Doodles
I've got plenty made doodles.
Some done and some new doodles too.
I've got plenty made doodles.
And doing those doodles is what I choose,
When doing those doodles I choose to do.
I've got plenty made doodles.
Some done and some new doodles too.
I've got plenty made doodles.
And doing those doodles is what I choose,
When doing those doodles I choose to do.
I've got plenty made doodles.
Some done and some new doodles too.
I've got plenty made doodles.
And doing those doodles is what I choose,
When doing those doodles I choose to do.
I've got plenty made doodles.
Some done and some new doodles too.
I've got plenty made doodles.
And doing those doodles is what I choose,
When doing those doodles I choose to do.
I've got plenty made doodles.
And doing those doodles is what I choose,
When doing those doodles I choose to do.
I've got plenty made doodles.
And...
Doing those doodles is what I choose,
When doing those doodles I choose to do.
I've got plenty made doodles.
And...
Doing those doodles is what I choose,
When doing those doodles I choose to do.
Doing those doodles is what I choose,
When doing those doodles I choose to do.
Doing those doodles is what I choose,
When doing those doodles I choose to do.
I've got plenty made doodles
I've got plenty made doodles.
And...
Doing those doodles is what I choose,
When doing those doodles I choose to do.
I've got plenty made doodles.
I've got plenty made doodles.
I...
Do all my doodles with doodles done.
I do all my doodles with doodles done.
Do all my doodles with doodles done.
I do all my doodles I do all my doodles.
I do all my doodles with doodles done.
I do all my doodles with doodles done.
I do all my doodles with doodles done.
I do all my doodles I do all my doodles.
I do all my doodles with doodles done.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Some Comments Assisted With Added Doodles
I have yet,
To go to the sink...
To turn on the faucet.
What you hear,
Is the tapping of my pen...
Beginning,
I hope...
To compose something of interest.
I've made some comments,
Assisted with added doodles...
If you'd like to see them?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Recycle
Plain paper cup
Paper art cup.
Fun in oodles
artsy doodles.
Turn it green
leaving the scene
In a coffee shop,
Continue, never stop.
Utilization Creation Realization
written out
still rarely
do the best
it takes
more time
doodles
can be fast
efficient
time constraint
utilization
creation
real ization
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetic Conceptions Time Constraint
a 'necessary' stage
no just a small window
of opportunity to get
a mass of poems
a body of work
poetic conceptions
written out
still rarely
do the best
it takes
more time
doodles
can be fast
efficient
time constraint
utilization
creation
real ization
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If You Choose To Go
Theres a street outside my window
Theres a light outside my door
Theres a road straight through this old town
Theres a boat on every shore
Theres a promise down that freeway
But there is no guarantee
There are dreams on every ocean
There are storms on every sea
If you choose to go
Now Ive been out upon that ocean
Sometimes further that before
Sometimes not even past my waistline
And I screamed at what I saw
Many times along that freeway
Returning sometimes beat
There are dreams on every ocean
There are storms on every sea
If you choose to go
Plenty of places, plenty of things to see
Plenty of faces, plenty of ways to be
If you choose to go
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sin and Prayer
I am pulling out from the committed
sin, cadaver walking,
digging the gold from the pit.
Footwears of dead men were
heaped into a pile when
god was praying.
Was it a perceived tragedy
of a man drawing doodles
to offset the sunset?
You were alone, dousing
the fire and shaping the clay. The
hamlet was less inclined to intercede.
Your flesh slips from my hands
for a rebirth. I was flying a kite.
I was dead before you were born again.
poem by Satish Verma
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Spectrum Thinking Mediator
Doodles
can be joy
Easy come
easy go
Easy to
embrace
Creativity
expending
energy
Day
dreaming
memory
Creativity
processing
elasticity
Themes
spectrum
thoughts
Copy right © Terence George Craddock
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Doodles Done
It comes gushing with a rush bursting...
Then it stops!
This mental void that annoys,
Like a spinning top on a tip that drops.
It wobbles then flip flops!
Avoiding an ending to its spin.
Doodles done I did,
Even retracing them!
But still those thoughts connecting,
Refuse to come in!
And again I beat out rhythms...
Denting more my trusted pen!
Pounding out a beat,
Hoping words come back again
In a flow of a ceasless streak.
Tap tap tap...
Tap tap tap!
Come on! Give me something!
'Honey Bees on Spring Flowers? '
Naw...
Too everydayish!
I'm searching for aggravation.
Something agitating that offends!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Got Plenty O Nuttin
I got plenty of nothing
And nothings plenty for me
I got no car - got no mule
I got no misery
Folks with plenty of plenty
Theyve got a lock on the door
Afraid somebodys gonna rob em
While there out (a) making more - what for
I got no lock on the door - thats no way to be
They can steal the rug from the floor - thats ok with me
cause the things that I prize - like the stars in the skies - are all free
I got plenty of nothing
And nothings plenty for me
I got my gal - got my song
(I) got heaven the whole day long
- got my gal - got my love - got my song
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Assessment
The Assessment
My copy pen fell to the floor I bent down to pick it up
now I feel dizzy. I came to this country, decades ago
to write, many pens have fallen on the floor- although
I do not write with a pen but use a word processor.
A pen is a crutch and to make droll shapes on sheets
of paper; a thousands sheets filled with doodles while
waiting to write something sensible on the processor;
a mad publisher has shown interest in them.
Twenty years feels a very long time, twenty more and
I’ll be ninety bet I will not be able to pick up a pen from
the floor then. Now I wake up in the night and a steady
hum tells me I have wasted my time scrawling, a book
of scribble how is that for an epitaph?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Plenty
[Chorus One: Erykah Badu]
When she wants plenty, she gets plenty
When she wants plenty, she gets plenty
When she wants plenty, she gets plenty
then she gets plenty more, uhh
{repeat Chorus One}
[Guru]
Uhh
Watchin her drivin by, in her new whip so fly
Wish she could sing me a lullaby, to scoop her I've got to try
In her eyes, there's a flame that burns right through my soul
Can't pretend to be cool, about to lose my control
Yeah I know she's got plenty; admirers, she's got many
Like an exotic fantasy, into a frenzy she sends me
Wow I have to sit down, and gather my wits now
I wanna caress those hips now, wanna kiss those lips now
[Badu]
Hello? Hey babyyy
I know you called and I didn't answer twice
But baby that's oh-kay it's nice
for you to call anyway see, okay, see uhh
Hey babyyy
You know it's okay if you don't call me
anymore cause I got a-plenty
truckload of niggaz like you at my door {*dial tone*}
[Chorus One]
[Guru]
Yup
And every day is her day, and every year is her year
Anyone tried to violate, they could straight dissapear
She don't care if you play yourself, tryin to step to her
The illest of gangsters, I show and respect to her
Truly glamourous, she ain't impressed and it shows
She don't like your new clothes, she don't care about your playa pose
Do you suppose I could hook up and spend time with her?
She's just how I dreamed - I'll bust my nine for her
[Chorus Two: Erykah Badu]
When she gets plenty, she gets plenty
When she gets plenty, she gets plenty
When she wants plenty, she gets plenty
any damn thang she wants, uhh
[Guru]
Uhh
Surgeon General - I provide vit
song performed by by Erykah Badu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women Sometimes
women sometimes
are a handful, a breastful,
a body beautiful,
you think they are so easy
to handle,
cutie pie, sweetie pie,
pity pie?
sure. they're a handful
of pretty pretty breastful
pretty, pretty petty bodies..
fondle, coddle, and
lots of doodles...
but oh, without them,
what will this world of mine be?
a desert. a dry pond.
a well without water.
drought the whole year round.
cracking lips.
labyrinths without an exit.
tunnels without light.
dogs without a master.
birds unfed and dead.
skulls without a skin.
bones without flesh.
blood without veins.
nails without fingers.
pen without a paper.
milk without water.
bed without blankets and pillows.
hands without fingers.
face without eyes.
and so on and so forth.
let me have them all
in my crowded room.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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what? just what do you really mean. Tell me.
is it your last word
but mine was different and you know it
whatever that means
i said 'hello'
and what is it that you mean by 'what? '
do you mean ' what you did for love? '
i mean it, my love for you is always a hello
and there is no word for 'goodbye'
i know how to always begin
right from where we started
when we made the doodles
when we combined the colors
(of our longings and wishes)
when we painted the flowers
and cats and dogs
when everything seems hormonal
did we call it a chemical romance?
or just connecting chains
from time to time, those chains of
love
(i am sounding corny) , yes, the chains
of the past, connecting to the present
(there we stop to ponder and)
i guess, there is no future
there is no us, out there
but is it not that love is only concerned
with the
now? the moment, the day that we must seize
(carpe diem, touchee!)
if and if the future is nothing but this word
'goodbye', i will not proceed to go there
i stay here, and savor the moment
of today
this 'hello', and your 'what? ' a question
an open one
like your arms always willing to embrace me
again
(oh, you never really embraced me)
i guess
you must delet the word 'again'
let your arms be open
embrace me, i am cold, and let me say this over and over again
(without shame)
i always miss you
and i will be with you again
even just to see you and not hold you in my arms
my love............................................. .........................................(sigh)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Plenty
There's a horn of plenty,
plenty to go around.
But where he comes from
there's not much to be found.
He thinks about the plenty.
He wonders where they are?
When he stops his wonderin'
he knows they are too far,
too far away.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Personal Journey
If someone had told me years ago,
poetry would make my name.
I would have politely smiled
and nodded yes,
and not believed a word of it.
I remember once
attending a poetry reading
and calmly getting up
and declaring I was not a poet,
and then wondered why everyone laughed.
They must have realised something
I did not know
that in fact, I was a poet,
of course, that was a long time ago,
and much waters
have crossed under the bridge of my life.
The doodles I once called poems
were in fact poems after all.
Some were much better
than I could ever dream of.
It took me a long time
and the internet to realise that fact.
Now I have started a new dawn
within my writing career,
taken steps down roads
I never thought I would go.
The journey has not been unmarked,
as I have gained so much more
than just becoming recognised as a writer.
I have gained so many friends across the world.
Something I could have only dreamed about
in my younger years.
17 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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We Pretend We Play With Words
to soothe the choking effects of the day,
and those days that come to us like two walls
while we lay helpless in between, we pretend
we pretend to play with words, like we are simply
children scribbling words on the floor beyond
the ambit of paper
we pretend that this writing is nothing but little games.
we like to be just light feathers floating in the wind
looking at the petal of the flower
trying to choose which patch of grass to land,
we pretend this is just that
doodles, noodles, needles, neddles, doddles,
we pretend that this writing poetry has nothing to do
with what we are: feelings like words in a crossword puzzle
we tinker with meanings, we like to experiment with moods,
like handpainting on the walls and spraying paint
at the fences of our bad neighbors
trying to evade laws, of falling and flying and rising and dropping,
this is just a play of words, do not ask me again if i am in between the
lines if there are tears there, or that laughter and mockery is hidden
underneath the cover of heavy sheets of sentences
we pretend there is nothing to all these.
when we stop, when that right time comes
it will be dark, and we like children all stop playing and shouting
and running and kidding and calling each other names
when we stop it is always dark. The fear is lost. It is time to go.
Home. Where we are united with our loved ones. Where we begin to
speak the truth about us. Where we sleep. Where all the lights are
turned off.
We give way for the moon to shine above our silent roofs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dry Tear Down
They found her dried tears
at the beach
beneath the sand;
in a phone booth
where calls came from;
inside Cruelty's Eye;
at the edges of Sharp Words,
in eddies whirling in Mean-Spirited Space;
in the crevices of a Frowning Brow;
in the Back Hand and redden cheeks;
in the tracks of her Child-Hood memories;
on carpeted floors
where she had lain,
face down, soul squashed.
They found her tears
had tears at the end-
had become a deluge-
washed out to sea.
But they didn't find her.
She was gone;
traces of her smile
tho lingered on;
her things of lace, her sad face
in the photographs,
her mild regards
her notes
signed Millicent;
the dark doodles on her high school books.
He finally called
and she rose
on Rainbowed Air
tear by tear
fluttering high-
one by one
cleaned and cleansed
and placed
into a new-born's
baby eyes
and some
were carefully placed
inside child smiles
where joy reins.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Maries Wedding
Chorus:
Step we gaily on we go,
Heel and heel
And toe for toe,
Arm and arm
And row and row,
All for maries wedding.
Over hillways, up and down,
Myrtle green and bracken brown,
Past the sheilings through the town
All for the sake of marie.
Chorus
Red her cheeks as rowans are,
Bright her eyes as any star.
Fairest of them all by far,
Is our darlin marie.
Chorus
Plenty herring, plenty meal,
Plenty peat to fill her kreel.
Plenty bonnie bairns as well,
Thats the toast for marie.
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Underwater
It's in her head, it's in her mind.
She can't believe it,
Can't believe she's running out of time.
And any hold that she can find.
Something to lean on.
Everybody fails her half the time.
Nothing to be,
She's already been
Oh, in plenty of time.
Plenty of time...
Plenty of time...
She lights her candle, six A.M.
Starting a new one.
Every new one hits her just the same.
Just like clock work,
She climbs down into her bottle.
Yeah, and no one down there cares to know her name.
She's underwater, nowhere now.
She's underwater, upside down.
The rising tide won't find her now.
She's lost and found.
Underwater...
She's underwater.
She's underwater, but she won't drown.
She can't believe it,
And everyone she meets feels just the same.
It takes all day to get to tonight.
What makes the sunset,
And what makes it go back to where it came?
Nothing to be.
She's already been
In plenty of time.
Plenty of time...
Plenty of time...
She's underwater, nowhere now.
She's underwater, upside down.
The rising tide won't find her now.
She's lost and found.
Now she's upside down.
Now she's six feet down.
Underwater...
Underwater...
Underwater...
song performed by by Switchfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing Was Delivered
Nothing was delivered
And I tell this truth to you,
Not out of spite or anger
But simply because its true.
Now, I hope you wont object to this,
Giving back all of what you owe,
The fewer words you have to waste on this,
The sooner you can go.
Nothing is better, nothing is best,
Take heed of this and get plenty of rest.
Nothing was delivered
But I cant say I sympathize
With what your fate is going to be,
Yes, for telling all those lies.
Now you must provide some answers
For what you sell has not been received,
And the sooner you come up with them,
The sooner you can leave.
Nothing is better, nothing is best,
Take heed of this and get plenty rest.
(now you know)
Nothing was delivered
And its up to you to say
Just what you had in mind
When you made evrybody pay.
No, nothing was delivered,
Yes, n someone must explain
That as long as it takes to do this
Then thats how long that youll remain.
Nothing is better, nothing is best,
Take heed of this and get plenty rest.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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