on it
saying I will never write again,
but you will.
The lure of writing
is not and easy one to break,
it will seduce you with dreams
and no matter how many times
they are crushed
the lure of writing
will draw you back again
and again and again.
25 April 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Letter From A Writer Searching For Her Soul And Wanting To Feel Not With Her Hands
Hello (to whom it may concern) ,
It's been awhile since we exchanged messages. Sorry, I'm not much of an |'onliner' these days. I resigned from my job. I'm, in the process of soul searching. Funny but I don't really know why I'm looking for a soul, my soul, when I cannot even see it. I'm on an unplanned vacation in some quaint town some miles outside the city while writing this email.
I guess I never had the chance to tell you how you took the glint from my eye. To write from the soul and not for the awards. I have overlook that writing is an Art. Thus it is priceless. A gold medal does not define you as an artist. Write until it ceases to become a craft.But more than just stringing words after words, conscious of your weary grammar, punctuations, right words, and subject matter. To write is to turn your heart inside out.
Beyond 'writing' and its technical definitions, it is actually a journey - a self surrender - towards the oblivion you are willing to traverse with your pen. And you find yourself in another state.
To write is to 'see' but not with your eyes. To 'feel' but not with your hands. And at the end of it all, you know that it's there. Writing takes over you. Thus, I often wonder: am i writing with the pen? Or is it the pen using me to write? But I know somewhere deep inside, there is a thing mightier than the pen that prompts me to write. And that is the soul.
I want to find my center. My creative process in writing. Ironic, but to find it, I must loose myself.
hahahahaha. whew. I know i sound stupid. Sorry. Thanks for bearing with me. Hope it's not too late to greet you a Happy New Year! ! ! ! =)
Always,
(name witheld, but this could be you)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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E305
Dedicated to Eirlys Patchett:
Who left us on the 10th of March 2010. On the 11th her pupils got their results of A's and A*s. So this is my last homework for you.
We all knew her, and she all knew us;
And in our darkness she held us.
And in our triumph she praised us,
And she uttered a phrase;
‘Your not there yet’
As she wrote,
On the Blackboard.
of that lonely room.
And now the room lies dormant,
The books marked,
bearing the green font,
And the silence echoes,
Along the lonely room;
The stool that bore her,
And the desk where we gathered,
At the front, Of that lonely room.
At the back, the clock has stopped;
And the laughter gone.
Homework left unhanded,
bearing the green font;
And her familiar tone.
The tea and biscuits,
for her class,
left at home,
to be brought to the front;
of that lonely room.
We all knew her, and she all knew us;
And in our sadness she holds us,
And in our triumph she praises us,
And she utters a phrase,
‘Your not there yet'
As the writing still lingers,
on the blackboard,
of that lonely room.
Thomas Westleigh Brown (C) 2010
poem by Thomas Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Once in My Tender Years
Once in my tender years
I came to an April day
And wrote poetry by faith.
Nothing else held me close
As I held the pen
Writing from within
Simple things to embrace
I let my mind have its say
And pray that you find
Within some praise of an April day
Life is too crowed to be truly caught
But this poem makes its stay.
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Planning to write is not writing. Outlining, researching, talking to people about what you're doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing.
quote by E.L. Doctorow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Did I Know
Little did I know forty-two years ago
when I put pen to paper
after getting off a fairground ride
at sunset that day.
That what I was about to write
would be a crowning achievement
in my writing life.
That what I wrote would be read and used
in all the four corners of the world.
It would be used to compliment
photos, painting, and memorials
to those who had passed away.
A piece of writing
which would evoke so much in many.
For everyone who reads it
get their own impressions from within it.
Little did I know
more than any other of my work,
it would make my name.
Although I have written poems
for one reason or another
that have become favourites of mine,
Just Beyond The Sunset is a dream
and beyond that sunset
my dreams have come true
in a lot more ways than one.
For little did I know
what I was writing then.
21 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Heart Is With All Those Who Did Not Make It
MY HEART IS WITH ALL THOSE WHO DID NOT MAKE IT
My heart is with all those who did not make it-
Who never got there
Who aspired and tried
And worked hard
And did not make it.
I know -
For forty years
I have been one of us.
Out there alone- trying
Writing and writing
Getting nowhere.
Let us in the very act of the Writing
Be for once-
Our own critics and judges
And say,
“We have done something
We are real now
Nameless or not
Our poems are here.”
-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Can Enjoy Your God Given Write
Writing down your thoughts cleanses the soul,
It can help lift you out of life's goldfish bowl,
Though your words can enrage they may also console,
Never give up the fight.
Life is a challenge for those given the chance,
Your own and others you must try to enhance,
By writing what you feel your spirit you'll enhance,
You will also never lose sight.
You must never be afraid of honest critique,
Though some can make your future feel bleak,
Everyone in life has their troubles to seek,
The written word can and will bite.
Who's to say any poem is better than yours,
Words from the heart are usually what lures,
Others personal opinions are not what obscures,
The writers own inner light.
Never be put off by what people may say,
Some live their lives just to cause others affray,
You will live to fight another day,
Let the fire inside you ignite.
Criticism and praise can help you to learn,
As long as you show all others concern,
Both are attributes we all have to earn,
Your writing at times will incite.
Just remember your poems can cause distress,
If done truthfully your writing you can honestly express,
Regardless of whether it causes duress,
You'll have no need to feel uptight.
The written word can and does bring us joy,
As a weapon it can also be used to destroy,
If you just try your best not to annoy,
‘' We Can Enjoy Your God Given Write ‘'