The Petition Scribe
the petı tı on scribe...my dear neı ghbour
ı s the paper on your type-writer blank
wrı te my worrı es and complaı nts word by word and scatter
look....what has happened to me
the worrı es and complaints of someone and another
you scribe from morning till evening
without wearying
how much is your daily gain
how many pennies in your hands and in your palms
first let us write yourself and yours
before the ribbon wears away
after yours finished and complete
ı will tel you mine slowly and slowly
my tonque is on your eyes
ı f you ask something ı will answer orally
my petition does not need any stamp
why stamp and signature on worries and complaints
the paper is a waste
for my worries and troubles papers are insuffı cant
ı envy you..the petition scribe..my dear neighbour
ı would like to be a petition scribe just like you
in this world
and in the other world
for this there is no word
be assure
ı am for sure
Osman ATILLA translatı on Metin Ş AHİ N
poem by Metin Sahin
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Related quotes
Paper And Pen
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Can’t think of anything to say today
Can’t think of anything to do
Can’t think of anything to play today
Minds gone blank
Leaving me here, just sitting here
Listening to my hair grow
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
And I look towards you
For an inspiration or a word or two
I try but I find
Every road only leads me back to these lines
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Piano, guitar
I try but don't get very far
Paper and pen
Piano, guitar
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Copyright Colin Coplin 1985 / 2010
poem by Colin Coplin
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A sensual scribble
I was the scribe who woke up at dawn
Finding a clean sheet of paper
And this glossy sort of ballpoint pen
Having the urge to write
Something sensual
My fingers spread the paper
On this table
Where there is so much disorder
Some paper clips and
Floppy discs scattered
Scotch tapes and mail openers
And some still unopened mails
That I did not mind
Not my priority
I was into something sensual
On this clean sheet of paper
On an urge to write
Grabbed this glossy sort of ballpoint pen
And start scribbling
Some lovely head notes
“My dear darling”
Careful strokes in curves
Sliding on paper
My fingers are wildly
Caressing to the shapes of
Sensual letters and words
And breathtaking sentences
“You know that you make me
Hot and you make me wild
And I always remember you”
And I am at the middle
Of so much longing
Using such letters
U and I
And w and e
Lots of ohs and ahs
And s and e and x
L and o and v and e
To make sense
Without pretense
Some exclamations
And pauses of commas and
Semicolons spread on some
Corners of this paper
With so much
Unstoppable anticipation
Somewhere in the center
I pierced this paper
With this glossy ballpoint pen
Writing something
Emphatic
Clinching
And I was at the height
Of my desiring and
So much liking
Something ecstatic
And calming
At the end
It was a beautiful piece
Of a scribble
Written at dawn
And I wrote at the end part there
“With all my love I remain
Your faithful slave”
And a postscript at the tip
Of my tongue
Written with a nip
“When will I see you again? ”
The letter shall be mailed at once
She will understand that pierce
Somewhere at the center something
That was ecstatic and she will remember
Every letter every word was an ember embedded.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It is impossible, in my mind, to distinguish between the refusal to receive a petition, or its summary rejection by some general order, and the denial of the right of petition.
quote by Caleb Cushing
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We put together a one-sentence petition asking Congress to censure President Clinton and move on to other pressing issues. We sent it to under 100 friends and family, and within a week we had 100,000 people sign the petition.
quote by Joan Blades
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blessings Of Prophets Intended Rejected
Dream visions
receding not birthed into life
within this wall.
Dream visions
images messages blessings miracles
not realized in this world.
Dream visions
God’s blessings upon people all nations
sin cursed not confirmed.
Dream visions
from source to mind to scribe to word
world indifferent withheld denied denial.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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My Monument
It is pleasant to think, as I'm watching my ink
A-drying along my paper,
That a monument fine will surely be mine
When death has extinguished my taper.
From each rhyming scribe of the journalist tribe
Purged clean of all sentiments narrow,
A pebble will mark his respect for the stark
Stiff body that's under the barrow.
By fellow-bards thrown, thus stone upon stone
Will make my celebrity deathless.
O, I wish I could think, as I gaze at my ink,
They'd wait till my carcass is breathless.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Dread
dread is such a
nice word upon the
mouth of someone
whose life depends
on the mere signing
of a pen and upon
a stroke his life
vanishes away
upon a mere scratch
of a signature
dread is such a word
that i write only on paper
because saying it
makes you panicky
i dread to do this
but sooner a name
is written on paper
by you my Master
if you must today
please write my nickname
sort of final affection.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So I Take It Your Answer Is...No!
What are you peeking at?
'It's the neighbors across the street.
Can you believe,
They are replacing those beautiful hedges,
Flowers and trees we so admired.'
And...
You have the right,
To do what?
'Protest if I wanted to.
I've already started a petition,
To restore my view.'
A petition?
YOUR view?
'Yes.
What gives them that right?
No one I know has given them that permission.'
And...
That property belongs to...?
'There you go.
Always trying to interfere.
This has nothing to do with details!
Or logic.
You with me on this or not? '
If you and the others,
Spent more time...
Beautifying your own backyards,
Your attempts would increase...
The values and standards,
Of eveything around here.
'So I take it your answer is...No! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Psalm 118 part 3
v.22,23
C. M.
Christ the foundation of his church.
Behold the sure foundation-stone
Which God in Zion lays,
To build our heav'nly hopes upon,
And his eternal praise.
Chosen of God, to sinners dear,
And saints adore the name;
They trust their whole salvation here,
Nor shall they suffer shame.
The foolish builders, scribe and priest,
Reject it with disdain;
Yet on this Rock the church shall rest,
And envy rage in vain.
What though the gates of hell withstood,
Yet must this building rise;
'Tis thy own work, almighty God,
And wondrous in our eyes.
poem by Isaac Watts
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As The Spirit Fills
Verse by verse and line by line; The Spirit fills the heart and mind.
The Spirit moves on a scribe, to pen the words down deep inside.
God uses men to reach the world, with a message for us to herald.
Some may speak while other men, The Lord above uses their pen.
Apostles would speak The Word, and men believed as they heard.
It was God’s Word they received, that would lead them to believe.
As New Believers they would go, and share so others could know,
The saving Grace of Jesus Christ, so they too could have New Life.
As The Truth began to spread, many would use parchment instead.
And The Truth many would heed, from words that they would read.
Either way, God’s Truth we share, with all those for whom we care.
Allow The Spirit to move your heart, so God’s Truth we can impart.
My friend, God will use anyone, to share The Truth about His Son.
Using any form of communication, to reach the lost with Salvation.
Join the Apostles and Prophets of old, sharing Truth till all are told,
About The Lord and Savior above, sent to all by The Father’s Love.
God still moves upon men today, helping us with the words to say,
For me the verses seem to flow, while The Spirit helps me to grow.
As I write the words aren’t mine, for my source is above and Divine.
It is The Spirit who fills my pen, and to this friend, I just say Amen.
(Copyright ©01/2006)
Sages
Sages mark with pens a scribe’s thought,
Masking their mighty thinking and philosophy
And producing scholarship to ruin a devil’s jest.
Scholars are bending the rules
And failing the test of success
For they hasten to their graves
Due to deadly words and deeds.
Their wishes are sounding notes of music,
And the written word has been shown
Always by sages.
poem by Naveed Akram
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This Poet's Responsibility
When I’m inspired I’m but an observer,
Enthralled and encompassed in a mosaic of fervor.
The ideas are finished and I’m but a scribe,
Laboring for understanding as each word I imbibe.
So often after a work is recorded,
I read it to comprehend what was reported.
Most surprising of all is that after my screening,
I’ve transcribed words without knowing their meaning.
Themes are random and messages mixed.
Their origin unknown since I remain transfixed
As I record them without any rhyme or reason.
To do less would be intellectual treason.
I’m grateful I received this precious gift.
I know I must give others a lift
By passing on these messages from somewhere above.
Like life, problems are transient, so be happy through love.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Word That Wouldn’t Fit (Fun Poem 25)
A writer’s life is full of woe,
you find a word you like,
then you write something,
and try to fit that word in,
but when you look again.
That word you thought of
it just won’t fit in,
no matter how hard you try it,
that word just will not go.
In a fit of frustration,
you stick it here and there.
Just like jigsaw puzzle
where the pieces will not fit,
so this word will not go anywhere.
In the end you say, “OH heck! ”
Then you put the word
to the back of your mind.
Maybe another day
in another poem,
that word just might fit.
Having said all that,
I’m not betting on it.
poem by David Harris
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These Divine Verses
These divine verses,
As I write
Are
The hallowed revelations
Descending
From on high
The sound of the scribe's pen
In the stillness of the night is indeed
The heavenly muse
Uttering her immortal words
poem by Mirza Ghalib
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Upon a Table-Book presented to a Lady
VVhen your fair hand receives this little book
You must not there for prose or verses look.
Those empty regions which within you see,
May by your self planted and peopled be:
And though we scarce allow your sex to prove
Writers (unless the Argument be Love);
Yet without crime or envy you have roome
Here, both the Scribe and Author to become.
poem by Henry King
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Birth Of An Idea
God's word do i read
God's word dose it lead me
I praise God in the morning in the evening
I thank God in the morning in the evening
I ask God for healing of my kidney
I ask God for a dealing of my Sidney
If you Seek first the kingdom of God
God will leek your desire in his kingdom
His son Jesus Christ died for your sin
This pun can't be said he lied in a pin
So be sure he keeps his word for all
There will be more sleep in his word to fall
Pray God's word you'll find an Idea
Keep that idea in mind through doubt
Reap a pregnant word & don't poubt
Seep through pain of God's word
Leap for joy to see God's insane berth
It is not a toy but a rebirth of God's idea
You will be hot for God's answer to prayer
Give birth KNOCK and stay in God's hair
I promise you will not be in hock to play
in God's Answer
poem by John Raymond
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Come.....come Along Now
COME...before the roses fade
Come... in the middle of the night
COME..stealhily..silently..gently and in feminine style
before the fire extinguishes slowly and slowly
COME..in the serenity of dawn
COME shivering and as wet as you are
COME as you are
C OME..before the moon goes over the windows
COME..without hesitating in the dark roads
COME slowly..do not run
Without tackling anyone
COME without quarrelling with the police teams
COME without causing any troubles
COME...secretly
COME... before I come
COME now...come along now
Come before ı say come
COME before my song ends
COME when I say come
COME along..come along now..come now
COME before everything sleeps..before the sleeping time
COME before our pillows wrinkle
COME before our brandy gets sour and go worse
COME before the day meets with dawn
COME before your feet stumble
COME before our lusts and emotı ons tumble and go down..
Ahmet KAYA..Translatı on Metin SAHIN
poem by Metin Sahin
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Cycle of Word
When one word drown, one word will raise
When one word vanished, one word will exist
When one word gone, one word will come
When one word finished, one word will show
When one word flies, nothing can take it back
When you talk, I wait like exiting child
The next word my ears will hear
But you keep silent, wandering in your own dream
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Today... 'The Word
Word of love and the Word made flesh
Word incarnate forever blessed
Word of life and the Word of light
Word of power and Word of might.
Word that was spoken, Word of the Lord
Word of the Law and the Word of God
Word of peace and Word eternal
Word of truth and last Word of all.
Word of wisdom and the Word of healing
Word from heaven, a Word so appealing
Word fulfilling the Word of prophecy
Word of the Spirit and Word of destiny.
Word of exhortation and Word of grace
Word of encouragement and Word of faith
Word of promise and a Word of insight
Word from the beginning and Word of delight.
Word of knowledge and a Word of boldness
Word of peace and the Word of righteousness
Word of the covenant and Word of love
Word of the Father from heaven above.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
The Victim Of Bad Journalism
One morning he comes to you
Introducing himself as the journalist from the city
And he comes to interview you about this little conflict
About you and the mayor of this town
What can you tell him, except the truth
In good faith you say you do not want to be popular
And be likable by the mayor’s taste like you do not want
To be his stamp pad maintaining your independent stand
On the issue of life and death of his enemies
On the issue of you as the pillar of justice and the mayor
As another pillar of his own, vis-à-vis the people’s will
The voice of this miniature democratic society
He jots down every word that you say as he asks
More questions which you answer with all candid honesty
Like you have been this judge for the past 12 years
And the mayor simply dislikes your being passive
To his programs for justice (in his subtle way
Of telling you what really pleases him)
You tell you live in peace, in independence
Free from any dictates, except your conscience
Tomorrow morning the paper headlines read
“Town Judge calls Mayor a Stamp Pad! ”
Your wife asks you what is this all about?
And you are silent; you sip your coffee carefully
You read the paper again, you breathe some more
You are silent than ever, you ponder some more
These powerful people around you do not deserve the
Dignity of your answer and you do not want to see the face
Of that journalist again; He successfully made you feel
That in this town, honesty can be very serious offense.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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