Early Works - Stories
Across the paper, the pen trips
squiggles and curves shaping words
characters good and bad
expressions of happiness and sad
puppets on a clean page
toil the hour on their stage
groomed for stardom someday
through the mighty role they play
fighters every one of them
battling through the story line.
8 October 1980
poem by David Harris
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Related quotes
Words on paper
Words on paper
~
Just words on paper
Where a story is told
An emotion revealed
Or a love laid to rest
Where a dream begins
An ambition is spoken
Perhaps a whim of fancy
Takes charge of the pen
To write what is written
Letters forming words
Shapley and beautiful
Expressions of a soul
Or a mind at play
There across the page
Words on paper
Written to have their say
poem by Matthew Holloway
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And then the paper is dirty
You start with a clean sheet of paper
Write some words, scribble, draw some lines
Some curves, sharp lines, tangent to bold
Lines, and rough sketches of faces and
Bodies, thin lines that get crooked from
End to end of this limited space,
You doodle, you get wild with so
Many lines unimaginable, senseless,
The paper finally looks dirty,
And you do not like it, you crumple
It and throw it in a waste basket,
You get another clean sheet,
And this time, you think what is
It really that you want to make
Out of this new clean sheet of paper.
You think, you ponder, and you need
More time this time not to waste
This clean, glossy sheet of paper.
I think you are doing well with your life.
You see you are supposed to be careful
Every word is delicate and every paper
Is actually accounted.
Never mind guilt, set it aside for a while.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early Works - Impressions
Between the words, I read
a picture rises,
dark clouds and sunshine,
stormy seas and gentle fields,
lives of hardship and rising glory,
men and women with weather beaten faces.
Expressions of happiness and sorrow
from Monday’s bleakness to Sunday’s rest.
The world revolves,
a man with no station,
a woman with no pride.
The fallen hero
hears the echoing silence
where voices were once raised
impressions from a pen.
6 October 1980
poem by David Harris
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I Know Their Name
I know their name. I saw their picture in the paper yesterday
I know their name. I saw the story that was written on the page
I know their name. I used to play with them they lived a block away
I know their name. Their father used to drive a light blue chevrolet
I know their name. I used to play with them I swear I know their name.
I know their name. I used to play with them I swear I know their
I know their name. I know their name. I know their name.
I know their name.
I know their name. I saw their picture in the paper yesterday
I know their name. I saw the story that was written on the page
I know their name. They had a dog that used to answer to Barney
I know their name. I used to play with them they lived a block away
I know their name. I used to play with them I swear I know their name.
I know their name. I used to play with them I swear I know their
I know their name. I know their name. I know their name.
I know their name.
(La guitar)
I know their name. I used to play with them I swear I know their name.
I know their name. I used to play with them I swear I know their
I know their name. I know their name. I know their name.
I know their name.
I say. I know. I know
I know their name. I know. I know
I know their name. I know. I know
I know their name. I know. I know (their name)
I say:
I I I I I I I know their name. I know. I know. I know their name.
I I I I I I I know their name. I know. I know. I know their name.
I say. I know. I know
I know their name. I know. I know
I know their name. I know. I know
I know their name. I know. I know (their name)
I know their name.
I know their name.
I know their name
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cowardice Stand
It is not good to have cowardice stand
Not all foes can be called future friend
They must be shown their right place
As life is just open for all to win the race
No one decides our destiny
It may be claimed by many
But keep them at arm’s length
Show them your resolve and real strength
How can they be right?
When you have will power to fight
You can sail through any storm
When wind is in favor and sun very warm
Age may play its role and so the nature
We have the key and have to make it sure
What can be fate tomorrow is anybody’s guess
Get prepared for it and express readiness in any case
The idea must be conceived from the very start
This is one of the beautiful gift or art
Every individual is gifted with it by almighty
Only it must be shown with confidence and ability
There has to be no letting in at any stage
New words are to be written on every page
Each page must speak of its own story
There is no scope to feel later on sorry
Confirm that you are individual
Your approach may be casual
But you are not lost soul
You might have committed fowl
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The play-writes curse
The play-writes curse
~
Give me a stage
and the world to write
give me characters
to fit my plot line
give me time and money
to assemble my script
that I may play with ideas
and work what fits
give me the option
for a sudden plot twist
give me set designers
who understand my mind
and actors to follow
whatever my command
give me wine and ink
that I may drink them both
in all my madness
give me your hope
give me this and a stage
that I may write you a play
but please I beg of you
before you give me anything
give me the opening line
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Bookworm
This alien land is made of paper
Its pages stay firmly stuck together
Until this foreign creature slides them apart
She ruins their land like she has no heart
In these pages there are symbols
For the educated, they are tools
At a fast pace, the creature drinks them down
It was amazing that she didn’t drown
The symbols tell a story, only the creature knows
In them she escapes all of her foes
It is joyful to roll in the words
To fly through them just like birds
She squiggles on her stomach,
The world only sees her back
She enjoys being so low down
The story will never make her frown
In the narrative she worms
In its pleasure she squirms
In the fiction words she’s lain
The bookworm is back again
poem by Lenore Lee
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The grooming is the beauty.
A well groomed ass
Is nicer than a neglected horse
A well groomed lass,
regardless of her figure,
looks lustrous even to the elite.
Give a girl a good education
In good background.
She will have been a groomed mare.
02.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Dance, My Little Puppets
dance, my little puppets
dance for me
dance, my little puppets
and you shall see
dance, my little puppets
the truth you seek
dance, my little puppets
the truth i will speak
dance, my little puppets
set your soul free
dance, my little puppets
dance for me
dance, my little puppets
the truth you find
dance, my little puppets
do not hide
dance, my little puppets
dance for me
dance, my little puppets
truth is a lie, cant you see
dance, my little puppets
dance for me
dance, my little puppets
dance to see
dance, my little puppets
start to begin
dance, my little puppets
this is the end
poem by Sandy Nobody
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Nobodys Diary
If I wait for just a second more,
I know Ill forget what I came here for,
My head was so full of things to say,
But as I open my lips all my words slip away
And anyway,
I cant believe you want to turn the page,
And move your life onto another stage,
You can change the chapter you can change the book,
But the story remains the same if youd take a look.
(chorus)
For the times weve had I dont want to be - a page in your diary babe,
For the good, the bad I dont want to see - a page in your diary babe,
For the happy, the sad - I dont want to be another page in your diary.
Perhaps if I held you I could win again,
I could take your hands wed talk and maybe then -
That look in your eyes I always recognise,
Would tell me everything is gonna be fine,
Youre gonna be mine
For a long time...
(repeat above chorus)
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nobodys Diary
If I wait for just a second more,
I know Ill forget what I came here for,
My head was so full of things to say,
But as I open my lips all my words slip away
And anyway,
I cant believe you want to turn the page,
And move your life onto another stage,
You can change the chapter you can change the book,
But the story remains the same if youd take a look.
(chorus)
For the times weve had I dont want to be - a page in your diary babe,
For the good, the bad I dont want to see - a page in your diary babe,
For the happy, the sad - I dont want to be another page in your diary.
Perhaps if I held you I could win again,
I could take your hands wed talk and maybe then -
That look in your eyes I always recognise,
Would tell me everything is gonna be fine,
Youre gonna be mine
For a long time...
(repeat above chorus)
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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a tribute to the Absurd
Happiness is a ballpoint pen
Happiness is irrelevant
Happiness is talk
Life is running out of ink
Life is waterfalls and irrelevance!
and Godot
Life is waiting
Life is post-modernism
Loneliness is too much
ink
is happiness it is falling water it is
irrelevant life is
unsensical but musical
abusical defensible
Someday I will write about relevance
someday someday someday
point: waterfalling ball___ pen = someday ink
someday ink is my lonely happy outness
Rubbish Tip
At the rubbish tip they place their words
Just on the edge of
Surreal and absurd
A gold leafed edge
A lettered page
At teh rubbish tip
They stage
Their acts in
'THREE PARTS SCENE ONE'
Then you arrive
By stage door three
With a broken heart
All at sea
With the rythmn
Of the words
They left you to say
Can't see the wood for the trees today
At the rubbish dump
The hungry sit
Wide eyed
Death in their mouths
Waiting to eat
The bread of the words
The crumbs from a table
Of rotten verse
Yet still they come the blind and the dumb
Sit up and write
Recite it all night
Without a pause
Or space for 'applause'
READ THE PAPER!
It makes more sense to believe in
The tablod lies
Than live in a world of man made pretense
Take your tongue from your cheek
The fibre glass from your eye
BETTER NOT TO SAY A THING
DON'T TIP THE WORDS FROM YOUR MOUTH
TO THE PAGE...VOMIT BREACHED
just stay silent
Let the rain fall one more time
It's a sign of the times sell fast stories
Falling of dirty ink presses
distresses on paper
OUR DAILY BREAD SPOON FED!
ANGUS HAM STRINGS
poem by Yvette Smith
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We Are what We Are
As Shakespeare said that all men and women
Are acting out a play,
If we know it or not, this is our way.
We are all on a stage and play the game,
Do what is programmed into our brain.
Everyone have a different role, never that same.
However, we have the right to choose
Life or malediction, let it not confuse,
But don't forget whatever we are or what we do,
For the moment that is our place to learn,
And find out eventually who is who.
We are like cars running on the highway,
Neither is first, nor is last, they all have a goal
To start and arrive somewhere without delay.
Every living creature, including mankind
Files their own life story to remind
When the life & death, happiness & misery
Comes together for the education
Of someone's discovery.
Our bodies were created of many cells,
But the ruler is our brain
If we are in misery, that's what they gain.
If we learn the wisdom to find happiness,
So will our cells be healthy, happy and flawless.
poem by LaSoaphia QuXazs
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Outside In The Underground
violet skys
tear the end
fallin on
my knees again
outside in the underground
battling the rain
im walkin a straight line
stepped on all of the cracks this time
i dont care im not movin aside
forever
outside in the undergroud
battling the rain
outside in the underground
theres no way im headin in today
i raise my head into the sky again
and make my rain alone
ive never hoped, but i stopped searching
cuz the city told me so
it all comes down
down to me
oh ive got a hundred lives
oh ive got to get it right
oh who knows someday i might
oh (ive got to get it right)
outside in the undergroud
battling the rain
outside in the underground
theres no way im, oh no way
i raise my head into the sky again
and make my rain alone
ive never hoped, but i stopped searching
cuz the city told me
it all comes down
down to me
oh ive got a hundred lives
oh ive got to get it right
oh who knows someday i might
oh ive got to get it right
song performed by by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Unturned Page
Each morning we awake
to greet a brand new day.
Each night we go to bed
and the day just fades away.
Everyday in our lives
is like an unturned page
and we are merely puppets
on its enormous stage.
We are guided along paths,
shown the right way to go
as the unturned page get written on
from dawn t dusk
by someone’s guiding hand.
When they’ve finished writing,
we go to bed at night
and sleep until the morning light.
Then a new unturned page appears
waiting for us to travel on.
1 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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Blank Page
Blank page leave me be!
Blank page please stop taunting me,
reminding me of what I have failed to do.
Oh how I long to fill you,
to take up your very last line
with creative, riveting lyrics of mine.
Blank page stop harassing me!
I wish to show you my thoughts,
desires, emotions and all.
How difficult it is to answer your call.
Blank page how sweetly you whisper
tempting my pen to caress your paper.
I immaturely expect the verses to flow
then I realize that my thoughts are much too slow.
Blank page so often you defeat me
teasing and challenging until hours later
all that is left is the tiny dot
where my pen merely touched your paper.
poem by Shaqueena Celestin
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Drama of Life
Our life is a drama and the players are we
The stage is wherever we want our feet to be
But we can't always choose the best place in a stage
and choose the part we act, it is GOD who dictates
the kind of story line, the plot we have to take,
when to raise the curtain and when the play must end
poem by Pacific Hernandez
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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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I start with the story, almost in the old campfire sense, and the story leads to both the characters, which actors should best be cast in this story, and the language. The choice of words, more than anything else, creates the feeling that the story gives off.
quote by Donald E. Westlake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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