Nobody can erase my writing
Nobody can erase my writing
And it is determined by destiny
I can see at dark night
I can hear voice of silence
I can bring colorful light
It is my joy to write
And no body can erase my writing
My writing is my soul my eternal truth.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Write Erase Write Erase
this is what happens to this poem
when you have nothing to write
tonight....write, erase, write, erase
you are waiting
for an inspiration that does not come
you keep on waiting and then something comes
you write it, you think about it, you read it and you find nothing
worth the letter you assign to it
then you erase it and you are honest enough to admit that there is nothing
beautiful
not even a purpose, and then you write the word again, you ponder, there is
nothing worth its existence
there is nothing to grow in that word chosen
you erase it again, you write it and then there is this space of thinking,
what is it? you ask. what is it really?
it is this denial.
this negation of
what you are
that keeps you writing.
you stand by the window. Look out
the road. You see a dog, and it is howling again
to the moon
and to the wrong tree
it is barking.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Come Alive In Writing
I come alive in writing
Even if the writing means nothing to anyone else-
I come alive in writing
Even if I am totally deluding myself as to its value-
I come alive in writing
Even if at times while writing there is an underlying hopelessness and despair -
I come alive in writing
As if writing is what God has given me to do-
I come alive in writing
As if through it I can truly give to and help others-
I come alive in writing
As if life has meaning through it-
I come alive in writing
Even when I sense the writing is not good or great
As I would wish it to be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Strive Against The Silence Of The Night
I STRIVE AGAINST THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT
I strive against the silence of the night
Against my own inner emptiness
I wait to hear some song from inside myself -
Nothing is written.
I go back to where I am
And begin again.
There is always a poem if one is patient enough.
But what poem?
And for what special meaning of this night?
I write again and again
A poem which is about writing a poem
And when I come to end it
I question again and again
Whether it is real.
This night is already deep in darkness
And yet I have almost broken its silence
One more line
One more writing about writing a poem -
Perhaps Memory will come back to me
And I will write a more real poem
Than this strained effort now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
And So I'm Writing...
I'm hard-pressed for time,
yet I do have the heart
And so I'm writing
Know not what to pen down,
have a paper to write on
And so I'm writing
May be I'll write about 'you and me'
Or may be of 'us and them'
Feel like playing with words
And so I'm writing
May be that starving beggar's hungry looks
Or that homeless Child's beckoning eyes
Are making me scribble these lines to you
And so I'm writing
May be you'll find my words vague
Or you might decipher a meaning
Intend to leave you in the oblivion
And so I'm writing
Whatever might be the impression I create
Wish to see its reflection on your soul
And leave an imprint on your mind
And so I'm writing
May be you and I've become immune
To the pathos of mankind
Or may be there's still
A dropp of humanity flowing deep within us
Wish to arouse 'The Human Being' in you
And so I'm writing...
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mood Changes
Tonight I have no song for you.
Tonight my music's quiet.
I cannot sing. I cannot play.
My mood has silenced the notes away.
So in my hand I clutch my pen
and let the words appear.
I rely on just the act of writing
to let the music disappear.
Tomorrow might bring the music back.
There's always hope that tomorrow
can bring the peace that's missing
and erase the traces of sorrow.
But for now I need the silence
except for the sound of the pen.
And as I sit here writing
I anticipate the music again.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
And I'm writing
The purpose of writing poem
Is not known and I'm writing.
Excuse me, I'm writing
And writing
And writing is natural
As natural as wind
As natural as light
And I'm writing
Writing and pervading
Everywhere.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Writing To
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Writing every emotion..
With such a white background.
It makes no sound
Even as the keys I pound.
Let my words have bite
Let from my words drip out meanings beyond meanings
Its something I try to be constantly be achieving.
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
I want every heart and mind
Sucked in cause this is my world stage
No sense of the time.
Never to turn the page
Stuck in to a world oh so oh so fine
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Listen to her melody, as she sings.
Let chaos reign down from the skies
What will this day really bring?
Will the letter say good bye?
Will it mend everything?
Making everything better.
Destroying all the consequences
That exist in your world.
Welcome to the place I visit daily.
Inspirational maddness,
It attacks, attacks, and attacks.
With perfect sadness
I must let go once more.
And then the words hit the floor
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
Becoming one with my soul.
Fighting for its one and only control.
Its mine, Its mine. Its mine.
In this reality it subsequently is not
A constant questioning of what?
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
With every sound, taste, and light.
The worlds get get oh so oh so bright
Understand that which is not so forthright
This is my night, and day.
So come on join me, please this way.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Can Write Poetry All Day Long
I CAN WRITE POETRY ALL DAY LONG
I can write Poetry all day long
But what will it give me?
There is just so much others will listen to
If anything?
And what is the value of writing words to myself for myself
Even if I love them
And believe they are real poetry,
And know in my soul
That their music is real?
I can write Poetry all day long
Or think I am writing poetry
When I am not-
Am I writing poetry now?
I feel I am-
Within me there is the song and the sound
There is the music of poetry
But is it real
Or only my self- deception?
Can I write poetry all day long?
Can I write poetry at all?
I am writing poetry now
Or so I tell myself-
But as I write this
The music within
Is already fading
And I hear in myself
The silence of my own lonely sound.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Planning to write is not writing. Outlining, researching, talking to people about what you're doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing.
quote by E.L. Doctorow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
When In Pain
when in pain
i prefer silence.
but i keep on writing.
and writing.
and writing.
and writing.
when in pain
i prefer always the silence
of the stars.
makes me feel like i am a star.
this silence, this pain.
when in silence, like the stars,
the pain gets too peaceful
like the stars
and then the pain subsides like
an ebbing tide
like an anger subsiding into
a still undisturbed mind
when i shine like a star
i remember the pain and it does not pain anymore.
silence kills the pain
like a distant star on a dark night like this one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Writing (ii)
They look bright
As light falls upon them
They seem statesmen too
As they talk incessant
Let them use pen and paper
They will uncover their
Cleverness of hiding power
Writing is a fight between
The Powers of dark and light
The Difference between an elephant
And an ant.
Writing is the impressive enormity
Among the works of tiny trivialities
Writing is a question asked to realise
The blunt indifference
Writing is like putting the sun
At the centre of life.
poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Silence Is Not Its Own Poem
Silence is not its own poem-
Writing is breaking the silence-
If I try to begin a New Year in writing,
I must force myself against my own emptiness-
Here it is
I have begun-
Silence is no longer here,
At least in my writing words down.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Letter From A Writer Searching For Her Soul And Wanting To Feel Not With Her Hands
Hello (to whom it may concern) ,
It's been awhile since we exchanged messages. Sorry, I'm not much of an |'onliner' these days. I resigned from my job. I'm, in the process of soul searching. Funny but I don't really know why I'm looking for a soul, my soul, when I cannot even see it. I'm on an unplanned vacation in some quaint town some miles outside the city while writing this email.
I guess I never had the chance to tell you how you took the glint from my eye. To write from the soul and not for the awards. I have overlook that writing is an Art. Thus it is priceless. A gold medal does not define you as an artist. Write until it ceases to become a craft.But more than just stringing words after words, conscious of your weary grammar, punctuations, right words, and subject matter. To write is to turn your heart inside out.
Beyond 'writing' and its technical definitions, it is actually a journey - a self surrender - towards the oblivion you are willing to traverse with your pen. And you find yourself in another state.
To write is to 'see' but not with your eyes. To 'feel' but not with your hands. And at the end of it all, you know that it's there. Writing takes over you. Thus, I often wonder: am i writing with the pen? Or is it the pen using me to write? But I know somewhere deep inside, there is a thing mightier than the pen that prompts me to write. And that is the soul.
I want to find my center. My creative process in writing. Ironic, but to find it, I must loose myself.
hahahahaha. whew. I know i sound stupid. Sorry. Thanks for bearing with me. Hope it's not too late to greet you a Happy New Year! ! ! ! =)
Always,
(name witheld, but this could be you)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
For that reason you can't write with music playing, and anyone who says he can is either writing badly, or not listening to the music, or lying. You need to hear what you're writing, and for that you need silence.
quote by Philip Pullman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Writing Is Like A Diet
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it...
Writing is like a challenge.
An obstacle to face.
And when confronted,
To make use of it...
A discipline applied,
Is what it takes!
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it.
Those who do may not sleep,
At night.
Or discover they have lost an appetite.
Writing is like a diet.
And accepting it becomes a way of life.
Those who ask how writing is done...
Usually have no idea,
Of what they must overcome.
Some believe writing is nothing but fun.
But those committed...
Know writing is more like a spouse,
That can be quiet as a mouse.
Then at other times a shouting occurs...
Heard from the inside,
With a wish to come out!
Writing is like a diet.
And accepting it becomes a way of life.
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it!
Writing is like a challenge.
An obstacle to face.
And when confronted,
To make use of it...
A discipline applied,
Is what it takes!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Soyinka, Intro
'But the ultimate lesson is just sit down and write.
That's all.'
so with you charles.
and so with me
here i am
writing and writing ang writing
that's all
no questions asked
anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When I Write About Giving Up Writing
WHEN I WRITE ABOUT GIVING UP WRITING
When I write about giving up writing,
I am not giving it up
I am instead trying to find another justification for continuing-
I am not giving up then-
If the whole effort is futile
If in the end it will mean nothing
If I despair of it even as I continue it
Still
I will not give up.
I cannot give up.
What else do I have, after all, except the writing?
After all these years of giving my life to it
What other work could ever mean so much?
Even if I fail in it
It is who I am
And what I can do.
I am writing again now
What else can I do?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0167 Just beyond the angel's reach
I don't know much about what I'm writing
except that I'm writing;
I don't know much about what I've written either,
except what I read;
I don't know much about what I'm going to write
except what I hope;
but I do know a little about where I'm writing:
it's there, in those paintings of The Annunciation,
between where the angel's outstretched hand with lily,
and sometimes open, sometimes closed, but silent mouth
and Mary's crossed, clasped hands, her body
curved in obedience and humility;
eyes downcast; so be it unto her; there
just beyond the angel's reach,
just in front of mankind's hope,
where nothing and everything is happening,
and your eye runs out to the distant horizon
only to focus on infinity;
that's where I'm waiting.
that's where I'm writing.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Hands Of Whom We Love
what i have been writing is simply
the product of
a big distraction
it is like the blind
writing about light
i hear it and i know it
but i cannot clearly see it
and hence
i have never fully understood it
if i understood it
i shall not bother writing about it
this doubt shall make me live to write for more
i have it in my tongue but it slips the moment i want to utter it
behind me are scenes of my rumored true being
i set it aside for a while to describe it in words
but words are too shallow
i cannot bury my feet on them
and so the same things happen
night after night
sleepless after sleepless hands
groping for a dark and elusive fish in space
i submerge into unfathomable madness
do not get me wrong i am sane as the brightest star tonight
but just like it
there is no intimacy
for clarity
there is only beauty at a distance
like the way we wish to hold the hands of whom we love
we long that much but
we do not die.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Whos Been Writing On The Wall Again
Someone keeps on telling me how much he loves me so
Writes it on the wall outside so I will always know
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori, I love you , lori, I love you
Evry evening I come home , its waiting there for me
Three little words, one little voice , someone I cant see
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Is he tall or is he small
I wonder what his game is
I wish hes write it on the wall
And tell me what his name is
I dont know if his hair is blonde or if his eyes are blue
But I know that when I meet him ,Im gonna love him too
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Is he tall or is he small
I wonder what his game is
I wish hed write it on the wall
And tell me what his name is
I dont know if his hair is blonde or if his eyes are blue
But I know that when meet him , Im gonna love him too
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again (fade)
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!