En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Debateable Point

I did something
I said I would never do.
I looked back at the first pieces
of writing that I ever wrote.
They were supposed to be
lyrics for songs.
As I read through them
I wondered what I was thinking of then.
They were so terrible,
but they were the first things
I ever wrote.
I was pretty naïve then
and had a lot to learn.
Whether or not I have learnt anything
is a debateable point.

9 April 2008

poem by David Harris
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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A Linda Song

Music: Barry Manilow
Lyrics: Enoch Anderson
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He never wrote a song for Linda
He wrote as though he lived alone
He wrote of dreams that end
And of sad brave men
Inventing worlds he'd never known
But he never wrote a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
Loved him back to life
When his luck ran low
But he never wrote a Linda song
He nearly broke his heart at writing
Linda kept him from despair
Standin' by his side
through the hungry days
But he hardly seemed to see her there
And he never wrote a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
The one real thing in his crazy world
And he never wrote a Linda song.
When the bills piled up
He couldn't pay
He couldn't dream no more
So he hitched a ride and he rode away
And he left a note for Linda by the door
By the door
When times got rough he'd phone her
Once or twice she took the call
Then she changed her number and she turned her head
And Linda never looked back at all
He'll never write a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
All he knows is no one understands
And he never wrote a Linda song
No he never wrote a Linda song

song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letters To No One

I wrote a letter to my love
and never received a reply.
I've often wondered why that was.
Did he up and die?

Yes, he did. It's a fact.
And because I didn't know
I kept writing letters
and kept feeling low.

These letters went to no one.
So no one wrote to me.
I've often wondered if all my words
would come back home to me?

And then one day they all came back.
'Undeliverable'
is what they said.
I guess my lover moved away
or maybe he was dead.

And so I stopped my letters.
I never wrote again.
I still have all those letters,
unopened and unread.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Learning How To Get It Right

When I started writing,
I was a young eighteen
and I can still remember
the first piece I ever wrote.
To say it was terrible
is an understatement to say the least,
but I am not ashamed I wrote it
no matter how bad it was.
It’s a part of my history now,
the beginning point
for everything I have achieved,
the first step that I took.
It was a bit clumber some
as all first steps usually are,
unless you are a genius
of which I am clearly not.
They say the more you practice,
the better you are going to get.
I have been practicing
for forty years now
and I am still not perfect yet.
Nor do I think I will ever be,
for if I thought I was perfect
I would give up completely.
I am still learning
and I’ll remain that way
until the day I eventually die.
So, if you see mistakes in my work
you’ll understand the reason why,
I am still learning
on how to get it right.

19 July 2008

poem by David Harris
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She Sang the Songs...

She sang the songs... he wrote the words;
sweet words of love, in perfect time
to her style... soft words of love;
the lyrics to her Country songs
of love and heartbreak, hope and sadness;
life spread out in flawless rhyme,
but they were really hopes, and dreams
of his...
he knew this, all along.

She wrote songs as well; and, when he read them...
his heart missed a beat;
Beneath the stave, below the notes...
her lyrics, in her childlike hand;
soft words of love, he longed to hear
her say to him...
all whispered, sweet;
now, here they were, before his eyes...
but, accident...
or gently planned?

Were they whispers of her heart...
or just composed from out her head?
he had no way of knowing,
but... in either case, her words were sweet;
a silky glide across the page...
a wistful ballad... hearts that bled;
he sadly smiled, yes... his heart bled as well,
but,
to a different beat.

She sang the songs... he wrote the words,
words from his heart... soft, yet intense;
Perhaps, one day, she'd see
they were for her...
and, not her audience.

poem by Dream Weaver
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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
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The Note You Never Wrote

Later on, the story goes,
A bottle floated out to sea.
After days, when it had found the perfect spot,
It opened up,
And I read the note that you never wrote to me
After all, Im sure you know,
The mayor of baltimore is here.
After days now he can finally appear,
Now at last hes here,
But he never is gonna get my vote,
cause he never is gonna get a quote
From the little note
That you never wrote to me.
Further on, along the line,
I was arrested on the shore,
Holding papers of governments galore.
I was taken in,
But I read the note that you never wrote.
Yes, I read the note that you never wrote.
Oh, I read the note that you never wrote to me.
To me.
To me.
To me.

song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wrote Nothing Today

I WROTE NOTHING TODAY

I wrote nothing today
I did not do my work
I played around
I read what I wanted
I searched the Internet for nonsense
I did not face the work and reality I have
I wrote nothing today
I did nothing today
I am to blame
The world will fall apart
The sky will never be blue again
The night will go on forever
No birds will sing and no rivers will flow
All the trees will lose their green-

I did nothing today
It's all over
I did nothing today and I am nothing and I will forever be nothing
And I am ashamed of being nothing and guilty for being nothing
And still I am nothing
And writing this does not make me something either
Because it is not the work I am supposed to do
Which I am still escaping
What a loser I am
What a failure-

After this tirade
Will I at last have the courage to begin the real work now?

poem by Shalom Freedman
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It is not half cooked

Having heard and read, I wrote.
Having seen and felt, I wrote.
I wrote of love and romance
From experience and perception.
As I wrote I was soothed.
Don’t scorn my writings as half cooked.
10.10.2007

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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No More

I wrote my name on the seashore
The waves came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the air
The wind came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the sky
The clouds came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the puddles
The sun came and it was no more
i wrote my name in the dust
The rain came and it was no more
One day Gabriel wrote my name
and alas! i was no more

poem by Humna Hamid
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Freedom of writing dying

I wrote about one and was taken to court.
I wrote about a sect and was taken to task.
I wrote about a religion and was beaten.
What else to write to serve the purpose
Other than the glory of love and war
And flattering the people in the helm?
03.02.2008

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Writing A Valentine Comp Poem

Many years ago, I wrote a Valentine poem (the year was 1992)
for a competition on the local radio.
The first one I wrote seemed to me OK,
and then my wife told me that it was too long.
Out came the pen and paper
and I sat down and wrote another one.
I sent it in and lo and behold
it was read out on the radio
and neither of us heard it.
We did not even know
that it had been aired
until a box of heart shaped chocolates
came landing on our door.
Being such a kind person,
I’m going to share the poems with you.
They are called appropriately
Valentine Comp Poem 1 and 2.
Read and enjoy what this silly sod
would do to win a box of chocolates
for his love so true.

31 January 2008

poem by David Harris
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Horoscope

At one time, I used to read
my horoscope every day,
just to see what the stars
had in store for me.
It always seemed that
they were writing
about someone who wasn’t me.
The things they said were going to happen
and the dates they gave all went by,
but nothing ever happened.
They even asked those who wrote it,
did we get it right?
It made me wonder if they knew
what they were doing
or was it just one big sham.
I got tired of reading them
and now only do it for a laugh,
because whatever they say
is never going to come true.
Well, at least not for me.
Therefore, if you read your horoscope
and read religiously
just take it with a pinch of salt
is the advice I give to thee.
No one can predict
what will happen just to you.
Now I just like the mystery
that each new day brings
and it is much more fun that way.

19 January 2008

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Criticized

You always see the bad in me
You always judge before You're thinking
I always do my best to please
I am a servant of Your desires
Please listen to this song that I have wrote for You my friend
Hope that You like the lyrics that I've wrote for You this time, this time
People do always criticize
Things they do not understand
I've got a message to all of You
Please listen careful what You should do now
Please listen to this song that I have wrote for You my friend
Hope that You like the lyrics that I've wrote for You this time, this time
I was raised so heavenly
My Brothers stood beside of me
If You decide to follow me
There is Kingdom for You to see
You always see the bad in me
You always judge before You're thinking
I always do my best to please
I am a servant of Your desires
Please listen to this song that I have wrote for You my friend
Hope that You like the lyrics that I've wrote for You this time, this time
I was raised so heavenly
My Brothers stood beside of me
If You decide to follow me
There is Kingdom for You to see
I was raised so heavenly
My Brothers stood beside of me
If You decide to follow me
There is Kingdom for You to see
I was raised so heavenly
My Brothers stood beside of me
If You decide to follow me
There is Kingdom for You to see
My friend

song performed by by Zonata
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All She Wrote

Something's wrong with your mind
It won't think of me anymore
Was it all a waste of time
Tell me why was I such a chore
Broken glass lies empty
Cut my voice so I can't say
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Lying here in your bed
The one that you liked to do it in
Pieces of long brown hair
Are all over it and still in my brain
I can't explain
What it's like not knowing if I'll ever cross your mind
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Sleep through the day
Fight with the night
Seven a.m. and the tv is white
Covered in snow
I never knew that hell could get so cold
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Something's wrong with your mind
It won't think of me anymore
Was it all a waste of time

song performed by by Default
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Would Like It Better If

If I wrote to be liked,
I would not be read.
And I do like that some read,
What I write!
But I would like it better,
If I was fed...
By what it is I've said that is written...
And read by those who read what I wrote!
Finding a nibble to afford,
Liked And nourishes...
To feed the reader something read,
Coming from this writer's head!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Old Blue Chair

There's a blue rockin' chair
Sittin' in the sand
Weathered by the storms
And well-oiled hands
It sways back and forth
With the help of the winds
And seems to always be there like an old trusted friend
I've read a lot of books
Wrote a few songs
Looked at my life where it's goin' where it's gone
I've seen the world through a bus winshield
But nothing compares
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it when I sit in that Old Blue Chair
From that chair I've caught
A few fish and some rays
And I've watched boats sail
In and out of cinnamon bays
I let go of a lover
That took a piece of my heart
Prayed many times for forgiveness
And a brand new start
I've read a lot of books
Wrote a few songs
Looked at my life where it's goin' where it's gone
I've seen the world trough a bus winshield
But nothing compares
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it when I sit in that Old Blue Chair
That chair was my bead one new year's night
When I passed out from too much
Malibu and Dye
And I woke up to a hundred mosquito bites I swear
Got em' all sittin' right there in that Old Blue Chair
There's a blue rockin' chair
Sittin' in the sands
Weathered by the storms
And well-oiled hands

song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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A Lesson On Poetry From My Five Year Old

I sat in bed one morning
With a note pad on my knee
When in wondered my Charlie
And he snuggled up to me

He said, 'You writing poems?
We are learning that at school
I know a lot about them'
I said, 'Really mate, how cool'

He stared at me intently
As he stretched out on the bed
His legs crossed at the ankle
And a hand propped up his head

After I had sorted through
And read back what I'd penned
He slid off of the bed
And peered up at me from the end

He stayed there quite transfixed
It kinda put me off my flow
I looked over my glasses
But he wasn't gonna go!

'Mum' he said ' has it got all
the things a poem ought
It should include good rhyme and rhythm
That's what I've been taught

Does it have some repetition
And patterns that are clear
What theme have you gone for? '
I smiled from ear to ear.

My Charlie, you've remembered well
It's Impressive, what you know
What else have you been taught then?
His face with pride did glow!

He ummed and arghed a little bit
To recall all he could
'Oh yeah, you need some 'wow words' too
They'll make it really good! '

I nodded with an 'oh I see,
Well thanks for all your tips'
He came and leant his head on mine
And kissed me on the lips

He left me to my writing
How adorable he'd been
And I put my first idea aside
And wrote one about him!

poem by Stevie Taite
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Cry For A Bad Man

CRY FOR THE BAD MAN
He walks so tall to be so small,
I've never net a man stranger.
Lives his life for the dollar sign
and to deal with him is dang'rous.
Well, he knocked me down but I'm on my feet,
now I'm so much wiser.
I'd rather quit that to go back home,
than to deal with the money miser.
Ah oo, let's cry for the bad man.
Ah oo, I sing a song for the bad man.
Well, you treat me right, baby, I'll treat you right,
that's the way it's supposed to be
but I put my faith down in my friend
and he almost put an end to me.
Well, I work seven days a week,
eight when I'm able.
When you take my money from me
you take food from my momma's table.
Ah oo, let's cry for the bad man.
Ah oo, I wrote a song for the bad man.
Ah oo, let's cry for the bad man.
Ah oo, I wrote a song for the bad man.
Well, you treat me right, baby, I'll treat you right,
that's the way it's supposed to be
but I put my faith down in my friend
and he almost put an end to me.
Well, when you take my money, baby,
when you hurt my family
it's like walkin' through the swamps with no shoes
and step on a snake, it's deadly.
Ah oo, let's cry for the bad man.
Ah oo, I wrote a song for the bad man.
Ah oo, let's cry for the bad man.
Ah oo, I wrote a song for the bad man.
- Gary Rossington, Allen Collins & Ronnie Van Zant

song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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