Old Environment
I used to think that this environ-
Ment talk was all a lot of guff;
Place mattered not with Keats and Byron
Stuff.
If I have thoughts that need disclosing,
Bright be the day or hung with gloom,
I'll write in Heaven or the composing-
Room.
Times are when with my nerves a-tingle,
Joyous and bright the songs I sing;
Though, gay, I can't dope out a single
Thing.
And yet, by way of illustration,
The gods my graying head annoint . . .
I wrote this piece at Inspiration
point.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Write The Songs
Ive been alive forever,
And I wrote the very first song.
I put the words and the melodies together,
I am music,
And I write the songs.
I write the songs that make the whole world sing.
I write the songs of love and special thing s.
I write the songs that make the young girls cry.
I write the songs, I write the songs.
My home lies deep within you,
And Ive got my own place in your sole.
Now, when I look out through your eyes,
Im youg again, even though Im very old.
Chorus
Oh my music makes you dance
And gives your spirit to take a chance,
And I wrote some rock n roll so you can move.
Music fills your heart,
Well, thats a real fine place to start.
Its from me its for you,
Its from you, its from me,
Its a world wide symphony.
Chorus
I am music, and I write the songs.
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pig's-Eye View Of Literature
The Lives and Times of John Keats,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, and
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron
Byron and Shelley and Keats
Were a trio of Lyrical treats.
The forehead of Shelley was cluttered with curls,
And Keats never was a descendant of earls,
And Byron walked out with a number of girls,
But it didn't impair the poetical feats
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley and Keats.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Writer's Drought
You've heard of a thing called writer's block and you've heard of writer's drought
But writers are never short of things on which they can write about
It's just at times their inspiration well does seem to run dry
And they cannot seem to pen a line though hard enough they try.
The writers drought it causes writers moments of self doubt
Till the words that seem locked in them eventually flow out
Through their pens to their notebooks their dry spells do not last
And on time lost out on penning words they seem to catch up fast.
Some writers in their writing drought cannot seem to feel inspired
To write even a single line they feel mentally tired
But when fresh inspiration comes to them much better stuff they do write
And feeling re-invigorated they sit and pen all night.
Most writers you will talk to of writers drought can tell
When there is no inspiration in their inspiration well
But when inspiration returns to them and their creative juices flow
They become much better writers and in self confidence grow.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Search Of Inspiration
searching the world for inspiration
searching books, music and nature too
a lot of effort gone into it, a lot of concentration
inspiration i think is hard to find
in the songs of birds, in the whistle of the wind
i search for inspiration, even a tiny little bit
when a baby laughed or when a woman grinned
i searched folr inspiration, guess it's harder to find
in the words of shelly, keats and shakespeare too
inspiration i searched and searched, no use
in 'gone with the wind'and 'the sound of music'
movies i searched for a bit of inspiration
'
without inspiration, what do i write
i wanna fill the pages with the poem that's right
i need to write a poem, i need inspiration
i wanna write a poem. wait a minute! ! , i just did! ! !
note: i never write poems for the sake of writing.......it comes from the heart......in reality...i dont need to search for inspiration much.....it comes when it needs to... :)
Copyright © 2009 by Sneha Murali
poem by Sneha Murali
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Number Three
Theres only two songs in me and I just wrote the third
Dont know where I got the inspiration or how I wrote the words
Spent my whole life just digging up my musics shallow grave
For the two songs in me and the third one I just made
A rich man once told me
Hey lifes a funny thing
A poor man once told me
That he cant afford to speak
Now Im in the middle like a bird without a beak cause
Theres just two songs in me and I just wrote the third
Dont know where I got the inspiration or how I wrote the words
Spent my whole life just digging up my musics shallow grave
For the two songs in me and the third one I just made
So I went to the president
And I asked old whats-his-name
Has he ever gotten writers block
Or something like the same
He just started talking
Like he was on tv
If theres just two songs in ya, boy
Whaddaya want from me?
So I bought myself some denim pants
And a silver guitar
But I politely told the ladies
Youll still have to call me sir
Because I have to keep my self-respect
Ill never be a star
Since theres just two songs in me
And this is number three
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Write
Inspired by thoughts!
Sometimes you bring them...
To join the ones I have sought!
Many times I sit,
With an emptiness I admit.
Without any thinking,
To disturb a peace...
My mind is in!
But when inspiration,
Comes to fascinate my attention...
I consider it a delight,
Composing something to write.
Like a bite that nourishes,
To satisfy...
A sustained appetite!
And share this inspiration...
To connect with others,
With similar insights.
Delivering what we do...
In a way that feels,
True to us and right!
And for me this is therapy...
A cost effective solution,
With a budget that is fixed...
And absolutely tight!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Happy Song...
Sing me no sad songs cause my hearts
been broken too many times and I've cried
myself asleep too many nights.
Sing me no sad songs cause they bring
back all the hurt and all the memories that
I'm tryin' to forget.
Sing me no sad songs cause I'm feelin'
low and those songs just keep me down.
They keep me from smiling or seein' the sun.
Sing me no sad songs, cause I'm tryin' to
raise myself up and lookin' for a feel
good song and a feel good smile.
Sing me no sad songs cause they chase away
all the stuff that's good in life. Those sad songs...
they always make my brown eyes blue and lock
the door on love and such.
Baby...sing me no sad songs, just hold me and
sing softly...the songs of love and the songs of hope.
If I live to be a hundred I never want to hear those
bad feelin' sad songs again.
* * *
Sing me no sad songs cause my hearts
been broken too many times and I've cried
myself asleep too many nights.
Sing me no sad songs cause they bring
back all the hurt and all the memories that
I'm tryin' to forget.
Sing me no sad songs cause I'm feelin'
low and those songs just keep me down.
They keep me from smiling or seein' the sun.
Sing me no sad songs, cause I'm tryin' to
raise myself up and lookin' for a feel
good song and a feel good smile.
Sing me no sad songs cause they chase away
all the stuff that's good in life. Those sad songs...
they always make my brown eyes blue and lock
the door on love and such.
Baby...sing me no sad songs, just hold me and
sing softly...the songs of love and the songs of hope.
If I live to be a hundred I never want to hear those
bad feelin' sad songs again.
Sing Me No Sad Songs
Sing me no sad songs cause my hearts
been broken too many times and I've cried
myself asleep too many nights.
Sing me no sad songs cause they bring
back all the hurt and all the memories that
I'm tryin' to forget.
Sing me no sad songs cause I'm feelin'
low and those songs just keep me down.
They keep me from smiling or seein' the sun.
Sing me no sad songs, cause I'm tryin' to
raise myself up and lookin' for a feel
good song and a feel good smile.
Sing me no sad songs cause they chase away
all the stuff that's good in life. Those sad songs...
they always make my brown eyes blue and lock
the door on love and such.
Baby...sing me no sad songs, just hold me and
sing softly...the songs of love and the songs of hope.
If I live to be a hundred I never want to hear those
bad feelin' sad songs again.
006-Sing Me No Sad Songs
Sing me no sad songs cause my hearts
been broken too many times and I've cried
myself asleep too many nights.
Sing me no sad songs cause they bring
back all the hurt and all the memories that
I'm tryin' to forget.
Sing me no sad songs cause I'm feelin'
low and those songs just keep me down.
They keep me from smiling or seein' the sun.
Sing me no sad songs, cause I'm tryin' to
raise myself up and lookin' for a feel
good song and a feel good smile.
Sing me no sad songs cause they chase away
all the stuff that's good in life. Those sad songs...
they always make my brown eyes blue and lock
the door on love and such.
Baby...sing me no sad songs, just hold me and
sing softly...the songs of love and the songs of hope.
If I live to be a hundred I never want to hear those
bad feelin' sad songs again.
poem by Waldon Pond Productions
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Argument Of His Book
THE ARGUMENT OF HIS BOOK
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers,
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.
I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes.
I write of youth, of love, and have access
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness.
I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece
Of balm, of oil, of spice, and ambergris.
I sing of Time's trans-shifting; and I write
How roses first came red, and lilies white.
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The court of Mab, and of the fairy king.
I write of Hell; I sing (and ever shall)
Of Heaven, and hope to have it after all.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Once Again I Write...
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
I write to save my sanity.
I write to ease my heart.
I write to cleanse my soul.
I write to feel alive.
I write to keep my mind strong and my thoughts clear.
I write my words of sorrow, despair, pain, and love, as well as words of wisdom.
I write so that one day someone will truly know me.
This paper, this pen is once again my inspiration.
It is the inspiration to what I see.
It is the inspiration to what I hear.
It is the inspiration to what I feel.
It is the inspiration to the art I create.
It is the inspiration to what I draw.
It is the inspiration to the love for my daughter.
It is the inspiration to the love for my husband.
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
Once again I write to say thank you my timeless friends.
Thank you for saving me time and time again.
poem by Sara Jo Andrews
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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
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Luv Your Stuff
(myles goodwyn)
Published by mfg sing sing music/socan - ascap
Everytime I get restless, I see my hand knockin on your door
And everytime Im in a fix baby, I start actin like I need you more
Well Ive been lookin for someone to talk to
And Ive been searchin for a better way
And Ive been runnin all over town, girl
Ive been lookin each and every way, yeah
But you got somethin special
And Im bein on the level with you
You got that thing that moves me, yeah
(great stuff, luv your stuff), mmm, I luv your stuff
(great stuff, luv your stuff), at five oclock in the morning
(great stuff, luv your stuff), still cant get enough
(great stuff, luv your stuff)
Livin like a fool in flames
You know that I been usin you, girl
And Im the one to blame
But babe, I got my cupboards all stocked and ready
What you get girl, is what you see
And youve been lookin inside my head now
And you got your arms wrapped around me, mmm
I got no thing for our candy
Its your lovin girl, that gets me down
You got that thing that moves me, yeah
(great stuff, luv your stuff), ooh, I luv your stuff
(great stuff, luv your stuff), send the bill in the morning
(great stuff, luv your stuff), I luv your stuff
(great stuff, luv your stuff), get busy
I got no sense of reason, I know I gotta make a deal
Its all comin down to somethin baby, its tellin me I got to get real, huh
I got my senses in a tuft, Im all mixed up, my temperatures starting to rise
And I cant seem to stay away from you, girl, I think its more than we realized, yeah
Wont you look what its doin
Its your lovin girl, that gets me down
You got that thing that moves me, yeah
(great stuff, luv your stuff), ooh, I luv your stuff
(great stuff, luv your stuff), Ill pay the price in the morning
(great stuff, luv your stuff), ooh, I luv your stuff
(great stuff, luv your stuff)
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Second Hand News
Written by lindsey buckingham.
I know theres nothing to say
Someone has taken my place
When times go bad
When times go rough
Wont you lay me down in tall grass
And let me do my stuff
I know I got nothin on you
I know theres nothing to do
When times go bad
And you cant get enough
Wont you lay me down in the tall grass
And let me do my stuff
One thing I think you should know
I aint gonna miss you when you go
Been down so long
Ive been tossed around enough
Couldnt you just
Let me go down and do my stuff
I know youre hopin to find
Someone whos gonna give you piece of mind
When times go bad
When times go rough
Wont you lay me down in tall grass
And let me do my stuff
Im just second hand news
Im just second hand news
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jeffrey Goes To Leicester Square
Bright city woman
Walking down leicester square everyday.
Gonna get a piece of my mind.
You think youre not a piece of my kind.
Evrywhere the people looking.
Why dont you get up and sing?
Bright city woman
Where did you learn all the things you say?
You listen to the newsmen on tv.
You may fool yourself but you dont fool me.
Ill see you in another place, another time.
You may be someones, but you wont be mine.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walk
You and I are out for a walk with the dog.
The night is as silent as a log.
The trees blow eerily in the wind.
The moon is as bright as ice.
Right now I feel the urge to take your hand.
Yuck my dog just ate a slug.
This gives me an excuse to ask you for a hug.
We walk by the houses that are so bright.
Its hard to think that they are a part of the night.
I try to stay close to you as we turn right.
Oh no my dog just saw a bunch of squirrels.
You hold his leash tight to keep the dog from going on his travels.
I feel like I could always listen to you talk.
All of this is what I love about this kind of walk.
Someone just wrote my joy on the road in chalk.
If only you knew how much this walk ment.
I would like to walk with you until the world ran out of cement.
We decided though to walk 4 miles to the end of the pavement.
All The Poems Remain Written Where They Once Never Were
ALL THE POEMS REMAIN WRITTEN WHERE THEY ONCE NEVER WERE
All the poems remain written where they once never were
The grass and the skies of Whitman form lines in the mind of Baudelaire
The trees and dark cities of the distance form single sounds in the heart of the poet who cares
Night is more than darkness and day more than an early setting out
Each thing influences the other and calls back its own origins and end
We are going somewhere we will never know whether we write eternal lines or not
Over everywhere can be heard in the morning light the selfsame sound that through the heart of Ruth burned the alien corn
Keats is not dead, and Borges is not dead and Kafka is not dead and Wordsworth and all those who wrote great lines are not dead
Poetry is the last first eternity of the living word
And those who can hear the sounds of others greater than themselves in their own lines know
We are all writing down this last poem for ourselves and no one else
Though as we go to pray each morning the minyan tells us secretly
All our prayers together are more than any single poem can be alone
In the grey long distance where no one hears any poem at all
God writes and rewrites for us all the book of the stars in which dread is no longer a name
And beauty bright bright beauty is heard and reechoed as more than we will ever be
God is the only Poetry in the End
God is the Only One who never will be dead..
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A matterof belief
Bob Adamson an ordinary guy,
woke suddenly one night and wondered why.
He saw or thought he saw within his room
a radiant figure lighting up the gloom.
Enrapt in thought composing a report.
A question sprang to Bob’s lips quite unsought.
To satisfy his curiosity
he summoned up all of his bravery
and to being he made bold to ask.
What is that you write what is your task.
The being spoke without a wasted word
I write the names of those who love the Lord.
Bob said I will not figure on your list
because you see I am an atheist..
The angel paused before he wrote again.
Your god has granted free will to all men.
Each man is entitled to his own view,
it matters not your God believes in you.
14-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Cousin In Milwaukee
Once I visited my cousin, in milwaukee, usa
She got boyfriends by the dozen, when she sang in a lowdown way
She was a positive sensation
The songs that she sang would never miss
My cousin was my inspiration
Thats how I got like this
I got a cousin in milwaukee
Shes got a voice so squawky
And though shes tall and kind of gawky
Oh, how she gets the men
Her singing isnt operatic
Its got a lot of static
What makes your heart get acrobatic
Nine times out of ten
When she sings hot, you cant be solemn
It sends the shivers up and down your spinal column
When she sings blue, the men shout, what stuff!
That baby is hot stuff
So if you like the way I sing songs,
If you think that Im a wow
You can thank my squawky cousin from milwaukee
Because she taught me how
(instrumental bridge)
When she sings hot, you cant be solemn
It sends the shivers up and down your spinal column
When she sings blue, the men shout, what stuff!
That baby is hot stuff
So if you like the way I sing songs,
If you think that Im a wow
You can thank my squawky cousin from milwaukee
Because she taught me how
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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