To Myrtilla
Twelve fleeting years ago my Myrt,
(Ehu fugaces! maybe more)
I wrote of the directoire skirt
You wore.
Ten years ago, Myrtilla mine,
The hobble skirt engaged my pen.
That was, I calculate, in Nine-
Teen Ten.
The polo coat, the feathered lid,
The phony furs of yesterfall,
The current shoe--I tried to kid
Them all.
Vain every vitriolic bit,
Silly all my sulphuric song.
Rube Goldberg said a bookful; it
'S all wrong.
Bitter the words I used to fling
But you, despite my angriest Note,
Were never swayed by anything
I wrote.
So I surrender. I am beat.
And, though the admission rather girds,
In any garb you're just to sweet
For words.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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An Ultimatum To Myrtilla
Ah, Myrtilla mine, you said-
And your tone was earnest, very-
You would never deck your head
With this vernal millinery.
Myrt, to mince no words, you lied;
Oh, that I should live to know it!
You that are my nearly-bride;
I that am your nearly-poet!
For I saw the awful lid
You had on at 10 this morning;
Myrt, it was a merrywid,
Spite of my decisive warning.
Still, I can forgive you that;
Though the thing look ne'er so silly;
I will overlook the hat
If you promise this, Myrtillie:
Wear your lacebelows and fluffs;
Wear the awfullest creations-
But-omit the stylish puffs
And the vogueish transformations.
Myrt, if you inflate your hair
I shall-well-excoriate you,
And, I positively swear,
Loathe, despise, detest, and hate you.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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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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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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To Die In Vain
When they lie me in my grave
Will I had done a lot of living
Or will the people just look and say
That I had done a lot of grieving.
And on my tomb what will be wrote
Will it just be a name,
With words that many had spoke
Saying that I had died in vain.
Through a graveyard as I stroll
I read many a lonesome name
That's all I see that's all that is wrote
I guess too, they died in vain.
No living for them had they done
No feats of greatness have they achieved
So now they are hid beneath the sun
As though they never had lived.
A name on marble a heart with no soul
It equals to about the same
For one does die, the other survives
And they both just lived in vain.
A tarnished tomb I do see
Forgotten by the years gone by
So beside it I will kneel and pray
For is that how I will die.
Then the graveyard I do leave
Mournful, bitter and shamed
Now no longer will I sit and grieve
For I WILL NOT! , die in vain.
So when they lay me in the ground
I now know what the people will say
They all will make a joyful sound
While saying, I lived and enjoyed everyday.
poem by Randy McClave
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The Pink Carnation
I may walk until I’m fainting, I may write until I’m blinded,
I might drink until my back teeth are afloat,
But I can’t forget my ruin and the happy days behind it,
When I wore a pink carnation in my coat.
Oh, I thought that time could conquer, and I thought my heart would harden,
But it sends a sudden lump into my throat,
When I think of what I have been, and the cottage and the garden,
When I wore a pink carnation in my coat.
God forgive you, girl, and bless you! Let no line of mine distress you –
I am sorry for the bitter lines I wrote;
But remember, and think kindly, for we met and married blindly,
When I wore a pink carnation in my coat.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Your Name
Its the thing that makes the frown,
Turn upside down.
Its the thing that I could say,
Over and over again,
And the sound still be so sweet,
The words that make,
My eyelashes flicker, and my heat beat faster,
Awe... everything is O.K.
Yes your mmm name...
The one I will never tell PH.
So I wrote your name with smoke,
But the wind just blew it away.
Then I wrote your name,
With charcoal on a rock,
But the ocean washed it away.
I just wrote your name in my heart,
And there it will stay
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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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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Tears Of Blood: The Song (I'm not super depressed I wrote this to scare my friend but its deep)
Words are probably the strangest weapon
They kill more cruelly than a metallic gun
Sometimes we don't even know
Cause the wounds don't show
But the pain is there
Because it hurts when you don't care
The bleeding from your words is internal
The sting of their venom.... eternal
So this is the song I wrote for you
Can you hear me scream it?
This song's from my heart so I'll hit
Every note and pitch, and you can sing along too!
Because these are my tears of blood, can't you see?
Now this IS me
Because I'm broken
Because I'm bleeding out invisible blood
I'd rather it just end
No 'To be or not to be' it is, this is no mood
Swing, there is no question
NO redemption
NO self reflection
All I know now is my tears
And I'm running out of blood, overwhelmed by my fears
So this is my song, are you happy now?
So this is the song i wrote for you
Can you hear me scream it?
poem by David Knox
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I Won't Leave You
I won't leave you,
as I know you can't leave me!
When I was about to think,
worse about love,
you came then in my life!
We made a world with our
two hemispheres-
I hear the beat of your heart,
in my heart's every beat.
I know you can feel mine too...
You read my heart-felt words,
which I leave on my poems.....
You never asked for whom,
my heart beats, my blood flows...
Never did you tell harsh words,
or, ask about my feelings!
I'm tied with a bond.
If you set me free I won't fly.
Twelve years are twelve minutes
to me now, as if you have just
married me, and I'm getting in your
house to get the fresh fragrance
of your soothing love-
Eagerly waiting to hear from
you, the three words-
I Love You..................
poem by Nilakshi Das
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What They Will Say
Some times, I wonder if I write for the future.
That may seem like a strange statement to make.
Forty-three years ago, I wrote a poem
that at the time no one wanted to know.
Now it is my best-loved poem
read by countless people around the world.
Thirty years ago, I wrote two poems
and each one won me an award,
but at the time I wrote them,
no one wanted to know.
All of which makes me wonder
if what I wrote in my yesteryears
that then none wanted to know.
Could they all be popular now?
Today I started collecting and retyping
short stories I wrote twenty years ago.
At the time, publishers and agents
didn’t want to know.
Now twenty year on
I am wondering what they will say.
24 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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So I Wrote You A Song
Words and music by bob seger
I woke up with this feeling
There was something I wanted to say
So I wrote you a song.
Lately girl Ive been dreamin
Dreamin bout you all through the day
So I wrote you a song.
Hope the words will be right
When I see you tonight,
Youll know how I feel.
Im no longer alone,
Think Ive found me a home
And I think its real.
I woke up with this feeling
Havent felt it for quite some time,
So I wrote you a song.
All these thoughts Ive been dreaming
Somehow Ive got to make them right,
Got to make them belong.
Everytime that youre here
Everytime that youre near
Everything is real.
Im no longer alone,
Think Ive found me a home,
And I think its real,
So I wrote you a song.
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Day's When We Are Dead
Listen! The end draws nearer,
Nearer the morning—or night—
And I see with a vision clearer
That the beginning was right!
These shall be words to remember
When all has been done and said,
And my fame is a dying ember
In the days when I am dead.
Listen! We wrote in sorrow,
And we wrote by candle light;
We took no heed of the morrow,
And I think that we were right—
(To-morrow, but not the day after,
And I think that we were right).
We wrote of a world that was human
And we wrote of blood that was red,
For a child, or a man, or a woman—
Remember when we are dead.
Listen! We wrote not for money,
And listen! We wrote not for fame—
We wrote for the milk and the honey
Of Kindness, and not for a name.
We paused not, nor faltered for any,
Though many fell back where we led;
We wrote of the few for the many—
Remember when we are dead.
We suffered as few men suffer,
Yet laughed as few men laugh;
We grin as the road grows rougher,
And a bitterer cup we quaff.
We lived for Right and for Laughter,
And we fought for a Nation ahead—
Remember it, friends, hereafter,
In the years when I am dead—
For to-morrow and not the day after,
For ourselves, and a Nation ahead.
poem by Henry Lawson
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I was five years old when I wrote my first song. It was out of longing for my father that I wrote it.
quote by Shmuel Y. Agnon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I wrote a song
If I wrote a song
~
If I wrote a song
What could I sing to you
To tell you about my heart
How it will stand by you
Never to let you down
To love you indefinitely
To hear your laugh
And watch you smile
How could that be sung
What would be our melody
The beat of two hearts
Laying together in perfect unison
Gently played into a night
The romantic ballad
Of a string quartet
If I wrote a song
How could I play to you
All that is in my heart
When I think of you
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Writing from a Brilliant Soldier
And there was a time
he wrote stories and rhymes
a name between every line
most of all, favorites of mine
Soldier was a name
i called him without any claim
nonsense i thought whenever every line came
hadn't the spirit my self i blame
and the words he wrote to me sounded the same
Till one time he put away the shame
came to me with a song he sang
at the end 'a brilliant soldier' called himself
again to me sounded like a deaf
When he disappeared i found the words in my shelf
with every line i remembered his hand on my shoulder
suddenly my blindness vanished like a powder
again the end, he wrote 'writing from a brilliant soldier'
for every word opened in my heart a new folder!
poem by Nina Joseph
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Dont Put Me Out
Baby now I realize
All of those times I told you I loved you
I just didnt show it
Im sorry
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
I remember when you said to me
Dont talk about it be about it
I should have felt you when you said
To me that you were all alone
I act like I was doin a favor
For you cuz you were wit me
Something let me thinking that whatever happens
This would be my home
But I was wrong (I was wrong)
How could I have been so low
(how could I have been so low)
I wrote a song all about it
(took a pen and wrote a song)
Wanna hear it, here it go, from now on
1 - i wont talk about lovin you
Cuz Im gonna be about lovin you
I wont talk about comin home
Cuz Im gonna be about comin home
I wont talk about both of us
Cuz Im gonna be about both of us
I wont talk about makin sweet love
Cuz Im gonna be about makin sweet love
Now I remember when we used the crib in studio 12a
Clothes and pallets on the floor makin sweet love night till day
Used to say I wanna have a baby boy and call him man
But now its all gone up in smoke and baby I dont understand
All I know that is I was wrong
(dead wrong, yeah)
How could I have stooped so low
(how could I have stooped so low)
I wrote a song about it
(wrote a song)
Wrote about it, here it go, from now on
Repeat 1
Now all the money in the world couldnt add up to what you did
Cuz when I was down and out you took the burden off of me
I never thoguht that when I took her out somehow itd cause me pain
I was rooming at the drake, how the hell you found my name
Damn I was wrong (I was wrong)
How could I have stooped so low
(how could I have stooped so low)
I wrote a song, yeah
All about it, here it go, from now on
Repeat 1
I wont talk about lovin you
Cuz Im gonna be about lovin you
Girl, open up the door and let me in this house, please baby
Im tired of banging on this door the neighbors say Im loud
Honey, I beg of you
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
Dont put me out
song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here is the difference between Dante, Milton, and me. They wrote about hell and never saw the place. I wrote about Chicago after looking the town over for years and years.
quote by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the March
So the time seems come at last,
And the drums go rolling past,
And above them in the sunlight Labour's banners float and flow;
They are marching with the sun,
But I look in vain for one
Of the men who fought for freedom more than fifteen years ago.
They were men who did the work
Out at Blackall, Hay, and Bourke –
They were men who fought the battle that the world shall never know;
And they vanished one by one
When their bitter task was done –
Men who worked and wrote for freedom more than fifteen years ago.
Some are scattered, some are dead,
By the shanty and the shed,
In the lignum and the mulga, by the river running low;
And I often wish in vain
I could call them back again –
Mates of mine who fought for freedom more than fifteen years ago.
From the country of their birth
Some have sailed and proved their worth;
Some have died on distant deserts, some have perished in the snow.
Some are gloomy, bitter men,
And I meet them now and then –
Men who'd give their lives for Labour more than fifteen years ago.
Oh, the drums come back to me,
And they beat for victory,
But my heart is scarcely quickened, and I never feel the glow;
For I've learnt the world since then,
And the hopelessness of men,
And the fire it burnt too fiercely more than fifteen years ago.
Lucky you who still are young,
When the rebel war-hymn's sung,
And the sons of slaves are marching with their faces all aglow,
When the revolution comes
And the blood is on the drums –
Oh! I wish the storm had found me more than fifteen years ago!
Bear the olden banner still!
Let the nations fight who will!
'Tis the flag of generations – the flag that all the peoples know;
And they'll bear it, brave and red,
Over ancient rebel dead,
In the future to the finish as a thousand years ago!
poem by Henry Lawson
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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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Don't Put Me Out
Baby now I realize
All of those times I told you I loved you
I just didn't show it
I'm sorry
Don't put me out
Don't put me out
Don't put me out
Don't put me out
Don't put me out
Don't put me out
Don't put me out
Don't put me out
Don't put me out
Don't put me out
I remember when you said to me
Don't talk about it be about it
I should have felt you when you said
To me that you were all alone
I act like I was doin' a favor
For you cuz you were wit me
Something let me thinking that whatever happens
This would be my home
But I was wrong (I was wrong)
How could I have been so low
(How could i have been so low)
I wrote a song all about it
(Took a pen and wrote a song)
Wanna hear it
song performed by by R. Kelly from R
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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