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Get a Life! !

I suppose you think you're clever
Writing night and day,
But poetry will never
Be worth it's while and pay.

Why don't you give up writing,
Do something else instead,
Something more exciting,
Something with street-cred?

The television's boring,
The theatre is dead,
I'm going to go out whoring
And paint the town bright red! !

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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It Is A Habit

writing poems
when you really write poems
everyday and every moment of your life
even when you're in the middle of your
bread and butter eating thing
or even when you are defecating
writing poems becomes a habit
even when you sleep even when you dream
writing poems becomes a part of your system
you eat poetry you vomit poetry
you digest poetry you poo poetry
you breathe poetry you sweat poetry
you love poetry and you live with your poetry
and at the end you die with poetry

and your epitaph says: here lies the poet,
choked with poetry.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Revolution Poetry Is....!

Are you writing words of rhythm according to thoughts?
Or are you coining words of thoughts according to rhythm?
Or are you writing poetry both working at the same time?
Asking so, if they ask me how to write poetry, what shall I say?

Poetry writing is natural, spontaneous expression from heart!
How can this be taught to anyone to write poetry ever at all?
Poetry is a spontaneous flow of words direct from heart ever!

I wonder many a time how am I writing poetry at all ever!
But this is happening to my great surprise since longtime!

Due to engagements ever poetry only I am able to write
Though my aim in the beginning was writing stories.....,
Novels, short stories and nonfiction articles of criticism!

Poetry books too I have completed writing so since long
But what a pity there is no reception for poetry books...!

poem by Ramesh T A
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I grew up in the theatre. It's where I got my start. Writing a television drama with theatrical dialogue about the theatre is beyond perfection.

quote by Aaron Sorkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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I have a dream

I want to write real poetry
But I’m not sure how I should start
I need someone who can teach me
the basics of poetic art.

I do not know if it should rhyme
and meter is a mystery.
I have the will I have the time.
I somebody will please help me.

I have the urge I have to write
I really want to get it right
What makes it poetry or prose?
there is a difference I suppose.

I know there’s different schools of thought
an ongoing controversy.
I’m simply looking for support
to help me with my poetry.

I have the basic writing tools
a pad a pencil and P.C.
I need to learn the basic rules
which turn prose into poetry.

I am willing to study hard
and heed advice that’s offered me.
By any older wiser bard
who’s skilled at writing poetry.

26-Apr-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Just Another One Of Those Poem Thingies...

Well as you can tell,
This is just another one of those poem thingies.

But I ask you,
'What is poetry? I mean,
Do people just write words in wierd orders.'

Well, poetry is an expression,
An opinion, well I guess it could be,
Anything,
From a very 'sensitive' piece of writing
To an essay that you wrote three years ago.

The definition that you find in a dictionary
Has nothing to do with poetry.
It is just a summary,
No an assumsion of what those fools writing the dictionaries
Think it is.

Poetry is whatever you want it to be.
So next time some person who thinks that they're too cool,
And that your so stupid because you like poetry,
Weather it's writing it or just reading it,
Tell them that they write it too,
Weather or not they consider it to be poetry,
It's their opinion and anything,
Can be poetry.

I have a love for poetry,
That can not be described.
I know,
That sounds obsesive.
But I really do love poetry.
I feel like I can say anything and,
It doesn't have to be serious,
I mean it can,
But it is not required.
Nothing is required of you when you write poetry.

It is relaxing,
A chance to step aside from life,
Even if it's just for a few minutes.
I do it for my own enjoyment an relaxation.
Why do you?

poem by Maddy Macleod
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Writing On The Wall

Words and music by rick nielsen
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
Lo and behold, heard it on the radio.
It was a long time comin, but it sounds so sweet, come on, man, get off my back.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
In the midwest and in the east.
Canada, southwest, around the world,
L.a., tokyo, sounds so sweet,
Come on honey, get on your feet.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
The words were oh, so...
The words were oh, so clear.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
Lo and behold, heard it on the radio.
It was a long time comin, but it sounds so sweet, come on, man, get off my back.
Saw it at the airport, it was on t.v.
Read it in a magazine, runnin down the street.
Makes no sense, but I hope its gonna last,
The next big thing, I really gotta laugh.
Worked and slaved and played like hell,
Everybodys goin crazy, youre the last to know.
Cant explain it, still a joke to me,
Maybe Im naive, cause its so plain to see.
Its right in front of your face, man.
Its right in front of your face, man.
Played like hell, whoa!
Played like hell, whoa!

song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Time Of Poetry Has Come

THE TIME OF POETRY HAS COME

The time of Poetry has come
I feel it within myself
Somehow waiting to be said
Worlds are hidden
And feel ready to come into being-

The time of Poetry is here
And I am writing now easily
Yet somehow within the poetry
And beyond it
Is something that needs to be said
Which my poetry now cannot say-

The Poetry the real Poetry
May be within me
And yet beyond myself
So that what I am writing now
Is not it,
But only an excuse for mentioning that
It can never really be mine.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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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
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It's For Me

Poetry for me, is just like breathing
I inhale Life and exhale poems
It's for me - I do the writing
No matter, if ever, comments come.

As chosen words come out soothing
Release the pained and burdened heart
I find relief in simply writing
Touching others with what I impart.

But always the joy is within me
The reading by others may truly bless
I'm grateful they read my poetry
But the writing is my true happiness!

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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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
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A Man Became Addicted To Poetry

A MAN BECAME ADDICTED TO POETRY

A man became addicted to poetry-
Wherever he went he read or wrote a few lines-
Poetry became much of what he did-
Poetry and poetry and poetry-
As if that alone could give meaning and pleasure to his life.

A man became addicted to poetry
And so lost at times
What true poetry is –

Now he writes without knowing
Whether he is truly writing
Or merely using the ‘idea and world of poetry’
For his own peace of mind.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poetry At Times Seems

THE POETRY AT TIMES SEEMS

The Poetry at times seems
Like the last stand-
The little bit of what is left in me
Of all I dreamed in Writing.

The Poetry seems a means of Surviving
When all other ways of writing
Have been lost-
So much has been done
And not been done.

By these little words
I am holding on-
I do not know how much longer,
I will be able to.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Dying Race

My friend Kessa’ and I
Always loved writing
Poetry was our favorite
Everyday on the old yellow school bus
Number 6 or 149
She and I would read to each other
What we had come up with
The night before

I was always a little
Green with envy
Because her writing seemed much
More mature than mine

But one day we realized
That poetry was dying
Even though so many people
Write it all over the world
Poetry has lost it’s fame

Kessa had started a poetry club
But no one showed except me
We wondered why that was
For poetry was a wonderful
Thing
A great outlet
When things went wrong
Which they always did

To me it has become the dying race
Hanging on a thin thread
Of life
What miracle will happen to keep it float
Who will make difference
To relight poetry
In everyone’s mind?

poem by Sydne Morris
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No Money in Poetry

Oh he wants me to stop
Writing poetry for nothing
He'd love to see me drop
This pen for other things.

It will not make me rich
That's what he always says
Late nights of writing which
Wastes my time and does not pay.

In poetry there is no money
But I need to be a writer
For I can say this truthfully
There's no poetry in money either.

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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When I wasn't breathing

When I wasn’t blissfully snoring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
cistern of stupendously rhapsodic and gloriously majestic Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unsurpassably fantasizing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
garden of ingeniously magical and miraculously mitigating Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t superbly adventuring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
an
ocean of bountifully resplendent and timelessly undefeated Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t scrumptiously relishing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
playground of optimistically enlightening and unbelievably royal
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t limitlessly triumphing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cascade of beautifully panoramic and effulgently liberating Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t pricelessly smiling; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
lantern of unendingly vibrant and inscrutably tantalizing Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t gloriously partying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
paradise of eternally vivacious and pristinely redolent Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unassailably inspiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
festoon of incredulously ameliorating and perpetually compassionate
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t magnanimously feasting; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cocoon of symbiotically philanthropic and ubiquitously coalescing
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t ebulliently fornicating; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
mist of wonderfully reinvigorating and blessedly burgeoning Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t flirtatiously winking; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
swirl of brilliantly untainted and Omnipotently ecstatic Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t mellifluously singing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
heaven of iridescently innovative and spectacularly celestial Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t synergistically relaxing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
pearl of unconquerably seductive and unprecedentedly enamoring Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t amiably conversing; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
palette of majestically invincible and Omnipresently procreating
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t holistically earning; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
canvas of inimitably untamed and fragrantly altruistic Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unceasingly exultating; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
tunnel of mystically replenishing and perennially enthralling Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t devoutly praying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
meadow
of vividly glorifying and fearlessly jubilant Immortal Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t ardently dancing; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
rainbow
of poignantly marvelous and unshakably subliming Immortal Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t unstoppably admiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
mirror of truthfully Omnipresent and inherently revealing Immortal Love
Poetry,

And when I wasn’t quintessentially breathing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a cosmos of unbreakably everlasting and universally bonding
Immortal
Love Poetry….

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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There's such good writing now on television and I don't see a lot of great writing on films sadly.

quote by Scott Speedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Private Poetry

Every poem, Every poetry,
Where are all the poets?
Hiding out, Hiding away.

In the beaches, forests,
In the caves and rooms,
In the islands and temples.

Make their private poetry,
Every now and then,
Here and there,
Over here, Over there.

Somewhere, somewhen,
Someone, somebody,
No one, No body,
Some here, some there.
Somehow, not matter how,

Everywhere, every when,
Every turn, every look,
Every search, every research,
There is a private poet.

Making a private poetry,
Writing private poems,
Writing lovely poems,
Writing profound poetries.

For the world and all
To ponder,
To reflect,
To open our heart,
To hear and listen;

What poets have
To say and write,
In a private poetry,
For the world to read
And treasure.

poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Of all fatiguing, futile, empty trades, the worst, I suppose, is writing about writing.

quote by Hilaire Belloc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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