For our Soul to nurture
They are friendly, entertaining, mysterious,
Addressing different themes, issues,
Telling us diverse life stories
Much more exciting than news.
We travel through their pages
Across countries of different ages,
Whose traditions, history, and culture
Are therein for our soul to nurture.
We look at them with respect,
Filling our heart with delight
Enjoying how the characters interact
Within the plot the author thinks is right.
(February 2010)
poem by Maria C. Costa
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Related quotes
The Rest Is History
Saw you across the room
Felt somethin stir inside my soul
Knew Id never be the same
Now that love had taken hold
Then when you touched me
There was no doubt
You unterstood what my heart was all about
And the rest is history
The story of you and me
For all eternity
The record will show
Well fill up the pages
Romance for the ages
There for the world to see
The rest ist history
Before we spoke a word
My heart told me you were the one
When you pressed your hand to mine
I knew my life had just begun
Like some old movie
Music filled the night
Lost held each other tight.
And the rest is history
The story of you and me
For all eternity
The record will show
Well fill up the pages
Romance for the ages
There for the world to see
The rest ist history
And the rest is history
The story of you and me
For all eternity
The record will show
Well fill up the pages
Romance for the ages
There for the world to see
The rest ist history
History ...
The rest is history.
The rest is history.
song performed by by LeAnn Rimes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The History of Now
The recording of culture is history;
but our culture is more than that.
It's the world of human action,
and the myths we make of the fact.
The recording of history is culture,
but our history is more than that.
It informs a hidden agenda.
Unconscious of motive we act.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
It's only the present that exists as endowed.
It's the history of now. The moment - KAPOW!
That knocks you right over and muddies your brow.
Through the prism of language, we know what we know.
We carry our baggage and stories of woe.
Victor and vanquished pride cannot budge,
the dead weight of hatred and ancestral grudge.
We fight our good fights with our hand on our heart;
the music is swelling as loved ones depart.
As sheep to the slaughter, the script cannot chart,
a course more ignoble: the propagandist's art.
The recording of history is culture,
but our culture is more than that.
More than the great individuals,
the scholars so love in their tracts.
The recording of culture is history;
but our history is more than that.
Not simple dates or statistics,
the full horror and gore still attracts.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
A strange contradiction that makes sense somehow.
It's the history of now, a mystery and shroud.
The past and the future: best fiction allowed.
poem by David SmithWhite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our life is a book that writes itself and whose principal themes sometimes escape us. We are like characters in a novel who do not always understand what the author wants of them.
quote by Julien Green
Submitted by Simona Enache
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There Is Something You Need To Know
in my lies
are hidden truths
in my fiction
lies realities
the characters
are real
speaking their lies
and deceptions
the plot
goes awry
the tone
a monotone
and i,
as the author
still thinks
about
a happy ending
there is
something
you need
to know
more
i am always
there
but keep on
reading
and understanding
after
all, i could be
yourself
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Dream As A Traveller
I have a beautiful dream,
A dream As a lone traveler,
For being a lonely traveler
To see many beautiful places,
To see many beautiful scenery,
To see lakes, rivers, ocean and mountains.
Travelling is my Passion,
To experience other country's culture,
food and traditions
To meet beautiful and friendly people,
To make friends around,
Just Like you and me
Travelling is my life
Just Love the travel freedom
To see the world alone
As back packer
Dream of a traveler
To write and share my travelling story
As a lone traveler.
To travel around the world
To go to the most remote places on earth
Give me the best excitement and amazement
Good for my soul and life experience.
14 March 2012
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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And so popular culture raises issues that are very important, actually, in the country I think. You get issues of the First Amendment rights and issues of drug use, issues of AIDS, and things like that all arise naturally out of pop culture.
quote by Kurt Loder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I always start with characters rather than with a plot, which many critics would say is very obvious from the lack of plot in my films - although I think they do have plots - but the plot is not of primary importance to me, the characters are.
quote by Jim Jarmusch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Off From Our Lands!
know not why we ran away from home lands,
know not how to fit in the new lands!
in the depths of our hearts still there must be a beat,
that no one cares to understand or to repeat it!
it is only we feel the pain of it all,
yet.. it is all hard to find some one to make it full-fill!
we are lost nomads from home lands off a cause for sure,
but surely were not on our way to conquer!
still holding on those lost strands of that culture,
we sure have so much to offer in all this mixture!
give us a little space too here, of a life,
for we never really make someone unsafe!
seems like in the very nature of our ancestral culture,
just to make sure that every life gets it's nurture!
(in respect to Roma and their history)
poem by Siddartha Montik
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A Mirror Image
How many times when reading a book,
do we identify with the characters within?
Their traits they have we share,
their loves and heartaches
their lives go through somehow mirror our own.
It’s as if the author was writing about us.
As though he has put us under a microscope
and then writing down everything, he saw.
However, we know this isn’t so
because he or she has written
segments of their own life
and by accident they happen to mirror ours.
Every writer will tell you
that they have their characters under control.
Having written numerous novels,
I know the characters take on a life of their own
and do what they want to do.
We become their instrument as they guide us on our way.
We end up writing what they want us to say.
To every writer his characters are real,
they live, breathe and feel.
The more you write about them,
the more alive they become.
So the next time you pick up a book
and the characters seem real,
they probably are to the author
who looks after them.
24 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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This Fun
it's fun
in fact it's more fun
being here
i am thinking
a lot
about people that
i've met
that i barely know
there are only
glimpses
outlines of their lives
in such
a short conversation
it makes me feel
so elated
comforting me that
i am not alone
in this...
say,
sorrow joy
sweet-sour memories
like fish and sauce
on a platter
this fun thing
it's more fun really
on these islands
i am taking more
hours of my life
on the plane
hopping from one island
to another
threshing out stories
of real people
that i met
and talk with
in such a short
witting hours
i do not care
anymore
if what they are
telling are true
does not really matter
sort of
short stories themselves
that they are
weaving
like spiders
in the far corners
of the cities
it's more fun
to be frank with you
merely listening
somehow
the words that travel in my ears
make my senses full
i am not alone
all of them
are telling me
this world is a place
of stories
sounds and colors
it is real
they are all telling me
how come
that i did not really know that?
must i be dumb?
or was i just sleeping for all those years
or simply pretending
to know a lot
from books and pages of the newspapers
?
i am seeing a big river
i put myself inside a wooden boat
take the paddle
and start my way
in the water
i stop a while
to touch the ripples
and then
we are going
into something that we have
never know
under the moon
my shadow speaks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Play's The Thing
Every day
the same play.
The moment I rise,
the first act begins,
the same plot
all over again.
Only the characters,
only the scenery,
vary. Act after act,
no intermission,
no denouement,
it never ends.
Every night,
in the front row,
the same lady
in a plumed hat
stands and shouts,
"Author, Author! "
I smile, I bow,
what else can I do?
Finally I pull the curtain
and turn in.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Epitome of love
Genuine passion
is like an adventure
in the form of expression
narrating the stories of a soul
held captive in the realm of tender emotions
falling in love is a risky truth
that secretely completes the soul
and opens the pores
of joy in the heart
delight of mine
intense passion
center of my attention
you have furnished my soul
with the colour of love
your voice echoes in the empty spaces
of my soul and thus filling my heart with bliss
poem by Irenio Irenaeus Bero
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Beyond Digital Sounds
These may be sounds of a word player
Enjoying punctuation marks
Throughout a sync speech
Eventually a low pitch
But they're rather sounds of a lover.
Nothing compares to that music
Sounding amidst those nice words
Heard through a string of emotions
Shared with live punctuations.
Three dots mean for her a lot
Be it clearly expressed or not
Hinting at new lovely threads
Stories without commas she treads.
The talk goes on out of curiosity
Punctuated by the question mark
Which was typed by thee.
Then, we go ahead until next thread.
A quiet pause brought by dashes
Allows for a wise reflection
On life issues and latest news
During that lively interaction.
A suddenly strong friendly wish
They're glad to accomplish
Drawn on an exclamation mark
Echoes like the song of a skylark!
October,2011
poem by Maria C. Costa
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Ghana's Most Beautiful
When drums are head
when beads on the ankle rattle
when flute gives it traditional rhythm
one thing comes in mind, the lives of our fathers
the rhythm of their heart beat.
Their quest for unity. We display them
We are Ghana's most beautiful
the eyes of our region.
We represent our culture and the beauty of
Ghanaians.
Our culture and hospitality makes alien natives
of our land
we are Ghana's most beautiful.
We are women of diverse culture
but common history.
We use beauty to promote unity
we use beauty to discourage conflict.
We use beauty to tell you, your history.
We are Ghana's most beautiful
the eyes of our society.
poem by Lovett Listowell
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Lost Children
The Lost Children Nov 6,2010
Taken, lost, misplaced from our minds, our souls
Culture, family, our way of life, ourselves.
Taken up drinking, drugs, abuse, being abused
Self- hatred and death.
Dealing with hate, uncontrolled anger, displace anger,
self-pity. Not knowing where it should go
and why it's still here. Oh, we know why.
Life, once giving, sharing, the telling of stories of great
Warriors, chiefs and of great women that held them together.
Stories of hunting, and cherishing mother earth,
Visions of it all have now become blurred.
Days of hardships, imprisonment, within us can never be expressed.
My grandmother and her family are products of people
Lost.
poem by Jill Laughlin
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The Author Of My Life
My God has penned the pages that told of my first breath
and has carefully written the paragraph depicting my death.
Then by grace the myriads of paragraphs between
are the pages which record my life on this earthly scene
For the God and author of all human history
has chosen to weave my name into its' tapestry.
Carefully mapping out my life well before my birth
and then He chose to walk with me each day on earth.
Based on Psalm 139: 13-16
Pages
Written by dewey bunnell and gerry beckley, 1998
Found on human nature.
In this bookcase full of stories
You find some of them are true
Tales of love and glory
Many lives of daring-do
There is mystery and adventure
They lie waiting there for you
So step inside and find the other you
Take the high road tomorrow
But the low road today
Reading others sorrow
Might just be the only way
The father hears confession
While the mothers feeling blue
These characters do what you want them to
In these pages we consume
Lives in many colors lovers in full bloom
And through the ages words are born
Speaking to the senses lifting the forlorn
Theres glamour and dementia
A message from the tomb
Staircase to the heavens
And secrets in the room
When you are riding on that dark horse
To the one that got away
Theres no regrets and no dues left to pay
cause in these pages we consume
Lives in many colors lovers in full bloom
And through the ages words are born
Speaking to the senses lifting the forlorn
Drifting down the river of the make believe
We laugh and grieve
Hoping for an ending of our own design
Where all is fine
In these pages we consume
Lives in many colors lovers in full bloom
And through the ages words are born
Speaking to the senses lifting the forlorn
In these pages we consume
Lives in many colors lovers in full bloom
And through the ages words are born... (fade)
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Show Courtesy Respect
Do not time respect
seasoned age because
someone is now old
show sincere respect to all
but respect most
motivation and heart
of people worthy
of matured respect.
Show courtesy respect
to all suffering humanity
polite considerate conduct
in face of flood adversity
who knows true history
each soul life endured suffers
hurt response to hostilities
only God perceives accurately.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Valentine Comp Poem 2
The heart shaped card with pretty words
Be my Valentine, my dear
Is there because the poor old man
Knows if the old lady doesn’t get one
She’ll box his blinkin’ ears
9 February 1992
Author’s Note:
This little poem was read out on radio between 10 February and 13 February and won a box of heart shaped chocolates for my lady fair.
poem by David Harris
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~ Cell ~ Soul ~ Culture ~ [1+26 words poetry]
~ Cell ~ Soul ~ Culture ~ [1+26 words poetry]
Ms. Nivedita
UK.
21 November 2012
Cell ~ Culture
Is mundane splendor.
Soul ~ Culture
Is self unfolder.
Discover Soul
In unique unison
With ev'ry being
Identify
E'er new Whole
Thro' wizardry of
Omnipresent oxyopia!
==
Glossary: Humbly given for what I tried to express: ~
[1] Oxyopia: Acute vision
~~~~~
Copyright reserved by author
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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