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The Silence Between

the silence between
words being written and read
seduces the mind to think
thoughts of creation anticipate
the blank canvas of the mind
which mirrors the open soul
calling out to listen
to the sound of pen upon paper
a mind at work
is a beautiful thing
and in writing seductive
words flow into sentence
a verse crafts itself
to be seen, felt
all in the aftermath
of the silence between
words being written
words being read

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Words

Words on this paper
Words in my head
Words while I'm texting
Computing
Unsaid
Words between people
Words on the phone
Words upon words
Even when I'm alone
Words from the Bible
I question
Don't mesh
Words from pornography
Making them flesh
Words with flat letters
Written in black
Good words and bad words
You cannot take back
Words that are shallow
Words that are deep
When they're too many
They put me to sleep
Words that I'm writing
And rhyming you read
Whatever I'm saying
There's prolly no need
Words from the alphabet
Words that can't be
When you are blind
And it's Braile that you see
Words that are worthless
And said on the fly
My words or your words
Are most likely lies
Words in a sentence
Wise words or fair
The only words earnest
Are those said in prayer

Written by Sara Fielder © 2011

poem by Sara Fielder
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Words on paper

Words on paper
~
Just words on paper
Where a story is told
An emotion revealed
Or a love laid to rest
Where a dream begins
An ambition is spoken
Perhaps a whim of fancy
Takes charge of the pen
To write what is written
Letters forming words
Shapley and beautiful
Expressions of a soul
Or a mind at play
There across the page
Words on paper
Written to have their say

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Only In My Mind

thoughts fire
mind blaze
run on wind

words sing mind melodies
words sing song new images
dance in heart veins flow

words shape shift
into new thoughts
concepts poems

several are written
in time heart beats
wonder stirs anew

but only in my mind
where the beauty sings
sung sight meditation

no words given unto paper
no words processed on light screen
no words kept mind record

dart of honeybird flight
bats fly sonar night vision
wing beats of wonder

words released born free

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Love Letter

She wonders how to begin her letter
She knows he will read each word
Greedily for any hint of love. She knows
He will sniff the paper for any scent of her

She leans an elbow on her writing desk
And clutches her pen tight. She has got
As far as, Dear John, but then the words
Stopped coming. Before she had sat down
To write, the words flowed through her
Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing

She sucks the end of the pen. Say what
You would if you were face to face, her
Mother always said. She tries to imagine
He is there before her and what she would
Say if he was, but still no words will come

He writes to her so fluently when he writes
He always seems to know what to write
And how to put it into words. She tries again
Puts the pen nib onto the paper, gripping
The pen tighter. She reads what she’s written

Dear John. The pen moves, the words begin
To flow, her hand moves across the page
The images come into her mind as she writes
The things that they said last time they met
The things they did, she blushes slightly
That almost being caught out by the maid
In a state of undress. She pauses the pen
And sits gazing at the painting on the wall.

She looks back at the paper and starts again
The words tripping over themselves to be put
Down in ink upon a page; the images open up
In her mind, the colours, the smells, the events

The pen now stops. The love letter is written
The writing done. She looks at the words
Then she seals it in an envelope and writes
His address. She pictures him reading it: in bed
In his room, sleepy, in a state of his usual undress

poem by Terry Collett
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Beware Words Written

words celebrating what is written
beware allure of beauty in words written
seek instead words thoughts not written
words not written thoughts not written

themes not written which need to be written

the importance of the unwritten demands writing
important world needs consciousness needs writing
urgent global necessity issues demands needs writing
actions resolutions policy change harmony restoration needs writing

poem by Terence George Craddock
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God Loves Silence

I paint a picture in my thoughts
My thinking is my canvas
My easle is made of words
I choose the words in silence
Silence is my companion
It never lets me down
Silence is the my safe haven
Helps me to value my inner self
Hear the footsteps of wisdom
When silence controls my mind
I understand his supreme commands
As God loves silence

poem by Dr Shamim ali
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The Three a.m. Burst

I was woken in the early hours of this morning
by an overwhelming mental burst.
My mind bombarded me with random words
and compelled me to write poetic verse.

Words were branded upon my thoughts,
like initials on the hide of a steer.
But then strings of words in a jumbled mess
in different colours began to appear.

Like calculated numbers, words fell into place
adding their value to the score.
Another sentence brought another verse,
which begged for even more.

By breakfast time the burst was over,
the words had been laid to rest.
Several pieces of paper had been filled,
and my mind had been freed from stress.

poem by Orlando Belo
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A note in my diary

Writing this piece of peace

From my heart to you

Reading your words

From your mind for me

Feel so numb and I can’t hear

Anything you say makes me sad

And I am going to buy a fish

A fish to feed you all because...

Some words are incomplete

Few words are baseless

I’m going to take a shower

And get back to work…

Writing a short note and will send

Few diaries of snaps and poems

Pick one of them and wet the page

Let me read your mind and your words…

poem by Nithin Jacob
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The Value Of Words

Words what value words
when spoken in haste
what is their worth
words spat in spite
or an envious game
false words meaningless
what value words

a trusting word
honest and open speaks
volumes when listen to
without agenda given
with care and thought
placed into its being
what becomes its worth

words in variety
of context and meaning
fill blank spaces
where sometimes silence
is a more welcome sound
where nothing is better said
words have a value
consider their worth

poem by Matthew Holloway
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The First Poem

The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Working on the value of words

Working on the value of words
~
some words require more
more than being spoken
written, read or listened to
some words need feeling
given their own soul
a touch of emotion
some words fall easily
across the page
or off the tongue
like a catchphrase
meaning almost nothing
words without value
spoken to be heard
said and not listened to
or written and missed
all without feeling
give words emotion
soul, fire and life
give words value
work the next line

poem by Matthew Holloway
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The unwritten is also there

a blank paper
limitless as space
to fill the knowledge
here and beyond
and words of God
here, the learned plot
the stars, moon and universe
day and night

to the untutored
the blank paper might
as well be carrying space
limitless, enthralling
yet not fathomable
reachable

the blank page
catches the
essence of the mind
the written is there
the unwritten also there
if you could read
between the lines
if you could sense
the universal mind
the waves at sea
afford only a little view
of the power of the wind

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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My Words To Be Written

Words can be said, they can be written
they can be funny or sad or informed
words are sought after by everyone
papers, scripts, books, letters or texts
they can gossip, tattle or lie
honest, trust worthy, confusing
written to story or rhyme to rhythm
they can be found in our minds
written or printed they are strong
brought together the bring magic
imaginations, fantasy, real life
many stories and songs by words
have touched the soul with in
my words are to enlighten and entertain your mind
to put you in places we never dreamed
and to think I could of done that
my words to you is my soul to share
written with love, hate and sorrow
take the time to enjoy the words
words make ours dreams come true

poem by Michael Peterson
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Many Can Teach Few Can Write

many can teach and be good teachers
some even aspiring excellent teachers
but few can image write wondrous words

who are now waiting among
those who have words worth writing
words waiting to be written?

writing will cost much
demanded much
then will cost yet more

a small fortune in wages
wages spent not made
still to be spent and yet

accumulative cost is nothing
for there are hunger hearts
minds waiting for these words

looking even searching
for quest sought words
therefore it matters not

if for a specific poem
or passage paragraph
only a few or one is searching

these thoughts
are important
still must be written

some of what we write
even much of what we write
is of no prime importance

but that small portion
which is important
that tiny potent seed

which is important
must be written
translate many can translate

some even translate
almost perfectly precise
but those writing

original thoughts
are far more precious
and their words

will also in their time
be sought after read
but there time is not yet

that which is not
written cannot
be read

therefore write
write
and write well

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Read My Lips

verbal silence. read my lips.
if you see them.
read the words. read it here.

these words. read them like
flowers in the garden.

these words speak a little.
tips of the iceberg. They are less
compared to the color of my eyes
the warmth of my fingers
the suppressed beatings of my heart.

these words that you read.
if only you can see my lips.
if only you can see my face.
and body, naked on the flowing sheet of
pure paper. IF only you know
what silence means, how emptiness
eats it, if only you know how inferior
verbs and adjectives are
compared to the caresses of the hands
and the tenderness of the fingers,
touch.

read the lines silently.
these words do not shape my lips.

they come to your eyes.
in the silence of your understanding.

never shall they speak
about me. they only talk about

the hands that write sometimes
without any meaning at all.

infinitives are not infinite.
neither do verbs know what is it to be still.
and adjectives talk only about the surface.

deep under, the noise begins.
and silence of the verbs move to another side.
now, the mountains of ideas collapse
and bury the casualties of silence.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Is Your Mind

Whatcha’ gonna’ do
When your mind
Takes you
To places… that you
Don’t want
To go?

After all, it is your mind
You should rule it!
Wouldn’t you think that was so?
What do you do when you look
at your partner, and instead
See a stranger in bed with you?

And why does your mind
Seem to always find
A reason to make you feel blue?
What do you do
When you see your house,
yet your mind no longer… sees a home?

What do you do
When in a room full of people
Your mind reminds you… you’re all alone?
What do you do
When your mind makes you
Read aloud… words which once, you were smitten

You put your hands oe’r your ears
To shut out the fears… and the tears
from the words that your mind’s just written

poem by David Whalen
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Silence, where there are no words! !

'somewhere in my heart I still find myself some time,
I keep all the loneliness at one side and let the silence rhyme,
Then I open my mind to some fairy tales,
some heartless mind wandering trails,
oh then and there,
I land up somewhere,
up above the sky height.
I open the cockpit of my flight
and see the words flowing into you
oh you are the first woman whom i knew,

you are someone to whom my first words were addressed,
oh my heart rupturing mother come lets get dressed,
as we have to go so far away even from your words
to seek the language of the silence where there are no word,
the ultimate and utter silence mother'

'but what will you do there if there are no words there,
the ever eating silence will scare you and get your out, fear',

said the crystal eyed my other,

'won't you seek the silence in one another,
let me talk you through this out,
i want to hear my tears fall and sprout,
in this loneliness and utter silence i cry,
i am so soused but it's still dry,
no matter what i can't stop this thought of mine,
yes, there will be silence and everything will be fine'.

poem by Aneesh Koul
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Will The Words Come Back?

Words slip off our pen
like warm butter off a knife.
They fall in unison across the page
with everything we write.
Then one day the words don’t flow
in unison like they used to before.
They have no rhythm within them
and just become no more than words.
We look at what we’ve written
and there is no bounce in them.
The words become no more than words
once written by a creative hand.
There is no meaning in what they say
they have no heart anymore.
They are just words written on a page
with no rhyme or reason for them being there.
Some call it a writer’s block;
others call it stagnation of the mind.
The creative juices fall away to nothing,
no spark to be kindled,
no emotions to be released,
no protests to be made,
no stories to be assembled
like a jigsaw in your mind.
Just an empty pen with words
that don’t make sense anymore.
Struggles without feeling,
ideas leading nowhere
on a spiralling downward turn.
You are no longer a writer,
your creativity is gone
and the only question you have,
will the words come came back?

13 July 2009

poem by David Harris
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Blood Chalice Injustice Drips

skipping words across water
ripples spread at each touch point
mind merges into felt wonder

therefore it does not matter
if words are read or not
each skip was mind thunder

mind writes what words want
writes soul felt free thought
runs choice fields that anoint

sanctification consecration
pays homage honours all creation
earth entwined population

control investing in rim wars
out of sight out of mind fills
blood chalice injustice drips

beware balance restoration
all empires embracing evil fall
prosperity favours liberation

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Being A Poet

I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.

Or when I’m out walking, or sat on a train,
Words and ideas, all rush round my brain.
Sometimes, ideas just appear in my head,
Or may be a result of something I’ve read.

At fellow passengers, on a train, I take a look;
Some chatter away, while others read a book.
But, me, I’m sat there, quietly composing verse;
With dozens of ideas, my creative mind bursts.

If I compose lines on my way into town,
I repeat them over, until I write them down;
If they are not written down straightaway,
Around my mind, other thoughts then play.

There are many things which inspire me to write,
Such as animals, the seasons, and the sky at night.
If I try to force ideas, they just do not flow;
The poem itself, I find, just will not grow.

I like to write on a layperson’s level;
In too much information, I do not revel.
Having chosen a decent subject or idea,
I then need to get my brain in to gear.

Of a subject, I like to consider all of the aspects,
But I keep my writing simple; not too complex.
To make a poem rhyme, words I may change,
But I only use words that are within my range.

In using unfamiliar words, I can see no point;
A nice poem, tricky words, can really disjoint.
Words, within my head, I keep batting around,
Until the perfect combination, is finally found.

With poetry, I really love the creative process,
But over time, I’ve become slightly obsessed.
Sometimes I find myself talking in rhyme;
That I am a poet, this must be a sure sign.

Of my finished poems, I often feel proud;
One day, I’ll be brave and read them aloud.
Into my swirling head, ideas continue to pop;
I love writing poetry and never want to stop!

poem by Angela Wybrow
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