Collaboration
For JoAnn and Meggie
My two collaborating special friends
When you write in collaboration
all authors must have faith
in what the other writes,
for without it,
anything you write
starts showing at the seams.
17 January 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Thorn Between Two Roses
Talking to a friend last night,
they were saying how
inspiration had deserted them.
I suggested several methods
of how to get it back.
Most of them they had tried,
but with no avail.
Then I suggested collaboration.
They were not to sure about that.
We write in different styles
came the reply.
Therefore, what I said
we could only give it a try.
Reluctantly she agreed.
I dug out a few miss tries
and sent them through.
In the meantime,
I was talking to another friend of ours.
Told her about the collaboration
and she asked if she could join in too.
Of course, I said
I was only too happy
to have her on board.
So the three of us set about to work.
JoAnn, Meggie and me.
And today our first poem was born.
No title yet,
but it has been posted
for the world tom see.
Under the name
JoJo Bean, Dodgy Dave & Meggie Gultiano.
A thorn between two roses.
The poem is seamless
and is difficult to see
where one poet finishes
and another poets starts.
This is our first collaboration
and by no means our last.
Each of us has enjoyed doing it
and is looking forward to the next.
6 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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My Best Friends
For JoAnn and Meggie
There are two young ladies
I think of as my best friends.
If ever I have a problem
that was eating away at me
I could go to either of them
and they would comfort me.
I’d do the same for them
at anytime night or day.
Not only are they my best friends,
they are my writing partners in poetry
when we write under
JoJo Bean, Dodgy Dave and Meggie Gultiano.
Although we have never met
as each of us live thousands of miles away,
they are still my best friends.
Some may never understand
why I say that at all,
they may even argue that statement
saying how can you be best friends
with people you have never met.
I’d reply just look at the poetry
we have together written
it speaks of three writing together with one voice,
of friendship with a deep loving bond for one another.
Therefore, when I say they are my best friends
I say that with sincerity,
and my words come from my heart.
Therefore, ladies now you know
just what you mean to me
and I want the whole world
to see and understand
that best friends can live anywhere
even in far off distant lands.
Friendships hold no boundaries
and are not restricted by what we are.
The key is how you feel
towards every one of them.
I have been lucky in having many friends
of many religions, nationalities and creeds,
but JoAnn and Meggie are my best friends,
and I know it will always stay that way.
Thank you ladies
for always being there for me.
David aka Dodgy Dave
9 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Ballad Of ‘Memo’ Roy
For JoAnn
Who in conversation inspired this little ditty.
This is the Ballad of ‘Memo’ Roy
the fastest memos in the world.
Roy writes a memo every minute
just to remind himself what to do.
He even writes one to tell himself
he must visit the loo.
It all started many years ago
when the doctor told Roy
he was suffering from
short-term memory loss.
Now he writes memos
to remind himself to write a memo
for everything he must do.
He writes one late at night
to remind him
to get up in the morning
and one in the morning
to remind him to go to bed at night.
It is estimated he writes
quite a few hundred memos everyday.
His house is filed with little bits
of yellow paper stuck up here and there.
He couldn’t watch TV
even if he wanted to.
There are s many memos on it
you can’t see the screen.
One day his pen ran out
and no memos he could write.
He couldn’t even write a memo
to remind himself to buy a pen.
Then he found a pencil
and shouted that will do.
Now he is able to write memos to himself
to tell himself what to do.
As far as I know,
he hasn’t written a memo
to remind himself to sharpen
the pencil once and a while.
28 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Adopted Sisters
This goes out to my two adopted sisters
JoAnn and Meggie
I love you both
I have two adopted sisters
and write with both of them.
One lives in America
and the other in the Philippines.
I worry about them all the time
like a big brother would do.
I talk to both whenever I can.
The difficulty I have
is the time difference
between us all.
One is five hours behind my time
and the other is seven hours ahead.
I have even known them
to be online at the same time
and I have had to talk
to both at the same time.
My fingers were working
overtime that night.
The sad part of my story is
that I have a real sister
who never talks to me,
but my adopted sisters
are more I feel like my family.
Although I have never met them,
I feel I know both of them so well.
They are always there for me
whenever I am down
as I am there for the both of them,
my lovely adopted sisters
Meggie and JoAnn.
12 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Three Hearts
For JoAnn and Meggie
My adopted sisters and partners in poems
When you take partners
in whatever you do,
they become extra close,
becoming an extended family.
They bring an inner joy
that is sometimes hard to find.
They share a special place
deep within your heart.
If you write together
as I do with my adopted sisters,
you like to compliment each other
with every line you write.
A special bond is formed,
not only with the friendship
that grows on a daily basis.
You care about them
always trying to ensure
that they feel no hurt,
and if they do,
your arms are always there to comfort them.
My adopted sisters have that bond
deep within my heart
and we have become
three hearts beating as one.
Though we may live
thousands of miles away from each other,
I have become richer from their friendship.
There is one thing that I have promised myself to do,
that is to visit each of them
and give them a big, big hugs
that are well over do.
I love you Lil sis’s.
Love and hugs from your Big Bruv.
13 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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My PH Women Friends..A Tribute
You led my way into a brighter and less troubled day
Reading your lovely writes and comments each day
Giving me the courage to try and believe
To be strong and faith that will never wade
I am blessed to have found you not only in my dream
But in the real pages in my life, or so it seem
It was your kindness that made me a better person
Thank you for helping me to move on.
You will always have a special place here in my heart: ,
Karin Anderson, Sandra Fowler, Alison Cassidy, Ernestine Northover,
JoAnn McGrath, Maia Padua, Naidz Ladia, Sandra Martyres,
Tina Benedicto, Linda Farr, Linda Ori, Linda Winchell, Lynda Robson
Marilyn Lott, Theo Onken, Reshma Ramesh
Note: Don't worry, PH Boy friends, i will have another special tribute
for all of you.Luv ya (LOL)
poem by Meggie Gultiano
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You Bet It (Fun Poem 55)
For JoAnn who knows what I mean.
When you talk on messenger
you type so very fast
to keep the conversation flowing,
but there are occasions
when your typing falls short
of what it should be
and you end up with
a funny kind of message.
I was talking to a friend
and to answer a question I purposed
she wrote or was suppose
to write you bet it.
However, what was typed
wasn’t you bet it at all.
Instead it read you be tit.
We both looked at it
and started to laugh.
Another blooper
for the jam pot that night.
23 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Confined Spaces
I tend to write and I don’t know why
in confined spaces wherever I am.
My desk is filled with odds and sods
giving no more than
about six inches to write within.
Sometimes I write parked in my car
sitting behind the steering wheel.
Its not that I write better
sitting like a shrivelled up prune,
it is just that they are the only spaces
I can get my writing down.
In a confined space somewhere.
31 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Bond Of Friendship
For JoAnn and Meggie
Sometimes friends think
they’ve dragged you down,
when it isn’t that way at all.
As you talk to them on lonely nights,
they light a candle in your heart to show you the way.
That isn’t dragging you down,
but picking you up from the place to which you fell.
These friends mean so much to you
that you miss them when they are not there.
Their bond of friendship
is like the bond of marriage
that ties one another together
through thick and thin.
You feel sad when they think they’ve hurt you.
So, I’m telling you my friends
and the entire world to see.
There is nothing you can do
to ever hurt me the way you think you do.
There is only one way
you could ever hurt me
and that is saying a few simple words
like you don’t want to be
my friend anymore.
8 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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There are authors who write to communicate, there are authors who write to impress themselves.
quote by Mark S. Hertzog
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heroes and heroines
A woman cannot write
How a woman looks
As a man does about her.
A man cannot write
How a woman feels
As a woman does about her.
Authors’ heroines and
Authoresses’ heroes
Suffer at their treatments.
06.11.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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When authors who write literary fiction begin to write screenplays, everybody assumes that's the end. Here's another who's never going to write well again.
quote by Richard Russo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Write And Write And Write And Write
I WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE
I write and write and write and write
I write and write and write and write
I write.
And all this writing and all these words and all I am
Forever unheard.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Wish You Were Here
Wish you were here with me
To comfort and embrace me
On this special day
I wanted to be with you
To sit beside you
To be touched by your Healing Hands
If this is what you want of me
A life of hope, faith and anxiety
Then i would gladly wait that blessed day.
I know in your home i will be happy
There will be singing of praises forever
And this special day, i wish you were here
Posted: on my birthday..Oct.11,2008
poem by Meggie Gultiano
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What I want to write
What I want to write
I could not write.
I could not write
Tiger tiger cat cat
And the difference they behaved.
I could not write
The sky and its fall
On our forehead.
What I want to write
I could not write.
I write how I loved
How flower blosom
How fruit ripe
How stream flow.
I could not know
How I write
And I write
What I want to write
I could not write.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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A Poem Explodes In This Poets Mind
flying flocks travel in flight,
another faulkner puts down
his shovel, and writes, writes
and writes.
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me the muddled spirits,
and write your own words
with your own blood.
flying flocks travel in flight,
sextan turns up with her friend
plath, and they both write, write,
and write with their own blood.
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me these muddled spirits,
and write with your own blood.
Flying flocks travel in flight, and
a poem explodes in this poets mind,
and i write, and write, and write,
and on this white paper, my blood.
poem by David Gerardino
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Swim Submerged
FLYING flocks travel in flight,
another faulkner puts down his
shovel, and writes, writes, and
writes,
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me muddled spirits,
and write the words with your
own red blood,
FLYING flocks travel in flight,
sextan turns up, with her freind
plath, and they both begine to
write, write, and write, yippee,
says the words, for these words
will end up in a paper back book.
poem by David Gerardino
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Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Frightened
Everyone gets frightened
at some point in their lives.
My greatest fear
may sound strange to anyone here.
I get frightened of my popularity,
don’t think I don’t enjoy it
because I do that is a fact.
I get a twinge of guilt
when I see someone
who just cannot succeed.
I know only too well
the sorrow they go through.
My friend JoAnn told me
her inspiration was on the wane.
To help her out I suggested
we write some together.
I mention the idea to our friend Meggie.
She asked if she could join us,
I said yes of course.
Now I’ve got more popular
it frightens me even more.
I’ve taken to self-mocking
to try and lower people’s opinion of me.
The problem is now
they dispute it all the time.
I think one of the reasons
why I get frightened is
all my life I’ve been at the back of the class
and now I’m near the front row
and that’s the scary bit.
I may joke about it,
but it’s no joke to me.
Getting more and more popular
scares the hell out of me.
1 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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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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