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And then the paper is dirty

You start with a clean sheet of paper
Write some words, scribble, draw some lines
Some curves, sharp lines, tangent to bold
Lines, and rough sketches of faces and
Bodies, thin lines that get crooked from
End to end of this limited space,
You doodle, you get wild with so
Many lines unimaginable, senseless,
The paper finally looks dirty,
And you do not like it, you crumple
It and throw it in a waste basket,

You get another clean sheet,
And this time, you think what is
It really that you want to make
Out of this new clean sheet of paper.

You think, you ponder, and you need
More time this time not to waste
This clean, glossy sheet of paper.

I think you are doing well with your life.
You see you are supposed to be careful

Every word is delicate and every paper
Is actually accounted.

Never mind guilt, set it aside for a while.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Wish Life Were Like It

when i was a child
mama would give me a blank sheet
of paper where i can draw lines and circles
where my imagination runs
unstopped like it were the wind
blowing anywhere

all colors swirl and figures of angels
and fairies and castles and horses are drawn &
after a while all these become too
crowded inside the four corners
of the large white sheet

and then tired of such figures and lines and
circles and colors crowding on that large white sheet
i decided to take it away and
crumple it and throw it on the waste basket
and i would tell mama that i am taking
another blank sheet for my use
and she says 'It's alright'

I wish my life were like it. Something that i can
change the moment i do not like it.
Something to crumple and throw when
necessity dictates it.
And then i take another for good start.

I wish it were like that. But simply said,

it isn't.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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Blank Sheet Of Paper

I'm just a blank sheet of paper
This fool's about to write you a letter
To tell you that he's sorry
For the way he did you wrong
To ask for forgiveness
For leaving you alone
He's been looking down at me seems like forever
he takes the top on and off his pen
It's like he can't decide
Just what he wants to say
If he'd just tell the truth
I'd be on my way
Chorus
But he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he doesn't want it to end
And now it's one hour later (four hours later)
I am still a blank sheet of paper
Sunlight is shining through the curtains
He's almost asleep pen in hand
There's a tear in his eye
That refuses to fall
If it would land on me
That would say it all
Repeat Chorus
And he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he wants it back again
And now one broken heart later
I am still a Blank sheet of paper

song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blank Mocking Paper

I stare at this paper so white
I just don't know what's so right
I want to write on it
I would love to write a sonnet
I just am alone with the green lines
The red now just starts to shine
Blank as my mind is this sheet
Please can my pen and it just meet
Instead of me sitting here dumbstruck
As if I almost got hit by a truck
Ink blue as the sky not writing
Instead on its end I keep biting
I don't want to right about a caper
So I’ll just stare at this Blank Mocking Paper

poem by Zachary Clark
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A Dot On White Sheet!

Green leaves of spring are not there;
Colourful flowers of all seasons are gone;
Only white snow covers all in winter!
Winter snow thick or thin is white sheet
That covers all colourful things long!

Scrubbing snow on the road is a daily exercise
To clear route for all vehicles to go smooth;
All covered with fur cloth move in the street;
This white snow is like a white sheet of paper;
All the movements on it are the dots of scribble!

Writers are hungry of white paper to write on;
Poets are fond of writing poems on white sheet;
And the matters on white paper are men on snow;
But nobody likes winter as all are for colourful life!

poem by Ramesh T A
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For You, My Dear, When You Are So Blank

white sheet. a paper. like you.
iwant to write something
just to fill this white sheet a little bit
some words. i can utter them.
but i like writing them
just to make this white sheet looking
full. like

'i love you'.

the rest need not be written.
i know you know and you know that i know.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Art

My pen glides
the paper slides
thick lines
thin lines
curved
straight
I scribble
never erase
I create
my art
my heart-

poem by Jeremy Rascon
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I write these lines upon a sheet of paper

I write these lines upon a sheet of paper
That someone made from what was once a forest
Without much thought (as I suspect) for nature:
Does this not fill my heart with guilty sorrow?
Or is its lifeblood more akin to water
That runs in rivers under cloud and sunshine?

Why am I so affected by the sunshine?
All that I do - whether I read the paper,
Or, being thirsty, drink a glass of water,
Or walk amid the tall trees of the forest,
If there's no sun, my mind is fill'd with sorrow,
And if it shines, gladness is in my nature.

But gladness is not always in the nature
Of all terrestrial things, whether the sunshine
Dispels from my own mind some part of sorrow
For many men and creatures, as the paper
I read informs me, live within a forest
Of woe, and some have not a dropp of water.

One dropp of that mysterious liquid, water,
Would save a living animal, by nature,
Whether it dwelt in pasture or in forest,
However little it received of sunshine,
It cannot be exprest by lines on paper
How marv'llously that liquid quenches sorrow.

How much may we, the lucky living, sorrow,
For those who have been drown'd by cruel water,
The greater part of whom are not on paper
Recorded: but the cruelty of Nature
Alone knows. May their souls in heavenly sunshine
Be rested, and walk peaceful through that forest.

I think that life itself is like the forest,
A dark one, where one knows not whether sorrow
Will come, or else a glade o'erspread by sunshine,
That suddenly becomes a fall of water
That patters down in raindrops, in its nature.
Will those trees bloom or turn to crumpled paper?

I'll use no further paper from the forest:
My nature does not wish for you to sorrow,
But sit by flowing water in the sunshine.

poem by David Mitchell
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A Blank Sheet

pick the crayons
and color
those empty spaces
on the clean
sheet of paper
beside you
under your
lamp shade
tonight

draw the rainbows
in your mountains
sprinkle it with rain
make the clouds
blue and fill the
rivers with the color
of its waters

sing a tune
give your world
a beautiful sound

spray some perfume
on that paper
to give your world
the scent of musk
and muffin

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Just A Leaf

make it as simple
as an empty sheet
of paper
where you are told
to write
only one letter

you see it is no
longer as simple as that
to show yourself
as only
one letter on an empty
sheet of
yellow paper

i want to make is as simple
as my hand
touching a wall

i close my eyes
let my body fall

i am not pushing anything

it is only me
as a leaf.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Exhortation On Some Lines....

something is missing in your lines.
i regret to tell you that.
it does not speak well of yourself
or the world
or any moment, it is like a desert and all we have is space and
a horizon
there is even no wind to blow the sands away
i do not expect rain in the desert
but i could have seen a camel or a line of trucks or a
caravan

or even a Bedouin riding on his black horse with a scimitar

here i am again
in my worst self trying to tell you what to do so that you can be what you are

your lines are straight and too clean and that make them appear
dishonest
people love crooked lines and those that move in free directions
lines that are cold like the wind
and yet vibrant at night

not really dead, but simply grieving in silence for the loss of
someone so loved and missed.

i do not want you to change your lines, they are yours to
show,

i may be unfair wishing that your lines may be like mine
but mine are too sad and always sounding like a lover abandoned.

the beautiful lines are not clean.
they are imbued with our errors, erasures, blasting in our faces
like explosives

where shattered as we are on the fields of our disasters
only in a few seconds
we become silent spaces again.

mine are sad, and lonely and abandoned.
they are the only ones i have now, and so i must be compelled to
have them and love them
just the way they are.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Paper

Paper promises, Dunstead said,
paper cups, wallpaper being stuck

up on the wall for the next to last
time, paper tigers, paper to wipe

the ass and best of all paper to
create art, to have it from the heart,

to see it out there, being gazed at,
studied by some bearded guy with

glasses and paper money to buy
the next paper to create and then

if I’m lucky the muse turning up on
time and giving me the big nudge

in the right direction or some paper
picture of some nude dame giving

the long time wished for erection.

poem by Terry Collett
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A Change Of Plan....

a heavy rain at night
gives us
a sage for morning
it teaches.
this sage of a tunnel of trees.
a bench
in the middle of green
space.

i wake up this morning
destroying all itineraries.
there is something
more to
what i dream of when i am
awake.

i deny this body.
i flower thoughts.

i tend a garden of justifications
life is not a single line along the edge of a clean sheet of paper.

we are supposed to meet today and mend those broken segments.
finally, i send the signal.

Red.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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a poem for Rosie

the castle of paper
that we create from a
sheet of white
bond paper
stands on the brown
table
tall and proud so
they say
but we know Rosie
that this is just plain
creativity
could be a way of
expressing your
self's discontent of the
surroundings
the foul air
the heavy rain that
seems not to stop
the muddy path
to the market and the
church
betraying fate
and foolish friends
but you know Rosie
very well that nothing
lasts forever
the water paper
the paper castle
gathers dusts
and soon we are fed up
on this
i am going away and
you too
but we shall not
be together for i also
get fed up
on you as you shall soon
to me.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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And the Child Draws a World

the teacher asks the child to draw
The world
& the universe

And the child with his Mongol pencil
put a dot
for a start on his clean white bondpaper

(& as his fingers are clumsy
His hands still shaky)

he makes a stretch of a crooked
line

Stretching
& occupying almost all the space of the paper
To make a
Crooked circle

His world

And for his universe
He draws five little stars
crude
A crescent moon A comet moving In a blank space

A space rocket
Is drawn
On the top page in propulsion

A crooked circle The lines hardly meet At a common point
For a world

A little blank space For the universe

And where is God there?
The teacher asks him

You gave no instruction, sir. The child answered.

But He is there, the Child thinks.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hard

I try to write about my feeling
Though for others they don't have meaning
First few lines I can write easily
But those last ending lines are silly

To write it takes a lots of time
Hours to just complete last line
My few poems are not even complete
I try and try but cant, so I omit
And move to next poem
And finally complete
I now know to write it's too tough
So to all, who pour their feeling on paper "hats off"
The end

poem by Sushanta Rokka
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Time Lines

i have said nothing for time wont allow me.
time lines... time lines... time lines, what i felt for you has turned to confusion.
as time lines up our times together worry overshadows my 'influenced' judgement.
time lines..

our future perfectly sealed for i filled my heart with your promises.
time outlined your feelings for me..
times we spent together seem so far away like the times of the early bud.

our love has lost its will to florish like juliets rose.
time has outlined my affection for you.
time lines.. time lines..

the memories we once cherished together, the lines that have been put between us by time have destroyed the love once shared by you and me.
time has been thought to mend broken hearts ALAS, it has made matters worse.
time lines me and you. time lined our fate through spectatr critiques.
we possess souls joint together by time, YET its time that divides us.
time took its tole on our love.

is this forbidden love? that time has outlined

time lines my emotions of love for you..

time lines my emtions.
time lines.... time lines

poem by Njube Nangamso
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Blank Mind

There's a clean sheet of paper, with nary a word,
And number two pencils sharpened so fine.
Yet my mind undoubtedly is not on board,
My muse I must have left behind.

Here I sit without a single thought,
Staring out the window pane.
Without the inspiration I have sought,
No electrical impulses in my brain.

My mind is a desert, life hidden away,
Only rocks and sand abound.
My thoughts have a seven second delay,
No inspiration is to be found.

6/17/11 Alton Texas

poem by Juan Olivarez
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Letters and Words.

I´m feeling so alone without the letters!
Without the words.
The paper which i write impose to myself limitations.
I don't like border lines.
Shorts spaces twisted my hands. Distracts me from such needed affection.
Always the paper, the space and words! My love!
forget my cliché!
My fragility or my weak to deal with.Can be?
Words fail me again? lacks to me again?
What can i do if they don't meet each other?
Re-invent the past?
You suffer. I know.
And how many times that happens
More still hurts me too.

Please, baby, turn over the page.

poem by Mirna Morgan
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