Upon A Sheet Of White Paper
This subject is unto the foulest pen,
Or fairest handled by the sons of men.
'Twill also show what is upon it writ,
Be it wisely, or nonsense for want of wit,
Each blot and blur it also will expose
To thy next readers, be they friends or foes.
Comparison.
Some souls are like unto this blank or sheet,
Though not in whiteness. The next man they meet,
If wise or fool, debauched or deluder,
Or what you will, the dangerous intruder
May write thereon, to cause that man to err
In doctrine or in life, with blot and blur.
Nor will that soul conceal from who observes,
But show how foul it is, wherein it swerves.
A reading man may know who was the writer,
And, by the hellish nonsense, the inditer.
poem by John Bunyan
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Related quotes
What is sense?
A fool speaks nonsense,
In which a wise one finds sense.
A wise one makes all sense
That a fool takes as nonsense.
What is sense?
21.05.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Molecular Evolution
At quite uncertain times and places,
The atoms left their heavenly path,
And by fortuitous embraces,
Engendered all that being hath.
And though they seem to cling together,
And form "associations" here,
Yet, soon or late, they burst their tether,
And through the depths of space career.
So we who sat, oppressed with science,
As British asses, wise and grave,
Are now transformed to wild Red Lions,
As round our prey we ramp and rave.
Thus, by a swift metamorphosis,
Wisdom turns wit, and science joke,
Nonsense is incense to our noses,
For when Red Lions speak, they smoke.
Hail, Nonsense! dry nurse of Red Lions,
From thee the wise their wisdom learn,
From thee they cull those truths of science,
Which into thee again they turn.
What combinations of ideas,
Nonsense alone can wisely form!
What sage has half the power that she has,
To take the towers of Truth by storm?
Yield, then, ye rules of rigid reason!
Dissolve, thou too, too solid sense!
Melt into nonsense for a season,
Then in some nobler form condense.
Soon, all too soon, the chilly morning,
This flow of soul will crystallize,
Then those who Nonsense now are scorning,
May learn, too late, where wisdom lies.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
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The nonsense woman
The nonsense woman lives in our street
She really is not a pleasure to meet
She goes on and on about her cat Mylogie
And makes our day quite foggy
The nonsense woman went to the shops
That was just before she drops
Her cat Mylogie
And got quite soggy
The nonsense woman found another cat
The cat sat on her mat
She called it Tinker
Who was a bit of a stinker
The nonsense woman lay in bed
But to her lonliness and dread
Tinker and Mylogie were both gone
So these days she won't even eat a scone
Very much to our relief
She has got so much grief
She won't even come out her house
And all day is a quiet as a mouse
poem by by unknown author
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Psychotic and Dysfunctional
Put me on your readers list,
If you wish.
And you will find your nonsense,
Not unique at all!
In fact...
Most of my writings deal with that...
As a main topic.
You should feel more relaxed now.
And all this time...
You believed you would not find a friend?
I knew you were psychotic and dysfunctional,
Long before you did.
I've removed my mask!
And you will notice that immediately!
Put me on your readers list,
If you wish.
And you will find your nonsense,
Not unique at all!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Writer- a must?
Out of what does a writer write?
Out of hatred or perversion;
Out of denial or deprivation.
Why does a writer write?
To vent his anger or hatred.
To cry out from pain or lust.
How does a writer write?
By borrowing or distorting.
By modeling or duping.
For what does a writer write?
For an applause and a place.
It alone suits him, an idler.
What is the use of a writer?
For him to flaunt his skill.
For readers to idle away
Does the society need a writer?
Does a woman need cosmetics?
Writer is a part of civilization
16.05.2007.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Good Friday
O my chief good,
How shall I measure out thy blood?
How shall I count what thee befell,
And each grief tell?
Shall I thy woes
Number according to thy foes?
Or, since one star show'd thy first breath,
Shall all thy death?
Or shall each leaf,
Which falls in Autumn, score a grief?
Or cannot leaves, but fruit be sign
Of the true vine?
Then let each hour
Of my whole life one grief devour:
That thy distress through all may run,
And be my sun.
Or rather let
My several sins their sorrows get;
That as each beast his cure doth know,
Each sin may so.
Since blood is fittest, Lord to write
Thy sorrows in, and bloody fight;
My heart hath store, write there, where in
One box doth lie both ink and sin:
That when sin spies so many foes,
Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes
All come to lodge there, sin may say,
'No room for me', and fly away.
Sin being gone, oh fill the place,
And keep possession with thy grace;
Lest sin take courage and return,
And all the writings blot or burn.
poem by George Herbert
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There is no subject on which more dangerous nonsense is talked and thought than marriage.
quote by George Bernard Shaw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To be a writer
They say, when you have nothing to say
Do not say anything
They say when you have nothing good to say
Do not say anything
He is not convinced
He wants to be a writer and to be one he must write
What is in his mind
To be a writer he must write and write and write
Even when there is nothing to write
Even when there is nothing to say even when nobody listens
Even when the word is dead even when there is no sense at all
Even when he gets blind and deaf and mute even when his fingers are cut even when his mind is blank even when his consciousness is lost
Even when you are angry even when you say what is written is nothing
But trash, dung, cadaver, corpse, poo, pee, even when there is nothing
Anymore,
He writes because he is a writer and no one can stop him now.
he is
he is writing
he is writing always
he is writing always whatever that needs to be written
and here you are foolishly reading. thanks to you, audience of one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Way I Feel
Written by christine mcvie.
Once in everyones life
You know a feeling has to grow
And you may be having a bad time
And you really shouldnt let it show
Youre taking a risk, but it doesnt matter
cos you know, you know that its real
I cant conceal the way that I feel
I cant conceal the way, the way that I feel
How many times have I told you
Oh, I adore you
And if it meant anything at all
Id do anything for you
But its too late and I know Im making
A fool, a fool of myself
But I cant conceal the way that I feel
I cant conceal the way, the way that I feel
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Winter's Day
Across the hills and down the narrow ways,
And up the valley where the free winds sweep,
The earth is folded in an ermined sleep
That mocks the melting mirth of myriad Mays.
Departed her disheartening duns and grays,
And all her crusty black is covered deep.
Dark streams are locked in Winter's donjon-keep,
And made to shine with keen, unwonted rays.
O icy mantle, and deceitful snow!
What world-old liars in your hearts ye are!
Are there not still the darkened seam and scar
Beneath the brightness that you fain would show?
Come from the cover with thy blot and blur,
O reeking Earth, thou whited sepulchre!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Blank Sheet Of Paper
I'm just a blank sheet of paper
This fool's about to write you a letter
To tell you that he's sorry
For the way he did you wrong
To ask for forgiveness
For leaving you alone
He's been looking down at me seems like forever
he takes the top on and off his pen
It's like he can't decide
Just what he wants to say
If he'd just tell the truth
I'd be on my way
Chorus
But he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he doesn't want it to end
And now it's one hour later (four hours later)
I am still a blank sheet of paper
Sunlight is shining through the curtains
He's almost asleep pen in hand
There's a tear in his eye
That refuses to fall
If it would land on me
That would say it all
Repeat Chorus
And he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he wants it back again
And now one broken heart later
I am still a Blank sheet of paper
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wrote A Nonsense Poem
I WROTE A NONSENSE POEM
I wrote a nonsense poem
It said a nonsense thing
Yesterday is not today
And winter is not spring.
I wrote a nonsense poem
It didn’t have a name
It began and so fast finished
No wonder I’m ashamed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Tis Me!
The tree on the left is made of bicycles.
The one next to it is red!
The one in the center is yellow
And the blue tree sits on the right end.
Unless you are standing behind them.
Then the blue tree is on the left.
Next comes the yellow then red tree,
And the bicycle tree comes next!
But if you watch from a merry go round
While it’s spinning in circles you’ll see,
Just a dizzying blur of colors,
Which one now is first, mercy me?
Who has such time that it does take
To sit and write the nonsense we read?
I bet whoever it is he’s retired,
And he looks an awful lot just like me!
poem by Robert Edgar Burns
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Prolific
he will not be a river
that runs dry
come drought
he will be the sea
as always
deep and blue
and mysterious
and he will speak
everything
interesting or not
from continent to
continent
from shore to shore
till everything
becomes the sea
till all the islands
are erased
till all the glaciers melt
till the world
becomes eaten by
the mouth of the
big water
he will never have
the writer's block
for in all truth
he will be everything
but sense and
nonsense
with the domination
of the latter of course
and you
who is curious shall read
till the last word
because you too
expects much
and then you make a sigh
you relate
and say i am also what i am
sense and nonsense
wise and otherwise.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet XXIV: Rich Fools There Be
Rich fools there be, whose base and filthy heart
Lies hatching still the goods wherein they flow:
And damning their own selves to Tantal's smart,
Wealth breeding want, more blist more wretched grow.
Yet to those fools heav'n such wit doth impart
As what their hands do hold, their heads do know,
And knowing love, and loving, lay apart,
As sacred things, far from all danger's show.
But that rich fool who by blind Fortune's lot
The richest gem of love and life enjoys,
And can with foul abuse such beauties blot;
Let him, depriv'd of sweet but unfelt joys,
(Exil'd for aye from those high treasures, which
He knows not) grow in only folly rich.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Ya Tvoya Ne Pervaya
hello...
hello...
do you see wind?
so what?
just look at the window.
so what?
it was sun yesterday
so what?
why are you always saying the same thing?
i am-answering machine.
Just to calm down,
silence is gold,
radio insomnia,
station parting.
who will get who,
coins will show?
who will be left to who,
by nerves, pills?
behind the windows at night
(she) will yell and break,
this doesn't count, this doesn't count.
(she is) faithful, not faithful,
i am not your first,
you are my sudden.
(you)show, show, show, show,
show, show me love.
(you) show, show, show, show
why, why am i with you.
(you)show, show, show,show
show, show me love.
(you)show, show, show, show
why, why am i with you.
i guess (someone) will refuse,
easier not to meet (not to introduce ourselves to each other)
who of us will refuse,
just to calm down.
girls like girls,
and then- sleepwalkers.
Numbers and narrows,
Chocolate bars, wrappings.
(she)will hide, cry,
will, say, scare.
this doesn't count
i am not your first
you are my sudden.
(you)show, show, show, show,
show, show me love.
(you)show, show, show, show,
why, why am i with you.
(you)show, show, show, show,
show, show me love.
(you)show, show, show,show,
why, why am i with you.
show, show me love.....
show me love......
song performed by by Tatu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Prepared To Delve
Making attempts to relate to anyone,
Who has not been prepared...
To delve below the surface,
Is too time consuming.
And certainly not worth the chase.
When someone is ready,
To strip themselves bare...
Unafraid to expose a blemish or two,
That is the one a discussion about life done...
Is the most exciting conversation to have.
Identifying nonsense stated to regurgitate,
Like playing a game of show and tell...
Of that which can be readily observed,
Is a mind focused on events,
That have long outdated their purpose to exist.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wisely Love The Wise
The wise love wisely.
It’s said, that when the truly wise
surface from their sleep,
they see nought but heavenly blue
in which the world then gently, slowly shapes itself
as if this whole created world were but
a single act of love; and within that love,
their love is wisdom, knowledge, law;
as they emerge from their wise sleep,
this is what they are.
The wise love wisely; when they look at you,
(you who maybe meet them for
the first time; offer them perhaps
a flower from too hot a hand,
a fruit, a handkerchief…
or meet them by some heavenly accident,
they, like a comet through your life)
and their first so wise glance at you
sees nought but your perfection;
they do not doubt that you are they,
that they are you; and while they’re here
you share all this with them;
you’ve met yourself; for this
is what you are..
The wise are careful lovers
for love is care, and care is charity;
and yet the wise are widest, wildest,
most romantic lovers:
they throw, they strew their love
on all and every one and thing without a further thought,
offering simply, lawful freedom, happiness;
bidding love well as it flies away,
wishing you themself;
wishing you, yourself;
The wise love wisely;
for they know the secret law of love:
the more it’s given, the more there is
to give.
The wise love wisely;
so, they wear a wise disguise;
they look like you and me; because
we are that same disguise.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot out the glory of the world, and leave only a margin by which we see the blot? I know no speck so troublesome as self.
quote by George Eliot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clot It Off
Slot it in!
Blot it out! !
Clot it off;
Slot, blot, clot, allot, balklot, lot, plot!
But, with the sweet muse of love.
Slot it in and,
Start to draw now!
Blot it out and,
Find a way through!
Clot it off and,
Be free with your mind;
But, with the sweet muse of love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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