The Assessment
The Assessment
My copy pen fell to the floor I bent down to pick it up
now I feel dizzy. I came to this country, decades ago
to write, many pens have fallen on the floor- although
I do not write with a pen but use a word processor.
A pen is a crutch and to make droll shapes on sheets
of paper; a thousands sheets filled with doodles while
waiting to write something sensible on the processor;
a mad publisher has shown interest in them.
Twenty years feels a very long time, twenty more and
I’ll be ninety bet I will not be able to pick up a pen from
the floor then. Now I wake up in the night and a steady
hum tells me I have wasted my time scrawling, a book
of scribble how is that for an epitaph?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
The last time somebody said, 'I find I can write much better with a word processor.', I replied, 'They used to say the same thing about drugs.'
quote by Roy Blount, Jr.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The God Of Fire
The God of fire
It took him twenty years
to write his novel.
Twenty refusals later
he gave the manuscript
to the fire which
greedily absorbed it.
A phone call from nowhere,
send us another novel.
It took twenty more years
to write a new book
and the god Agni
burnt his hands.
As a thank you.
Success at last he cried
to a man with a yellow helmet
carrying an axe.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Paper Pieces
Words by michelle branch
Music by michelle branch & will golden
Dada duda duda duda duda du dada duda dada
Dada duda duda duda duda du dada duda dada
Called your name today but no one answers any more,
You turned and ran away like someone came and locked the door,
Paper pieces lyin on the floor,
I fall to pieces now the coffees black and my heart is soar.
*pick me up tape me together, dadadadada-
Like paper pieces on the floor.
Dada duda duda duda duda du dada duda dada
Dada duda duda duda duda du dada duda dada
Since you left that day Ive realized my minds made up on you,
My heart is capsized and I dont know what Im gonna do.
*pick me up tape me together, dadadadada-
Like paper pieces on the floor.
Pick me up tape me together, dadadadada-
Like paper pieces on the floor,
Paper pieces on the floor :
And I call out to you,
Oh, but you turn,
Yes you turn away-
Dada duda duda duda duda du dada duda dada
Dada duda duda duda duda du dada duda dada
Called you name today but no one answers any more.
*pick me up tape me together, dadadadada-
Like paper pieces on the floor.
Pick me up tape me together, dadadadada-
Like paper pieces on the floor,
Pick me up tape me together, dadadadada-
Like paper pieces on the floor,
Paper pieces on the floor
(call me,call me, call me, call me)
Dada duda duda duda duda du dada duda dada
Dada duda duda duda duda du dada duda dada
song performed by by Michelle Branch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Authorship
You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don't
understand.
He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really
make out what he meant?
What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can't father
write like that, I wonder?
Did he never hear from his own mother stories of giants and
fairies and princesses?
Has he forgotten them all?
Often when he gets late for his bath you have to and call him
an hundred times.
You wait and keep his dishes warm for him, but he goes on
writing and forgets.
Father always plays at making books.
If ever I go to play in father's room, you come and call me,
"What a naughty child!"
If I make the slightest noise you say, "Don't you see that
father's at his work?"
What's the fun of always writing and writing?
When I take up father's pen or pencil and write upon his book
just as he does,-a,b,c,d,e,f,g,h,i,-why do you get cross with me
then, mother?
You never say a word when father writes.
When my father wastes such heaps of paper, mother, you don't
seem to mind at all.
But if I take only one sheet to take a boat with, you say,
"Child, how troublesome you are!"
What do you think of father's spoiling sheets and sheets of
paper with black marks all over both sides?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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In Love With Someone Else Man
It's thee craziest thought that comes to mind, when I take the time to think about that glass of wine when I'm alone...with him. And he's sneaking behind and lying to you, while he's making love to me to. He's married And! I really can't believe he was hiding that secret from me, that ring, with words saying I do! I thought it was a dream that I could not wake up from. But I didn't give a flying ****because when he's next to me the ring I didn't really care to see, when he and I are between one another sheets. He's married! ! ! ! ! ! Wow I just can't let that go, well i guess ill go with the flow for now. But it shows little here and there who I'm kidding every where in my entire body, mentally, physically theres a disconnect and he's telling me that he's not ****** her when i saw him with my own eyes kissing her neck but tells me he's connected to me, and clearly he's ***** HER under his covers and sheets.
I mat him first, but he proposed to her, and yes that hurts. There's not a day that goes by that I really want to cry, but cant shake off this feeling for this guy, whom I fallen so deeply for when I tried to cut him back he calls me and more. I just want to throw the phone on the floor but I answered it any way with tears falling from my eyes down on my face, I no its a wast of my dam time to listen when he brings up our first time that we were kissing, and that did it! ! ! ! I allowed him to sleep with me in my bed between each others sheets for days, and weeks, and years! ! ! ! But at night I have to fight the feeling that this guy is between the sheets with his wife whom he said I DO to.....In love with someone else's man. Whose really GAY
Sir Clarence of greater.
poem by Clarence Williams
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One Two Five
One hundred and twenty five
Beats to, beats to the minute
One hundred and twenty five
You get the notion with the motion
Then youre out on the floor
Fahrenheit, one hundred and two
Centigrade, its getting to you
Your heart is beating, eight to the bar
You cant control it so you hold it
Then youre out on the floor
On the floor
You feel it coming to ya
On the floor
You know its getting through ya
On the floor
You cant control the feeling
Let it go
See the faces passing
Smile in time
See the faces passing
All in line
You say, hey! can I take you home tonight?
But she knows that youre throwin a line
Shes heard it before, shell hear it again
Its the same pitch every time
Change your line of patter
Make her laugh, not at her
Change your line of patter
Make her laugh, not at her
She tells you her friend wants to say hello
But say that you dont want to know
Its her that youre throwing your glances to
Her that you want to know
Dont let her stray its a saturday night
The boys are after trouble
Youre in for a fight
One hundred and twenty five
Beats to, beats to the minute
One hundred and twenty five
You get the motion with the notion
Then youre out on the floor
Fahrenheit, one hundred and two
Centigrade, its getting to you
Your heart is beating, eight to the bar
You cant control it so you hold it
Then youre out on the floor
Reggae, reggae, reggae, reggae
See the faces passing
Smile in time
She says if youre lookin to take her home
Well Id better not be in late
But the look on her face
And the smile in her eyes say
Baby Im gonna wait
See the faces swimming
Hear the music dimming
Well Im all danced out, Im all done in
And Im starting to talk out of tune
We can go on a ride, we can jump in a boat
We can dance by the light of the moon
One hundred and twenty five
Beats to, beats to the minute
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lonely Street
Sometimes when I'm walking down this lonely street,
Well, it sure don't seem like twenty years,
Since I went walking down this lonely street
And the smell of perfumed ladies filled the air
This street ain't got no name, dead end is in the river,
And I lived where I hated life day by day,
There wasn't nothing I could do to shake a cold night shiver,
'Cause to move up Lonely Street you had to have some say
Gambling is bad luck down on Lonely Street
And it sure ain't no place to be when a man gets sore
You know I killed a man and I paid all I can,
With twenty years on a chain gang,
For the flesh and the blood on that jailhouse floor
Sometimes when I'm walking down this lonely street
I get caught up in a dream that won't let me go
And as the bright lights flash up and down this lonely street
My mind rolls back the years long time ago
I see my baby stumblin' around with tears in her eyes
And as I reach out for her she falls on the floor
She mumbles through bloody lips about a bad man, robber, raper,
And in my gut I know I got one to score
The word was comin' down, down on Lonely Street
That the bad man was a dead man if he crossed my trail
Every night I'd walk up and down this Lonely Street
I get stinkin' drunk, and always in jail,
One night they threw me in with a man they called the mangler
He was caught on the street makin' some old whore,
I remember he was quite proud of that,
So half-crazed I shot him,
And I cried in the blood on that jailhouse floor
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Strange Desire
I wish I could write a word,
Out of multitude of thousands,
That might raise my mettle,
And be recognized at the first glance.
The naughty hope whispering
Tells me time and again,
“Write, write and write more, ”
Some one should tell me how long,
I should write for writing,
Made me half dead.
The disjoint, disordered, paralyzed,
The dumb, deaf and mute words,
Give no voice, no sound and no sense,
They neither unlock their lips,
Nor convey my inner self.
Oh! God;
Give me a word alive and spirited,
That should share my joys, my worries,
Laugh, joke, play and ply with me,
Open the door of mysteries,
And in my absence respond at,
My name is addressed by someone else.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Once Again I Write...
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
I write to save my sanity.
I write to ease my heart.
I write to cleanse my soul.
I write to feel alive.
I write to keep my mind strong and my thoughts clear.
I write my words of sorrow, despair, pain, and love, as well as words of wisdom.
I write so that one day someone will truly know me.
This paper, this pen is once again my inspiration.
It is the inspiration to what I see.
It is the inspiration to what I hear.
It is the inspiration to what I feel.
It is the inspiration to the art I create.
It is the inspiration to what I draw.
It is the inspiration to the love for my daughter.
It is the inspiration to the love for my husband.
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
Once again I write to say thank you my timeless friends.
Thank you for saving me time and time again.
poem by Sara Jo Andrews
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Cacoethes Scribendi
If all the trees in all the woods were men;
And each and every blade of grass a pen;
If every leaf on every shrub and tree
Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea
Were changed to ink, and all earth's living tribes
Had nothing else to do but act as scribes,
And for ten thousand ages, day and night,
The human race should write, and write, and write,
Till all the pens and paper were used up,
And the huge inkstand was an empty cup,
Still would the scribblers clustered round its brink
Call for more pens, more paper, and more ink.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Bug A Boo (Refugee Camp Remix)
[Wyclef:]
(Everybody on the floor)
East Side
(Everybody on the floor)
South Side
(Everybody on the floor)
North Side
(Everybody on the floor)
West Side
(Everybody on the floor)
[Beyonce:]
We told you we was gonna give it to you raw
(Everybody on the floor)
We ain't do it right the first time
(Everybody on the floor)
We gonna do it right the second time
(Everybody on the floor)
You make me wanna throw my pager out the window
Tell MCI to cut the phone poles
Break my lease so I can move
'Cause you a bug a boo
song performed by by Destiny's Child from This Is The Remix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The Wicked Postman
Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?
The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.
Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.
What has happened to you that you look so strange?
Haven't you got a letter from father today?
I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.
Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.
But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.
Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.
I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.
I shall write from A right up to K.
But, mother, why do you smile?
You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.
When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?
I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.
I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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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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Give Me Dancing Music(Song) :
I've been tempted.
And it's not so good.
I'm gonna pick up the pieces.
Then mend my ways.
So give me dancing music.
Let me dance all day.
Let me lift my feet up.
Then dance across the floor.
Dit-dit-dit-dance across, dance across.
Dance across the floor.
Let me dance across, dance across.
Dance across the floor.
I've been waiting.
For you to arrive.
And I was wondering.
If you were mine.
I can go on forever.
Or take my time.
Go on forever.
Or dance till nine.
So give me dancing music.
Let me dance all day.
Let me lift my feet up.
Then dance across the floor.
Dit-dit-dit-dance across, dance across.
Dance across the floor.
Let me dance across, dance across.
Let me dance across the floor..
Dance Across The Floor-Song-By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1987,2009..
All rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Scribbler's Stymie
Pen and paper in sight
I've got no poem to write
Staying up all night
I've got no poem to write
Although my mind is bright
I've got no poem to write
It's windy out tonight, should I go fly a kite?
I've got no poem to write
My ceiling, it is white
I've got no poem to write
It's 4: 59! Five, but not quite
I've got no poem to write
In your arms I'd feel so light
I've got no poem to write
I've had no sleep tonight
I've got no poem to write
Will you just hold me tight?
I've got no poem to write
Outside it's almost light
I've got no poem to write
It's late, off goes my light
I've got no poem to write
poem by Julia Grace
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Write A Song
This is a song
And I'm holding a guitar
I'm pouring out my long
And lonely heart
Now I know why Taylor said
What she said about teardrops
On her guitar
Every time I'm hurting I
Turn Taylor on
I pick up my guitar
And write a song
I say I'm not over you
But I think I'm moving on
I'm wandering in this desert
Going on and on and on
Now I know why Taylor said
What she said about teardrops
On her guitar
Every time I'm hurting I
Turn Taylor on
I pick up my guitar
And write a song
Drew didn't hurt me
But I still feel the pain
Every time I think of you
Hugging me on that very last day
Now I know why Taylor said
What she said about teardrops
On her guitar
Every time I'm hurting I
Turn Taylor on
I pick up my guitar
And write a song
poem by Nicki Luvetti
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Book
If I write a book,
Would I approach
You to write its
Review?
Why?
If my book is
Worth reading,
Wouldn't you be
Tempted to write
Its review?
Why should I
Use you for its
Marketing and
Publicity?
If you like my book,
You'll yourself feel like
Sharing with everybody
It's an instinct
That comes
Naturally…
We believe in
Loving and giving,
And so if we genuinely
Like something,
We'll recommend it
Or choose it for gifting
So if I write a book,
I'll never beseech you
To write its review
I would rather wait
For you to feel free
To read it and perhaps
Write its review…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The One Of The Future
The man of the future the babe of today
That's how it is and it has always been this way
When one generation is ageing one is in their prime
And the hands keep on turning of old father time
The mother of the future is crawling on the floor
To the human population numbers she will add more
Twenty years may seem a long time but time ticks on fast
And the time will come when she too will be seen as one of the past
'Tis true that the future belongs to the young
The praises of those in their twenties are so often sung
The one of the future is beginning to talk
And crawling on the floor before learning how to walk
The younger years seem for to tick quickly by
And on looking back time it does seem for to fly.
poem by Francis Duggan
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