Write in the quiet hour
Write in the quiet hour
~
while the world still sleeps
a wind blows gently cooling
light eases into darkness
thoughts stir into focus
those names and faces
those far distant places
somewhere to be
someone to see
the world still asleep
a day is beginning
write in the quiet hour
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Related quotes
Why I Write?
I write poems for myself and I write for the readers
I write for the masses and I write for the leaders
I write to imprint my thoughts in people's mind
I write to make the bad guys helpful and kind
I write to light up our path to Great God
I write for everyone home and abroad
I write to preserve values new and old
I write to make my ink precious like gold
I write for peace and I write for progress
I write to make the world a better place
All major issues I want to address
I write to see smile on God's face
poem by Asif Andalib
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I Would Write A Quiet Poem
I WOULD WRITE A QUIET POEM
I would write a quiet poem.
There is so much noise in the world.
A poem to be read in silence
A poem to give comfort and rest
A poem of peace
Of mind and soul.
A quiet poem
Against all the furies and pains of this world
A poem of peace
Restful as the most bliss-filled sleep.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Evil Thoughts
Does the darkness inspire you
Swimming in your aquarium
Revelling like a garbage heap
Decaying in the oceans
Are you perverted and covered?
We seem bewildered amidst the stars
Disjointed sojourners with sordid crotches
Oh well life must listen to the dark blood
Clean your filthy house
Some writers leave dishes
Now the ancient hour brings quiet
The hour where the bugs sleep
I can write like a naked woman in heels
I can think my evil thoughts
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Quiet Focus Of The Mind
The Quiet focus of the mind
Is From whence imaginations rise
Imagination of starlit creation
Stimulation to open up one’s eyes
The quiet focus of the mind
To garner truth, cast out the lies
If Intimidation begets frustration
Then Frustration leads to what’s and why’s
Well… the quiet focus of the mind
Will turn what’s and why’s to quiet sighs
Plain and simple contemplation
Levels out, life’s lows and highs
And the quiet focus of the mind
Will lift the spirit to the skies
poem by David Whalen
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The World Goes On
THE WORLD GOES ON
The world goes on
Mighty rivers flow to the sea
Great things are done and undone
Across the universe stride colosses
Whose names all know.
I hide in some small corner of myself
Far away from everyone else
I dare not even look outside
I write and write and write and write.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Shut My Window
windows keep shut
lest sky enters the room
if sky enters wind sunbeam rain sea-roar
the green of tall trees, the distance far away the horizon
will meet my individual world
will quake my tranquility in confinement
the disorder begins
when small wants to meet big wide
expanded nature never knows its limit
my individual world just small
four walls its limit
roof overhead and a man sleeps quiet
to slip from the enlarged
not to loose its enchained passion
not to live spreading wings
windows keep shut to show
no world behind it could exist..
thoughts are dark to dark the expansion
thoughts are dark to condemn nature
if sky enters
if light
if wind
if rain
if sea-roar
if horizon glitters away
with distant distance
individual nowhere
everywhere the wave of life
sometimes burn, sometimes snowy
and sometimes makes me burst to meet the end
from where beginning begins again...
poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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2008: My Writing
Somtimes I need to write
At 3 AM
When the house is
Dark and quiet
Nothing
But the LEDs
Watching
Me work
Often I need music
Sometimes my mixes
Then a single artist's CD
Or random automated all-night FM radio
There are times
My writing needs a boost
From Starbucks or Peets
Soft music and socialization
I am inspired too
By the shouts of children
Fighting over who got
The best toy with their Happy Meal
I live in this world
I draw from this world
What I write I write
About this world and others
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Write Me
Aerosmith
Write Me
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
I said, the ways of the night are evil with eyes that love the day,
but I'll never never never never never get so far away.
I said write me, write me, write me.
I said write me, write me, write me.
Well there's nothin' I can see that'd ever make
me want to be without her she's good, she's good to me.
Said there's no way to explain the kind of feeling
that you get out in the rain she's good, she's good to me.
See this emptiness inside it makes me scream
it make me crawl out of my high, she's good, she's good to me.
I love her.
Write me a letter, write me a letter, write it today, I'm goin' away.
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
Well I've been so many places hidin' from the wind and the rain,
But you could write me a letter for to save me from a goin' insane.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Don't write me baby.
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Morning thoughts
Morning thoughts
~
A sun rises over roof tops
Greeting the cold morning air
A wind blows heavy, swaying trees
The branches stripped bare by winter
The world is slowly waking
And the picture beyond my window
Emerges to life once more
I lay motionless in silence
Nursing warm coffee in my hands
Early thoughts begin to stir
My pen yet to be put to paper
I think back to dreams
The night passed what they brought
I think to the day ahead
What will it bring
Thoughts of love and romance
What could I write of them
I watch a world waking
A sun rising over rooftops
And I listen to my thoughts
poem by Matthew Holloway
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I Had No Poem /I Had Nothing In Mind
I HAD NO POEM
I had no Poem
I had nothing in mind
Darkness in the world
Darkness inside.
I tried to think
I could not write
Darkness in the world
Darkness inside.
I repeated my theme
Again and again
Darkness in the world
Silence, no friend.
I try and I try
I need to write
A Poem is for me
A sign of Life.
What will be?
Will I ever know?
I write these words
Dawn so slow.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Myriad Thoughts
I sit here in myriad thoughts
dancing around my head
too fed up to put them to bed.
Thoughts of the past,
thoughts of the future too,
thoughts of things this and that
and thoughts of what to do.
Memories invade at times
of pastures long gone by
as the myriad thoughts
fill my mind with anger and with love
and times; I wish I could have lingered with
when my years were young.
Things pass in phases,
hearts entwine then fall apart,
seasons readily appear,
stay awhile and then depart.
Here I sit in a lonely waste
thinking thoughts of what might have been
if the crystal ball I look into had only seen.
Now the myriad thoughts appear
to haunt me in quiet times
and carry me to distant places
the world has left behind.
Those little specks of moments
that still linger from the past
that lay waiting to capture me
before the quiet time has passed.
28 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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She sleeps
She sleeps
~
She sleeps
her heart, soul at peace
she is as beautiful
as any painting by any artist
no brush has born such beauty
silence fills the walls
and the day is calm
my thoughts like trees
take deep roots
into the earth of my soul
unmoveable
mountains, stars and the sky
rise into an endless expanse
I wonder on her dreams
what places she sees
the weather and colours
the faces and events
unfolding
she sleeps
and I
I am moved
by her quiet beauty
poem by Matthew Holloway
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0004 Rilke to a Young Poet 1
There is only one single way. Go into yourself.
Search for the reason that bids you write;
find out whether it is spreading out its roots
in the deepest places of your heart,
acknowledge to yourself whether you would have to die
if it were denied to you to write.
This above all - ask yourself
in the stillest hour of your night:
MUST I write?
Delve into yourself for a deep answer.
And if this is 'Yes! I must! '
then build your life according to this necessity;
your life, even within its most indifferent and slightest hour
must be a sign of this urge
and a testimony to it.
Then draw near to Nature.
Then try, like some first human being,
to say what you see and experience and love and lose.
Do not write love-poems;
avoid at first those forms that are too facile and commonplace:
they are the most difficult, for
it takes a great, fully matured power
to give something of your own
where good and even excellent traditions
come to mind in quantity.
Therefore save yourself from these general themes
and seek those which your own everyday life offers you;
describe your sorrows and desires, passing thoughts and
the belief in some sort of beauty -
describe all these with loving, quiet, humble sincerity,
and use, to express yourself,
the things in your environment,
the images from your dreams,
and the objects of your memory.
If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it;
blame yourself, tell yourself that
you are not poet enough to call forth its riches;
for to the creator there is no poverty
and no poor indifferent place.
Go into yourself and test the deeps
in which your life takes rise;
at its source you will find the answer to the question,
whether you must create.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Follow The Wind
Im so weary from holding this load
But its only , love for you, that I walk this lonely road
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
And the wind will take me hold before the cold
Evry stay I have counted
Each flower I have seen
But the place where Im going , theres no grass as green
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
And the wind will take me home where I can dream
In the hour I am lonely, youre love will be mine
I will stay in your arms dear, until comes the time
I must be on my way for my home is anywhere
I have no time to stay , I have no time to care
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
As the wind gently blows in my hair
(break)
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
As the wind gently blows in my hair
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
As the wind gently blows in my hair
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Nurse
Such innocent companionship
Is hers, whether she wake or sleep,
'Tis scarcely strange her face should wear
The young child's grave and innocent air.
All the night long she hath by her
The quiet breathing, the soft stir,
Nor knows how in that tender place
The children's angels veil the face.
She wakes at dawn with bird and child
To earth new-washed and reconciled,
The hour of silence and of dew,
When God hath made His world anew.
She sleeps at eve, about the hour
Of bedtime for the bird and flower,
When daisies, evening primroses,
Know that the hour of closing is.
Her daylight thoughts are all on toys
And games for darling girls and boys,
Lest they should fret, lest they should weep,
Strayed from their heavenly fellowship.
She is as pretty and as brown
As the wood's children far from town,
As bright-eyed, glancing, shy of men,
As any squirrel, any wren.
Tender she is to beast and bird,
As in her breast some memory stirred
Of days when those were kin of hers
Who go in feathers and in furs.
A child, yet is the children's law,
And rules by love and rules by awe.
And, stern at times, is kind withal
As a girl-baby with her doll.
Outside the nursery door there lies
The world with all its griefs and sighs,
Its needs, its sins, its stains of sense:
Within is only innocence.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Variant Form Of The Preceding Poem
COME to me, all ye that labour; I will give your spirits rest;
Here apart in starry quiet I will give you rest.
Come to me, ye heavy laden, sin defiled and care opprest,
In your father's quiet mansions, soon to prove a welcome guest.
But an hour you bear your trial, sin and suffer, bleed and die;
But an hour you toil and combat here in day's inspiring eye.
See the feet of your deliverer; lo, the hour of freedom nigh.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Write Me A Letter
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it has)
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it is)
Well Ive been away forever
Suicides crossin my mind
Well Ill never, never get so far behind
I said, the ways of the night are evil
Without that lord of day
But Ill never, never get so far away
I said write me
Write me
Write me
Write me
I said write me
Write me
Write me
Well theres nothin I can see
Thatd ever make me
Want to be without her
Shes good, she good to me
Said theres no way to explain
The kind of feelin that you get out in the
She good, she good to me
She good, she good to me
I love her
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it has)
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it is)
Well Ive been away forever
Suicides crossin my mind
Well Ill never, never get so far behind
Well Ive been so many places
Hidin from the wind and the rain
But you could write me a letter
For to save me from goin insane
Write me
Excite me
Write me
Write me
Write me
Write me...
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Falling Asleep
Voices moving about in the quiet house:
Thud of feet and a muffled shutting of doors:
Everyone yawning. Only the clocks are alert.
Out in the night there’s autumn-smelling gloom
Crowded with whispering trees; across the park
A hollow cry of hounds like lonely bells:
And I know that the clouds are moving across the moon;
The low, red, rising moon. Now herons call
And wrangle by their pool; and hooting owls
Sail from the wood above pale stooks of oats.
Waiting for sleep, I drift from thoughts like these;
And where to-day was dream-like, build my dreams.
Music ... there was a bright white room below,
And someone singing a song about a soldier,
One hour, two hours ago: and soon the song
Will be ‘last night’: but now the beauty swings
Across my brain, ghost of remembered chords
Which still can make such radiance in my dream
That I can watch the marching of my soldiers,
And count their faces; faces; sunlit faces.
Falling asleep ... the herons, and the hounds....
September in the darkness; and the world
I’ve known; all fading past me into peace.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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What Shall Be?
What shall be my clandestine hour?
Is to write a poem about a flower
The world is but an open flower
A parchment of white paper
What shall be my clandestine hour?
Is to write a poem about a flower
Or watch another flower bear fruit
Give her hand, bite my tongue mute.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Home Alone Happy Without Working Computer
Home alone happy without working computer
I take my pen in hand
And slowly write these words –
Let the world click and paste and post
I am out of it for now-
I have before me an evening of any book I like
Of any page I want to write
-
Peace of Mind is one place of attention at a time-
Here weighing each word as I write
I am at home with my inner self-
I hear my own thoughts
I correct them at my own pace.
So many words and so many pages
Have been written in my life-
Now in this one
I am wholly at home
Peaceful, quiet happy
Each word a small blessing
As I write it-
This is the only poem I know
The only page I see
The only place of attention
I give myself and my soul to
At this moment.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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