Keep Writing
We share thoughts, and ideas, and hopes, and fears
And dreams of nightmares that ask why we're here
The anger and rage that we cannot ignore
Rampages on pages no one can deplore
Our longings for belonging to someone special
While we try to figure out a good rhyme for special
Choosing one word for another, and which goes first
We inspire our humanity, until it knows no thirst
From the hearts and the minds of the young and the old
There is no normalcy, no conventional code
Our pens flow freely as space is black
Experience makes trusty keyboards 'click-clack'
Imagination colors images on every line
Scribbled in a moment or trapped in time
To all who may read this, I ask just one thing
Write what you want, just write something
It may not reach the entire world, or a newsstand
But no one can tell your story, quite like you can
poem by P.R. Prosper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Inspire
The nicest thing that happens,
from the writing that I do,
is not publication or smiles,
but the inspiration it brings to others,
to do things they thought they would never do.
It is a joy when someone says,
I read your poem and it inspired me
to write a piece of my own.
To inspire just one person
is a special treat to me.
However, to keep on doing it,
can you imagine how I feel?
One day I might inspire
someone to write a masterpiece,
now would be something special.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Writer’s Block
Sometimes when I listen to a song,
a word or a line in the lyrics
will prompt a poem from me;
I will then sit with pen in hand
and write something
about love and romance.
Another time something I see
will set my imagination aglow
and inspire me to write
a bit of social history.
However, those in a writer’s block
here is a tip from me,
just write about anything
and you will see how quickly
you will set your imagination free.
29 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Verses From God
I’m just the pen; God is the ink, Who fills me as I write and think,
And God’s ink never runs dry, as it flows from His Spirit on high.
Penning verse that never ends, as He talks to a world of friends,
As I go to God in prayer, He pens down each blessing and care.
In a trial God helps me through, He pens verse to share with you,
And the blessing He brings my way, as He helps me, day to day.
As I write every word and line, I do not claim the verses as mine,
For as the pen to page is pressed, it is my heart that is blessed.
Blessing seem to come my way, as He helps me, in what to say,
To illustrate to all those who read, that Jesus is The Lord indeed.
His Words just seem to flow, not knowing where His idea will go,
But His point He makes every time, as God speaks on each line.
He draws from deep inside, my heart, where His Scriptures hide,
Always used at the proper place, to pen down a verse of Grace.
And as the page begins to fill, it is not my poem, but God’s will,
That fills lines with His Word, which some who read, never heard.
It’s God above who fills my pen, with words for the eyes of men,
By means of only poetic verse, to claim victory, over sin’s curse.
The page is filled by God above, with true examples of His Love,
Penning Truth for men to see, He’s a God who loves you and me.
(Copyright ©08/2007)
I’d Like to Write a Sonnet Just in Fun
I wrote to write my thoughts in clarity
I wrote to write ideas and views that storm
You see I wrote to write tranquility
But now I want to write in sonnet form
I like emotions locked inside fourteen
Inside with beats I’ve never known before
The sonnet life has rule as code adds mien
To quench my thirst for laws that I explore
I lay the code in mind to bring feelings
With beats I join to capture its allure
In words I write to form with beats freeing
To play amongst the codes that I procure
I will reread and learn as I arrange
With feelings that will flow as beats will change
poem by Paul Moosberg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poet To Be
A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.
I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.
I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.
I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.
But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.
I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.
I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.
I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.
A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.
I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.
I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.
It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.
A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.
But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.
How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.
As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.
poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Blessed To Be His Pen
I am blessed to be a pen, which God uses to speak to men,
As God’s Truth flows from in; Truths I’ve received from Him,
Truth from within His Word, which many still have not heard,
So God put within me care, and with a pen this Truth I share.
I do not have a big degree, and yet, The Lord God uses me,
Guiding my pen as I write, Truths about His Grace and Light,
Truths I did not always know, but His Spirit helped me grow,
And now His Truth in my heart, to you with pen I now impart.
His Truth for me, is not new, but still a joy to share with you,
It’s the Truth that set me free, that helps me point to eternity.
The blessings begin to flow, when Christ you come to know,
Who helps men share His Word, until all on earth have heard.
To share His Truth, until then, The Lord helps me use my pen,
Guiding me, as I sow seed, through the verses that you read.
Many blessings God gives me, which the readers cannot see,
As His blessings fill my days, I lift up to Him all of the praise.
Just a line or two, will begin, from His Truth that dwells within,
Coupled with a thought of mine, when God pens another line,
Stirring thoughts day and night, it is Him, who helps me write.
It doesn’t matter how or when; I’m just blessed to be His pen.
(Copyright ©02/2008)
That Special Girl
I need a girl who like to go to shows
I need a girl that won't make fun of my clothes.
I'm looking for a special girl who wants to go all over the world,
If you're my special girl won't you let me know?
Do you have a boyfriend?
Or possibly a girlfriend?
Cause! i'm lonely all the time
And i wish that it would end.
I need a girl that likes to stay out late,
We'd share a cocktail, wouldn't it be great?
If only this were true then i would fall in love with you,
I'm looking for a special girl, could it be you?
I could write a stupid love song,
And sing it all across the world
But it wouldn't mean a thing.
Until i find my special girl.
When will i find my special girl?
song performed by by Ataris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Special Girl
Written by e. schwartz and d. tyson, 1984
Found on perspective and highway.
Into each life a little sunlight wants to shine
Let me tell you, a fortune like that once was mine
She was a special girl
She meant the world to me
I gave her everything
When I found her Id been looking everywhere
When I lost her I was lost beyond despair
She was a special girl
She meant the world to me
I gave her everything
Dreams are hard to take (dreams are hard to take)
Could it be I loved her too much
Oo, a special girl
Oo, a special girl
She was a special girl
She was a special girl
She meant the world to me
I gave her everything
Bottom line is, she was fine in every way
And its not with hesitation that I say
She was a special girl
She meant the world to me
And I gave her everything
Dreams they come and go (dreams they come and go)
But thoughts of her are like a floor show
Oo, a special girl
Oo, a special girl
She was a special girl
She was a special girl
She meant the world to me
I gave her everything
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Written By A Confessed Bipolar (her Name To Be Revealed Upon Her Permission)
I write because I can
I write because there are so many things to be written.
I write because I can make a painting without a brush and paints in my hand.
I write because I can capture the moment without having a camera.
I write because letters and words are the only recipe I know how to cook.
I write because I want to read what I’ve written.
I write because I’m used to speak in silence.
I write because I have a story to tell.
I write because I want to strip off my flesh and live as a pure being.
I write because I can record my “voice” without having a recorder.
I write because it’s like a cup of coffee, it keeps me awake
I write because I want to live even when I do not exist.
I write because this is my throwing stones when I’m frustrated.
6/11/09 at 4: 42 PM
I write because I can flaunt my being when I don’t have clothes to show off.
I write because this is like making an encyclopedia to a coloring book.
I write because it’s more effective than my lithium medication.
I write because I’m tired of carrying these baggages on the road.
I write because I’m tired of talking too much.
I write because it’s a healthier diversion than smoking.
I write because it’s more therapeutic than analyzing my problem.
I write because I want to paint a thousand pictures with words.
I write because I can put colors to the letters and make a rainbow of words.
I write because it’s the key combinations to my hidden vaults.
I write because my ball pen is my best friend in the darkest nights.
I write because it surprises me with what I am capable of thinking&doing. 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because I like that ideas are popping like pop corns.
I write because I can wander in the adventures of my own world.
I write because I have to cleanse my collection of memories of an old home.
I write because like a mirror you need to do a lot of reflections.
I write because I want to fight the battle of life.
I write because I wanted my little voice to be heard.
I write because I want to run from the insanities of the world.
I write because pictures don’t talk.
I write because it helps me connect the dots when I look back in my life.
I write because it brings me back to my crib of silence.
I write because it makes a buzz to other bees in my beehive.
I write because unlike my bike my destination is limitless.
I write because I want to become an inspiration without extinction 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because like strumming of the guitar, it vibrates in my soul.
I write because I love to write.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As The World Goes On Without Any Special Need Of My Services
AS THE WORLD GOES ON WITHOUT ANY SPECIAL NEED OF MY SERVICES
As the world goes on without any special need for my services
I sit and write my little poems
Even the lives of those most cared about by me
Go on now largely without my help -
Being old is often being irrelevant
And so I so often am now -
I write these words too
As if I understand
That those who share my feeling and situation
Will not necessarily be moved or helped by them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Liberty
On my school notebooks
On my desk and on the trees
On the sands of snow
I write your name
On the pages I have read
On all the white pages
Stone, blood, paper or ash
I write your name
On the images of gold
On the weapons of the warriors
On the crown of the king
I write your name
On the jungle and the desert
On the nest and on the brier
On the echo of my childhood
I write your name
On all my scarves of blue
On the moist sunlit swamps
On the living lake of moonlight
I write your name
On the fields, on the horizon
On the birds’ wings
And on the mill of shadows
I write your name
On each whiff of daybreak
On the sea, on the boats
On the demented mountaintop
I write your name
On the froth of the cloud
On the sweat of the storm
On the dense rain and the flat
I write your name
On the flickering figures
On the bells of colors
On the natural truth
I write your name
On the high paths
On the deployed routes
On the crowd-thronged square
I write your name
On the lamp which is lit
On the lamp which isn’t
On my reunited thoughts
I write your name
On a fruit cut in two
Of my mirror and my chamber
On my bed, an empty shell
I write your name
On my dog, greathearted and greedy
On his pricked-up ears
On his blundering paws
I write your name
On the latch of my door
On those familiar objects
On the torrents of a good fire
I write your name
On the harmony of the flesh
On the faces of my friends
On each outstretched hand
I write your name
On the window of surprises
On a pair of expectant lips
In a state far deeper than silence
I write your name
On my crumbled hiding-places
On my sunken lighthouses
On my walls and my ennui
I write your name
On abstraction without desire
On naked solitude
On the marches of death
I write your name
And for the want of a word
I renew my life
For I was born to know you
To name you
Liberty.
poem by Paul Eluard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poets Message
As you flick through my pages
and surrender to my thoughtful and playful words
Remember I am just another actress
on this very frightful dark stage
As a poet
Its all about display
Its all about the audience
The booing or thunderous clapping
can be substituted
by bestowing me with genuine ratings
Your random comments
will be appreciated
any time, any place, any moment
as I am on a mission
To write a million words
spice up my wordly performance
with some occasional romance
I am on a mission to write
about the people, politicians and musicians
To write about the prostitutes
That roam the redlight district each single minute
I am on a mission to write about me and you
to write about the world
and everything thats brand new or true
Now and then
I may have the writers block
Its easy to laugh
Its easy to mock
But you inspire my imagination
You are all my inspiration
as you flick through my pages
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
www.sylviachidi.co.uk
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'll Write You A Poem
I’ll write you a poem
Which will by the day remind you
That I’m still lurking around
As a good friend who’s always true
I’ll write you a poem
About friendships that fickle
About friends like fiends
So that you’ll remember I
With radiance like a star up in the sky
I’ll write you a poem
Of my longings and want
Which by the day makes me hurt
Bleeding black blood
Shedding tearless tears
How inside they flow
Because we’ve refused to water
What earlier we had sown
I’ll write you a poem
That will forever remind you
That as you are needed elsewhere
I need you too
But now please, allow me
To sip from my cup of coffee
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Poet Time Travelers
I thought of it all day and well into the night
That for you a poem I would write.
What words can you use to describe a person
You’ve never seen.
Then a realization came into my mind
I’ve been writing them for a very long time.
Every time we write about GOD and his begotten son
The words flow freely and never left undone.
So it matters not if it is sight unseen
We write about everything- it’s a poets dream.
Poets go into worlds never traveled before
Seeking all that GOD has made
And come back with knowledge that they’ve gained.
Into the realms of mystery, love, excitement and fear
So that with you these words they could share.
They see the realities of today
The dreams of yesterdays
The future of tomorrows
And the pains and sorrows.
They are the time travelers of the mind
Their eyes are open - they are not blind.
So when you read what they write
It’s because of this time travelers insight.
So to my time traveling co-poets, this I must say
I am proud to have traveled this road with you
Into the minds of man, and writing
The stories that they all understand.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Write The Songs
Ive been alive forever,
And I wrote the very first song.
I put the words and the melodies together,
I am music,
And I write the songs.
I write the songs that make the whole world sing.
I write the songs of love and special thing s.
I write the songs that make the young girls cry.
I write the songs, I write the songs.
My home lies deep within you,
And Ive got my own place in your sole.
Now, when I look out through your eyes,
Im youg again, even though Im very old.
Chorus
Oh my music makes you dance
And gives your spirit to take a chance,
And I wrote some rock n roll so you can move.
Music fills your heart,
Well, thats a real fine place to start.
Its from me its for you,
Its from you, its from me,
Its a world wide symphony.
Chorus
I am music, and I write the songs.
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words
Yeats so simply stated
' Words alone are certain good. '
And to the great poet
So highly rated
I try to listen, as I should; Yet
Being an untrained novice
Such as me
With verdant hopes of much improvement
- oh that I would -
I beg to slightly differ with W. B.
And offer here my humble opinion
- if I could -
Good certainly is not words alone,
For without humanity
To read and to write
How would they ever become known?
- For without the good of people
Who of these words would care
Ever to be heard, or even shared?
No, the good does not alone from words arise,
Rather from human beings
Whose entire story
Such words do attempt to comprise.......
- Words written in this time
May even the way
To a distant future find,
But not on their own
And never alone.
For it takes people's
- hand's to write
- eye's to read
- heart and soul to understand
The purpose, and the need.
Let it here be shown
Words alone
Are not the only good,
They need human beings
To give goodness and life
To their reason and meaning
For they are merely the vehicle
By which man's true good
Is found and understood.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sometimes for M lady Tara
Sometimes I just sit quietly
and put my mind in neutral gear.
Set my imagination free
and wait for visions to appear
The visions which inspire me
to pick my pencil up and write.
About the dreamscapes I can see,
which I describe in black and white.
Though those who read my poetry
use their imagination to
visualise quite easily.
The scenes I try to share with you.
Sometimes I fail, sometimes succeed
in entertaining all who read.
24-Dec-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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