En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Notepad By My Bed

I keep a notepad
On the nightstand by my bed
To jot down thoughts
that late at night, fill my head

Thoughts that glide
into my brain
That if not captured quick
Slip away… down drowsy drain

A pad replete
With words and phrases
Caught before
I start to snore

Oft' make no sense
When viewed in daylight
As they so clearly
Did the night before

Still, as a writer should write
A little each day
E'en those words
That trip so lightly by night

And that is why, I suppose
Until the day I die
I'll keep a notepad
In which I'll write

On the nightstand
…By my bed…
Close upon
The reading light

poem by David Whalen
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The Mood

I'll simply be out shopping,
or just going for a run,
when words and phrases hit me,
and a poem has begun.

Sentences and lots of words,
go running through my mind,
and i know if i dont write them down,
my thoughts leave me behind.

So quick hand me some paper!
Just please give me that pen!
If i do not write this down soon,
the words will go again.

poem by Holly Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writer

Night Writer
Why not write now
No time can be righter
No one to tell you how

To live your life
Or design for you your lies
Does it suffice to have a wife
To tell you when it satisfies?

You've written before
Little at night, more by day
At night write more
You'll discover a way

To make stars into a sun
That will shine for you as gold
But gold is as good as gone
When you get to be this old

Poem writer
Up and write about modesty
It's what everyone talks about
That's you and your honesty
Who cares if the others doubt?

You came in time
But does time know who you are?
You have a claim on rhyme
But rhythm takes the measure by far

Into a new realm
Of words on words on words
They just overwhelm
Can't you hear what they've heard?

Maybe hearing loss
Is not the loss of hearing
Maybe it's that distant toss
When you hear the echo before the feeling

Now you're here and now
Now is the time's to write
Now's the time to fulfill every vow
Now's not the time to lose sight
Of what you might lose
If you don't write every night.

poem by Ragy Sandid
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Thoughts Whirling

The need to write
Get rid of these mixes mass of thought
What to write?
Yes, something is amiss!
Talking is not enough
Yet thoughts whirling in my head
Unaware of revelling in the words
Which flow from this pen
Still no words
Not sure what to write
Yet here it is
A whole massed mess of words
For all to read
Thought this medley of words
Brought some calmness
Shoulders more relaxed
Fragments of each thought
Clear as daylight
This muddled mass of thoughts
A verse created
By, a whirling mind

poem by Persian Khushi
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Thoughts Whirling

The need to write
Get rid of these mixes mass of thought
What to write?
Yes, something is amiss!
Talking is not enough
Yet thoughts whirling in my head
Unaware of revelling in the words
Which flow from this pen?
Still no words
Not sure what to write
Yet here it is
A whole massed mess of words
For all to read
Thought this medley of words
Brought some calmness
Shoulders more relaxed
Fragments of each thought
Clear as daylight
This muddled mass of thoughts
A verse created
By, a whirling mind

poem by Persian Khushi
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Faculty

Sometimes it seems so hard to work out the words,
and then again it seems not hard at all. Just write,
is as simple as that. There are times i can't seem to
work the words, other times the words come up
bubbling in my head with character and meaning.
At times i feel challenged by other writers, and i
begging to doubt my ability to work the words,
i simple read another writer and then i know i have
nothing to be worry about. I understand then that my
contest is with myself and not with other writers.
We all think about the same things, because once
in our life’s we all go through the same situations.
We all have the brain to create anything in our heads.
There’s nothing that i can't do if i focus and if i
don't focus; “you see” this word- focus is meaningful
in some ways, we need the focus, but in poetry we
need more the fantasy in our thoughts, the meaning
to our words, focusing can be important, but if your
head is not in the mood, there’s not going to be any
words bubbling up, even though you don’t need it so
much, because you can create a poem out of anything.
There’s one thing about writing, and reading poetry,
understanding the meaning behind the words.
Every word or phrase has a meaning behind, this is
where readers need to understand; for example-if i'm
drinking away my sorrows, it can mean, crying my
heart out, it can mean, i need to forget, it can mean,
a big hangover, it can mean, sleeping out in the porch,
it can mean, forgetting all you did last night; how many
things out of a phrase. Right know I would just like
to be in my cabin and sit right in front of the fire-place
with a bottle of wine and enjoy my pastoral life while
i write, amazing things.

poem by Elenushka Toledo
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One Nightstand

well it aint home
but itll have to do for a while
got a fold down bed
two windows on the parking lot
three plates in the kitchenette
a table and chair where i can eat
a little black-and-white tv
a shower stall and a bathroom sink
and one two-drawer nightsand
barely enough room to be a man
and on the nightstand
sits a photograph
of my wife and kids
reminding me of how good it was
and right now, how bad it is
beside it there's a coffe cup
where i keep my wedding ring and stuff
and some nights it still keeps me up
how i got where i am
funny how a man's life can be reduced
to one nightstand
on the fifth of last november
on a business trip in strangers
alone for the night
she said 'hi im angie
and im from boston
would you drink a beer with me
If i bought'em?
so i hit the hotel bar with her
figured,what would it hurt?
sittin' on the bed

song performed by by Trace Adkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Nightstand

well it aint home
but itll have to do for a while
got a fold down bed
two windows on the parking lot
three plates in the kitchenette
a table and chair where i can eat
a little black-and-white tv
a shower stall and a bathroom sink
and one two-drawer nightsand
barely enough room to be a man
and on the nightstand
sits a photograph
of my wife and kids
reminding me of how good it was
and right now, how bad it is
beside it there's a coffe cup
where i keep my wedding ring and stuff
and some nights it still keeps me up
how i got where i am
funny how a man's life can be reduced
to one nightstand
on the fifth of last november
on a business trip in strangers
alone for the night
she said 'hi im angie
and im from boston
would you drink a beer with me
If i bought'em?
so i hit the hotel bar with her
figured,what would it hurt?
sittin' on the bed

song performed by by Trace Adkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Writing for a plan

I write these words
To have my soul pour
The poverty of negativity harasses me
Daily lessons learned
As mistakes christening my thoughts
There is soo much fight left in me
But I feel like im empty with nothing left in me
I look to the world for sympathy
But im ignored in this life
And it feels like Im without light
How can I make my wrongs right?
How can I make it through another night
With night crippling my resting senses
In the day time Im senseless without rest
Nothing makes sense
So i dont expect you to understand
To show you whats coiling
In my head is my only plan

poem by Jaycee Wilkerson
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Being A Poet

I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.

Or when I’m out walking, or sat on a train,
Words and ideas, all rush round my brain.
Sometimes, ideas just appear in my head,
Or may be a result of something I’ve read.

At fellow passengers, on a train, I take a look;
Some chatter away, while others read a book.
But, me, I’m sat there, quietly composing verse;
With dozens of ideas, my creative mind bursts.

If I compose lines on my way into town,
I repeat them over, until I write them down;
If they are not written down straightaway,
Around my mind, other thoughts then play.

There are many things which inspire me to write,
Such as animals, the seasons, and the sky at night.
If I try to force ideas, they just do not flow;
The poem itself, I find, just will not grow.

I like to write on a layperson’s level;
In too much information, I do not revel.
Having chosen a decent subject or idea,
I then need to get my brain in to gear.

Of a subject, I like to consider all of the aspects,
But I keep my writing simple; not too complex.
To make a poem rhyme, words I may change,
But I only use words that are within my range.

In using unfamiliar words, I can see no point;
A nice poem, tricky words, can really disjoint.
Words, within my head, I keep batting around,
Until the perfect combination, is finally found.

With poetry, I really love the creative process,
But over time, I’ve become slightly obsessed.
Sometimes I find myself talking in rhyme;
That I am a poet, this must be a sure sign.

Of my finished poems, I often feel proud;
One day, I’ll be brave and read them aloud.
Into my swirling head, ideas continue to pop;
I love writing poetry and never want to stop!

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Sunday Morning Call

Here's another sunday morning call
Yer hear yer head-a-banging on the door
Slip your shoes on and then out you crawl
Into a day that couldn't give you more
But what for?

And in your head do you feel
What you're not supposed to feel
And You take what you want
But you won't get it for free
And You need more time
Cos your thoughts and words won't last forever more
But i'm not sure if it ever works out right
But it's ok. It's all right

When yer lonely and you start to hear
The little voices in your head at night
You will only sniff away the tears
So you can dance until the morning light
At what price?

And in your head do you feel
What you're not supposed to feel
And You take what you want
But you won't get it for free
And You need more time
Cos your thoughts and words won't last forever more
But I'm not sure if it ever works out right
But it's ok. It's all right

And in your head do you feel
What you're not supposed to feel
When you take what you want
But You don't get hope for free
And You need more time
Cos your thoughts and words won't last forever more
And I'm not sure if it'll ever

song performed by by Oasis from Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Written Word Rules!

At the idea of poetry, some people seem to scoff,
As they consider it is an art form only for toffs.
They may think that the concept of poetry is boring,
And that it will leave them fast asleep and snoring.
There are all types of poems: modern and classical.
There’s something for everyone: it’s not boring at all.
The lyrics of songs are poems as such;
They often rhyme together very much.
People like to sing along with their favourite songs,
So why does the concept of poetry feel so wrong?
I’ve only started writing poetry in the last few weeks,
And, I have to admit that I thought it was just for geeks.
But, now I can see, that whoever you are,
Everyone has the potential to go really far.

I have to admit, I much prefer
The written, to the spoken word.
At night, I lay awake tossing and turning in bed,
With random thoughts running through my head.
By my pillow, I keep a pen and note pad,
To jot down any thoughts, which I’ve had.
At the top of the page, my thoughts I jot,
And I always plan out a really rough plot.
I like to include words which have a nice ring.
Words, like these, into my poetry, I like to bring.
I continually go through the alphabet time after time,
Searching for useful words which, pretty much, rhyme.
In simple terms, my ideas, I always like to express;
Complicated and fancy words, my mind doesn’t posses.

I’m sat here, writing this poem, on a speeding train,
As thought after thought, floods into my brain.
I’m writing notes on a mini pocket timetable,
In any tiny blank space which is available.
In my handbag, I’ve got no pad, but I’ve got a pen;
My scribbled notes, I just hope I can comprehend.
I really must start carrying a notepad everywhere;
To forget all these thoughts I’ve had, I couldn’t bear.
When I’m thinking of ideas, I just can’t relax;
My mind seems to buzz to the absolute max.
I’m not far now from my final destination,
And the train is due to pull into the station.
On this subject, there’s not much more to be said,
So, I’m now putting this poem well and truly to bed.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Why I Write?

I write poems for myself and I write for the readers
I write for the masses and I write for the leaders
I write to imprint my thoughts in people's mind
I write to make the bad guys helpful and kind
I write to light up our path to Great God
I write for everyone home and abroad
I write to preserve values new and old
I write to make my ink precious like gold
I write for peace and I write for progress
I write to make the world a better place
All major issues I want to address
I write to see smile on God's face

poem by Asif Andalib
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The New Light Has Come From On My Jalousie Windows

the first thing i do in the morning is write my new poem
borne of the night
too weary to dream
but this poem keeps on stalking
always wanting to be written

write,
stare to space and let that stare linger for a while
like gathering some dust in air
or spraying the air with your shower of thoughts
speak
to yourself
like reminding yourself with words that have become too unfamiliar
because they are not spoken
words too get impatient and jealous
because of unuse
and furious too because of abuse
words too have lives of their own
and even feelings of their own
so you are telling me

be cautious be too patient and considerate
be compassionate
be strong
be happy be prayerful

i write the words again
on the positive side of things
the happier
hopeful categories

i open some shutters
slide some thoughts
inser my gaze and
spread some scrutinies

i am seeing a new light
from the jalousies

it is the soft morning light
and i really like it

i stand still and look
above this room
down to the things
below me

i see people moving
wearing the uniform
to their offices
they go

i almost forget,
it is a working day also for me.
the morning light has enticed me again,
i repeat, my friend, i still like it

here.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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80

the new light has come from on my jalousie windows

the first thing i do in the morning is write my new poem
borne of the night
too weary to dream
but this poem keeps on stalking
always wanting to be written

write,
stare to space and let that stare linger for a while
like gathering some dust in air
or spraying the air with your shower of thoughts
speak
to yourself
like reminding yourself with words that have become too unfamiliar
because they are not spoken
words too get impatient and jealous
because of unuse
and furious too because of abuse
words too have lives of their own
and even feelings of their own
so you are telling me

be cautious be too patient and considerate
be compassionate
be strong
be happy be prayerful

i write the words again
on the positive side of things
the happier
hopeful categories

i open some shutters
slide some thoughts
inser my gaze and
spread some scrutinies

i am seeing a new light
from the jalousies

it is the soft morning light
and i really like it

i stand still and look
above this room
down to the things
below me

i see people moving
wearing the uniform
to their offices
they go

i almost forget,
it is a working day also for me.
the morning light has enticed me again,
i repeat, my friend, i still like it

here.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Words Not Enough

I can sit and write and write,
sit and write all night.
And none of my words can convey to you
my feelings of delight.
For love is centered right in my heart
and inflames my sense of you.
And the pen and words are insufficient
for only expressions are in view.

For I'd gladly lay my pen aside
and let my fingers touch your hand.
And all of the writing I have done
could never be as grand.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Sad Words

Some forty odd years ago
when I first started to write
the words that came out
were always sad words.
Repressed feelings of my own,
who can ever tell?
Then the words became lighter and happier
when love came to me.
Now they have gone full circle
and sadness is all I seem to write.
The lighter and happier words have vanished
like a candle light extinguished in the night.
The sad words have travelled full circle
coming back to me
filling my pen with sorrow and tears
the way it used to be.
Love is still with me,
so I question what I write,
wondering if that candle
will ever be lit again at night
to guide back the happier words,
banishing the sad words forever out of sight.

28 March 2010

poem by David Harris
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A very bad day

It’s been a bad day
So dark words I’ll write
Of ill omens, bad thoughts
And the absence of light

Of the beat of dark wings
Of things that aren’t right
And of things
That go bump in the night

Maybe tomorrow
I can carry the fire
Perhaps tomorrow will be
Just a bit more bright

What made this day so
One has no need to know
It’s been a bad day
So dark words I’ll write

poem by David Whalen
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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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I Need to Write

I need to write a poem, but how shall I do it,

First of all shall I write standing up, or just sit;

Until I get comfortable, I won't be able to start,

All the words will be muddled up, and then it'll fall. Apart.

Now! I got it right, I will choose the title to write about,

No good getting frustrated, or even sit or pout;

Just need to relax, and then the words will come easy,

Cause if I try to hard, Then my stomach will feel queasy.

I know what sort of holiday would people like,

And as I start the poem, the hall clock did strike;

Oh! It is now is what I can do, write about the time passing,

And so I have the heading, the thoughts on paper lasting.

It's got colour, size, And description, and the taste of art,

It's come from my mind, emotions, and also from the heart;

It has vision, and thoughts about where I want to go,

Yes! I think it'll get some to agree, to me they'll show.

So if you have a problem to write a poem or story,

Just read this poem, as a help, it's a help from me;

Don't force the idea, or rush it through at all,

Just go have a cuppa, read an article or a friend call.

Eventually it'll come, the words will flow along,

You might even end up, turning it into a song;

Writing poems will be rewarding, just give a go,

And you might enjoy it, they may end up in a show.

poem by Margaret Haig
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