0030 Your 'My Life' exercise book...
Buy a child's red-covered
'My Exercise Book'
like the one you bought
all those years ago
to build a bridge -
now you realise -
a warm reassuring bridge
between school and home
with its firm hand-rail
at both ends;
the river flowing so fast,
so powerful,
so beautiful
between those different banks
in the blank pages
of that book with its reassuring tables
on the back cover which speak of laws
which you may never read
then with the sharpened pencil
and the smell of cedar flakes
faling from the pencil-sharpener
sweet and haunting to your nose
and breathing heavier now
in this exciting, daunting task,
your head nearer the paper
than old schoolteachers would approve
and pencil gripped as firmly
as you would your life
write so carefully on the first white page
as if the beginning holds the whole story
intended but as yet unfurled,
'My Life'..
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I write about myself with the same pencil and in the same exercise book as about him. It is no longer I, but another whose life is just beginning.
quote by Samuel Beckett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Lead
My pencil’s charged with poetry.
It can write verses fluidly
and inscribe them on the sheet
in rhyme and perfect metric feet.
It’s such a simple artefact
but filled with magic that’s a fact.
A pristine page is quite enough
to make my pencil do it’s stuff.
My pad, my pencil and my muse
can’t see a challenge and refuse
A blank page they can’t bear to see.
That why I’m writing poetry
I have a pad I have a pen
which forces me to write again.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Number 2 Pencil
We used to use a number2 pencil
to write down words we knew.
Then we advanced to pen with ink
to write and when we were through
we'd look at what we wrote with pride
and lay the pen aside.
Now we e-mail people and chat.
Pencil and pen have died.
Kids still use a pencil in school
to practice penmanship.
But slowly as they leave that scene
they start to lose that grip.
They text each other with a frenzy.
It never seems to end.
They've lost touch with a number2 pencil
and rarely use a pen.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Pencil Rain
The possible dream
Finale of seem
The moment that some call eternal that some call insane
Now helmets on each head awaiting the first lead
The pageant is named the pencil rain
The infantry stands
And holds out its hands
The marshals binoculars focus and skyward they train
Theyre searching the yonder blue
They look out for number two
The heraldry of the pencil rain
And now hear the roar that none can ignore
The thunderous clatter of splintering wood and lives that are claimed
And none who have witnessed all
Can think of a nobler cause than perishing in the pencil rain
The pencil rain
The pencil rain
The pencil rain
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode to Pencils
Pencil o pencil
What would i use to trace the stencil
Possibly crayon, marker, or a pen
Unfortunately they are back in the den
Could i use a pencil with color
They might be much taller
So thanks for the pencil to be born
It is easier to draw when there aren't torn
That is my ode
I hope you thought it flowed
poem by Kristi Miller
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Writer's Guild
pencil is my friend
life is my master
book is my dream
and blank paper is my field
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Mr Paddy's Capers.
Just when she thought
She'd found a place alone
To read her book, Mr Paddy
poked his nose between
Her and the open book, so
That pages are blanked out
By his huge head. Mr Paddy
Go off and annoy another,
She said, but he stood there
Determined to be where he
Was, between her and the
Brown covered book, held
Out in her small hands. Oh
Mr Paddy I cannot see the
Pages. Please go off and run
In the garden or in the kitchen
And steal a bone, she said. But
He wouldn't leave her alone,
He pushed his head against her
Young girl body, his damp nose
Dampening her wrist and her
White dress with blue sash, and
Dribble from his lips was wetting
The pages. Mr Paddy please let
Me be, I'm trying to read can't
You see? Mr Paddy's brown eyes
Scanned the pages, nothing there
But scribbled lines upon white paper,
And still he stood wet mouthed with
Big brown eyes and his silly old caper.
poem by Terry Collett
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Life Essay
if life is multiple choice
maybe we can get a perfect score
but life is an essay
there is wide white space
and questions life running above
maybe we answer like theory
or find our own words
maybe we don't fill the blank
because we don't understand
or we write thousand flowery words
but we don't understand what we write
maybe the written is full of correction
or clean and planned carefully
maybe we use pen or pencil
maybe we torn the paper or blot it
maybe we cheat
maybe we work together
maybe we don't care
but when the time's finished
someone will read
and examine our result
do we respect the question
do we try hard
or play around
maybe we wrong, maybe right
maybe half of both, maybe none
so before we can't change it anymore
when there's time
before we regret it
just write your thought
because nobody in this world
who has the same handwriting
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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A book called life
You find a book. a book unopened for some time. binding worn, title aged and not legible. you open it to find it dusty and blank. it has sat untouched for a quite a while. this book is the story of you. a story not yet written, but exciting non the less. a story to be one of epic, and legend. a story to be passed down for generations. that will be stamped into the pages of history and inspire forever. we all have a story, we simply need to write it.
poem by Nick Feiner
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Middle of Madness
I can hear every tick of the clock.
My body is showered from nervous sweat.
Oh no my pencil tip broke,
and I must stop to sharpen it;
all the while losing time.
My mind has gone as blank
as the paper which I’m writing on.
Tick – Tock goes the clock as time moves on.
Times up the voice shots;
My hand goes limp and my pencil falls to
rest upon the edge of the paper.
I let out a big sigh of relief, for the madness has subside,
For my mid-terms are done.
Red Pencil
Red Pencil
R ed pencil with magic flair
E nrichment while in school
D ancing red marks are everywhere
Red pencil; teachers’ tool
Red pencil marks, to make it right
I studied hard with all my might
Red pencil marks
Red pencil marks
I passed the test to my delight
P encil red is the teachers’ tool
E dified magic wand
N ebulous to the Golden Rule
C lassroom and teacher bond
I want to teach, want to be free
L ife as a teacher, that’s for me
I want to teach
I want to teach
Some day I’ll teach, Form Poetry
Red pencil, with magic flair
I studied hard in school
I’m now a teacher; answered prayer
Red pencil is my tool
I’m a teacher, I live my dream
Teaching poetry to the extreme
I’m a teacher
I’m a teacher
And my red pencil is supreme
Author Notes:
Acrostic Trijan Refrain
Trijan Refrain
The Trijan Refrain, created by Jan Turner, consists of three 9-line stanzas, for a total of 27 lines. Line 1 is the same in all three stanzas, although a variation of the form is not to repeat the same line at the beginning of each stanza. In other words, the beginning line of each stanza can be different. The first four syllables of line 5 in each stanza are repeated as the double-refrain for lines 7 and 8. The Trijan Refrain is a rhyming poem with a set meter and rhyme scheme as follows:
Rhyme scheme: a/b/a/b/c/c/d, d refrain of first 4 words of line five /c
Meter: 8/6/8/6/8/8/4,4 refrain/8
source: shadowpoetry.com
poem by Amera Andersen
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Tried and Tested
My pencil holds a multitude
of varied possiblities.
Which I accept with gratitude
I grasp the opportunities
To write my thoughts in black and white
on any subject that I choose.
Expressing sorrow or delight
enabling me to share my views
With other poets on the net.
Who also share their thoughts with me
although in fact we have not met.
The common bond is poetry.
I am old fashioned proud to use
The simplest of technology.
A pencil is the tool I choose
it helps my thoughts flow easily.
I don’t compose on my P.C.
Though I suppose I should learn to.
I’d rather scribble happily
in pencil as I usually do.
24/06/2009
http: //.blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Read The Book
Dolce said to read the book.
Don’t skip any pages though,
Lizzy; I want you to read it
From cover to cover. Ok lover,
You said and examined the
Book’s covers; the hard leather,
The well sewn pages. You knew
He wrote it without his name on
The spine with the title. It was
As he spoke, the words flowing
Across the page, the meaning
Carried on and over and into
Your head. You stopped on page
Nine; he’d written about the night
He’d screwed you five times, although
No name was mentioned, you knew
It was you. Even the bed and room
Were as it had been, written right
Down to the creaking springs and
The man next door banging on the
Wall with his darn shoe. You read on
Carrying that image with you, the way
He’d caught it all with the right words,
Hammered that night right home like
Some crucified butterfly onto the page
And into your head. You paused at page
Twelve. Some paragraph about some
Lark in the bushes in the park after dark.
That didn’t ring true, at least not with you.
Who was the woman? Who was the screw?
You closed up the book; refused to look
Or read anymore; you wondered who it
Was he’d had that night in the bushes
Beneath the moonlight. Maybe it was just
Poetic licence made up to make it sell well
And the cash machines ring loud and true.
But the bitch in the bushes wasn’t you.
poem by Terry Collett
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Lesson in Perspective #1
Art students learn early on
what perspective means
by dint of practice
ONE POINT PERSPECTIVE
An imaginary vanishing point
on the horizon takes on life
as students draw vertical lines
angling toward a meeting
at some distant point
far off the drawing paper
TWO POINT PERSPECTIVE
Pencil and straight edge
suffice as students put
pencil to paper drawing
cylinders in square boxes
like skeletons in coffins
floating on white sheets
STILL LIFE HOMEWORK
Lesson ends as students
are assigned to draw
a study done in pen
and india ink
of three cylinders
transformed into creamer,
cup and coffee pitcher
nestled together
in a still life
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Camera vs, Pencil
Exactly same and true
Picture of objects wonderful
The magical instrument
Captures the real image
But real things become still
Logics, camera can't fill
Images, camera only captures
Pencil gives birth to a picture
The sketches drawn by pencil
Speak and make you feel
Not only liveliness of the object
But compels one too, to interpret
Camera can't take image of soul
Pencil draws sketch of in and out
camera and pencil's combination
can fetch reality, feel and imagination
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Periods
My destiny it is tonight
To sit with pensive brow
Beside my study fire and write
This verse I'm making now.
This Period, this tiny dot
My pencil has defined,
By centuries of human thought
Was predestined.
And my last period of all
With patience now I see;
The final point so very small,
That locks my life for me.
Yet in eternity of time
They relatively seem
So like,--the dot that rounds my rhyme
Or ends my dream.
For each was preordained by Fate
Since human life began;
So are the little and the great
Linked in the life of man.
And as I wait without heartache
The pencil-point of God,
To pattern predestined I make
This------.
poem by Robert William Service
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I much prefer working with kids whose life could be completely upended by a reading of a book over a weekend. You give them a book to read - they go home and come back a changed person. And that is so much more interesting and exciting.
quote by Russell Banks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Book Of Days
Your life is as a book
Written on the pages are the weeks
For you would give anything to take just one look
Into the next chapter, the next page
Each page is a new thought, a new dream
Sometimes it takes so long to pass that page
And sometimes nothing is as it seams
For you know you can not go ahead or back
You know you are where you are
You know you can't change that
As you read page to page, so near to fear
You write the chapters as you go, with each turn
Each turn, each move changes what's to come
And you know each moment could be the last
With this in mind you go so mumb
So numb to the touch, to the thought
You turn page after page
until you reach the 'end'
And only then, you are freed from the title
The title that has kept your thoughts bound, and tight
You turn the pages one by one
You take the pain, take the joy
Until you are done
And your story becomes another on the shelf of eternity
(1/24/2008)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Rhyme Builder
I envy not those gay galoots
Who count on dying in their boots;
For that, to tell the sober truth
Sould be the privilege of youth;
But aged bones are better sped
To heaven from a downy bed.
So prop me up with pillows two,
And serve me with the barley brew;
And put a pencil in my hand,
A copy book at my command;
And let my final effort be
To ring a rhyme of homely glee.
For since I've loved it oh so long,
Let my last labour be in song;
And when my pencil falters down,
Oh may a final couplet crown
The years of striving I have made
To justify the jinglers trade.
Let me surrender with a rhyme
My long and lovely lease of time;
Let me be grateful for the gift
To couple words in lyric lift;
Let me song-build with humble hod,
My last brick dedicate to God.
poem by Robert William Service
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When I Write The Book
Nick lowe/dave edmunds/billy bremner
Plangent visions music, ltd.
Now I can remember like it was only yesterday
Love was young and foolish like a little child at play
But oh how lovers change -- I never dreamed how easily
cause now Im just a shadow of the boy I used to be
And when I write the book about my love
It will be about a man whos torn in half
About his hopes and ambitions wasted through the years
The pain will be written on every page in tears
When I write the book about my love
I was a fool to myself when I kept on runnin around
And I fared little better when I tried settlin down
Maybe some magic moment
Ive never known one, not for long
For all too soon the magic is in a moment gone
And when I write the book about my love
Itll be a heartbreaking story about love and luck
When I get down on the pages all I felt
It will make the hardest-hearted of critics hearts melt
When I write the book about my love
When I was young love was fun and I was so happy
I looked so good, and I dressed so snappy
Two-tone shoes on my feet, big old smile on my face
As I moved and grooved all over the place
Now Im down in the heels, my complexion is bad
cause my love life is sadder than sad
And when I write the book about my love
Itll be a pop publication, tougher than tough
When I get down on the pages all I missed
It will shoot to the top of the best-sellers list
When I write the book about my love
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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