En.Citatepedia^®.ro

At 4: 19 In The Morning

the mosquitoes are already full
and bound to rest and reproduce their hundred eggs

i wake up. there is something to say.
there are lots of things to do.
i am having a hard time to decide
what 's first, what's next,

then i write this one. this one is different.
it is about a question. it does not demand
an answer though. it is about 'why i am always doing this? '

why i am hooked
to sit down and write again
those that do not really point to a direction

this scatters me like dust
as i try to gather dust again

the fingers run again. some words keep coming.
i wonder. Do these words have meaning at all?

keep going, the words say, keep going.
we will tell you as soon as we arrive there.

it may be about nothing at all. just keep going.
carry us. we will tell you later.that is the catch.
keep going. just keep going. who knows

there may be something out there.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sad Words

Some forty odd years ago
when I first started to write
the words that came out
were always sad words.
Repressed feelings of my own,
who can ever tell?
Then the words became lighter and happier
when love came to me.
Now they have gone full circle
and sadness is all I seem to write.
The lighter and happier words have vanished
like a candle light extinguished in the night.
The sad words have travelled full circle
coming back to me
filling my pen with sorrow and tears
the way it used to be.
Love is still with me,
so I question what I write,
wondering if that candle
will ever be lit again at night
to guide back the happier words,
banishing the sad words forever out of sight.

28 March 2010

poem by David Harris
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How Do You Write Poetry

There is a question I am often asked,
of which I have no answer for at all.
The question is a simple one,
how do you write poetry?
To be honest I haven’t got a clue.
With me the words just trickle out
one after the other,
if they rhyme that is great
and if they don’t, I just scratch my head.
I cannot tell anyone how to write,
for me it’s just a natural thing.
I write almost everything,
novels, short stories, poems and songs.
I have even written a couple of plays,
but that was a long, long time ago.
However to tell anyone how to write,
I would not know where to begin.
The answer I give to the question is simple;
write whatever you like good or bad.
It’s yours and be proud of it
no matter what anyone else has to say.
The more you write the better you will get.
However, the most important thing
that you should always remember and that is
that you write, write, and write!

9 November 2011

poem by David Harris
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Without you

I write words in vain,
words of which the meaning
you do not comprehend

and how to press love
into a few words
I do not really know

and you are away
and we stay a hundred miles from each other
and it feels as if

it is in different worlds,
as if every thing with time looses meaning
and I play the songs that you sing over and over

as if I can hear something in your voice,
read your poems time and time again,
as if it can bring something of you back to me

while destiny flattens me
and you run
like water through my fingers

and without you
my life is without meaning
and it continues aimlessly

and I do not know
why things at times do not work out,
why I am fighting life’s struggle in vain

and I cannot get you
out of my heart,
and cannot fight against you being part of me

and my blood is pouring, as my heart is broken
and my life falls to pieces without you
and I hope that your plans are only prosperous.

poem by Gert Strydom
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My Words

the art of expression
is what my words are penned down upon
the will of wisdom
and the essence of freedom
to bounce like a king kong
on the ping pong

glad or sad, is from within each or any
stanza of my words
from the top of my head
to the deep end of the membrane under my melanin skin
to the sensory nerves of my brain
coiled upon an ancient pane

my words,
that which mirrors my sense of thought and feeling,
that with an ancestor
that which the blood of my people
was shed for; just so simple
but my words are royal
because ‘am loyal
like an induna
and vocal
to usher-in a focal
point of the meaning of my words.

my needs
and deeds
have a lord
on board
to code my words
and shield my soul from the imp’s sword.

my words are so very simple
to understand
and overstand
‘t was my words
that kept the birds
away from the heads
of my corn
for i was born
and sworn
to live a life upon

my words are so very easy to grasp
the fewer that discern
the nobler i become
I need not to wonder
and ponder
over yonder
for such is unknown to you
and therefore you have no knowledge of me
nor are you, about my words

yes! my words is what i like
to write
for i write
what i like
to strike
a balance between
the psyche
and the mic

such is my words,
the art of penning down what is from
the mind
and rewind
to remind
my words to decide
my words

such is my words,
the art of expression
against deception
but inception
and intersection
of my words

i now tell you that
my words are the words from the art
that which i chat
to match what my heart
tells me; roger that
the art of expressing the knack of expression; my words!

poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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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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When you write.

When you write
You hunt for words
Capture them and put them where you
Want them to
Symbolize
An idea, words are symbols too
And these words can be more than that,
Like the word love
Symbolizing how you feel
About her
It can be more than that
Love as a word can go beyond
Its symbolism of
Affection
It can be demanding
About other words
Time
Money
Effort
And if you are true enough it
Can mean vulnerability
And nudity
One by one you remove every
Cover of yourself
From shirt to pants to brief
And there is more to that still
What you write
Any word for that matter
May demand that you remove
Your mind
Your eyes
Your soul even

So that in the end what you write demands
That you become completely
Nothing. Try it.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Faculty

Sometimes it seems so hard to work out the words,
and then again it seems not hard at all. Just write,
is as simple as that. There are times i can't seem to
work the words, other times the words come up
bubbling in my head with character and meaning.
At times i feel challenged by other writers, and i
begging to doubt my ability to work the words,
i simple read another writer and then i know i have
nothing to be worry about. I understand then that my
contest is with myself and not with other writers.
We all think about the same things, because once
in our life’s we all go through the same situations.
We all have the brain to create anything in our heads.
There’s nothing that i can't do if i focus and if i
don't focus; “you see” this word- focus is meaningful
in some ways, we need the focus, but in poetry we
need more the fantasy in our thoughts, the meaning
to our words, focusing can be important, but if your
head is not in the mood, there’s not going to be any
words bubbling up, even though you don’t need it so
much, because you can create a poem out of anything.
There’s one thing about writing, and reading poetry,
understanding the meaning behind the words.
Every word or phrase has a meaning behind, this is
where readers need to understand; for example-if i'm
drinking away my sorrows, it can mean, crying my
heart out, it can mean, i need to forget, it can mean,
a big hangover, it can mean, sleeping out in the porch,
it can mean, forgetting all you did last night; how many
things out of a phrase. Right know I would just like
to be in my cabin and sit right in front of the fire-place
with a bottle of wine and enjoy my pastoral life while
i write, amazing things.

poem by Elenushka Toledo
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The Mood

I'll simply be out shopping,
or just going for a run,
when words and phrases hit me,
and a poem has begun.

Sentences and lots of words,
go running through my mind,
and i know if i dont write them down,
my thoughts leave me behind.

So quick hand me some paper!
Just please give me that pen!
If i do not write this down soon,
the words will go again.

poem by Holly Smith
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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
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The Poems Went Away

THE POEMS WENT AWAY

The poems went away.
Nothing inside.
An empty will for poetry
Forcing words on the page,
Words without music
Without resonance
Without great implication
Meaning.

Write, write, write
Lest you die.
And the words themselves
A kind of desperate uphill catching of breath
On the page.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Wrote A Poem I Could Not Write

I wrote a poem I could not write-
And then when I tried to write it again
Could not write it again -

Poems written and not written
Words and more words
What do they mean?

Paradoxes and games with words
What do they mean?

If there is Beauty in the language
It is one thing
But words just to hear themselves think,
Why should they mean ‘Remembrance'?

Oh Words oh Questions oh Darkness oh Life-
Let me write myself to the grave
Believing at least
That poems too even when they can be written
Have their small unhidden meanings.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Words Sometimes Take On A Own Meaning

Words sometimes take on a own meaning
and sometimes they are sharp and painful
as if there is much more to words

as if a kind of secret knowledge hides in them
that are sometimes something moving.
Words sometimes take on a own meaning

but somehow words can at times miss things
and are sometimes dependent on feelings
as if there is much more to words

when through it all love brings a kind of bonding
and so you and I are attractive to each other.
Words sometimes take on a own meaning

and daily a bond develops between us,
while you become more considerable to me,
as if there is much more to words

you constantly live in my thoughts,
while love becomes real through words.
Words sometimes take on a own meaning
as if there is much more to words…

poem by Gert Strydom
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I'd Rather Write

I'd rather write a poem, Lord,
Than mow the lawn today,
As mowing grass I'd soon be bored
And choose to walk away...
That wall needs painting, yes, I know,
Another month won't hurt,
I'd rather write and watch words flow
Than paint and hide the dirt...

I'd rather write a poem, Lord,
Than tidy up that room,
A tidy room's a poor reward
Compared with words that bloom...
That pile of clothes I'll get round to,
No pressure, they can wait,
I'd rather write my point of view,
As my views are first rate...

I'd rather write a poem, Lord,
Than wash the car outside,
It's not a Rolls, it's just a Ford,
With scratches dust can hide...
That stack of dishes, won't complain,
No rush to stand, wipe, stir,
I'd rather write my thoughts again
Before they melt and blur...

I'd rather write a poem, Lord,
Than shop for milk and bread,
Black coffee's okay, rest assured,
I'll give up toast instead...
I'll see my girlfriend, next week, soon,
Tomorrow or tonight...
I'd rather write this afternoon,
Please, Lord, if that's all right...

Denis Martindale, copyright, March 2012.

poem by Denis Martindale
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My poems is not Poetry

My Poems are not Poetry
Poetry rhythm is essential part
Communicative act of rhythms
Where words created music
An effect on the reader’s and listener
Words beginning with the same letter
And achieve a poetically effect.

My Poems has no rhythms
For the first time I don’t know
What to say and how to show.
Many words is not my style
Let me say, I like your smile
I don’t think I should like you,
Unfortunately I do.

I'm not sure now how to write
I lost my idea how, where words
Are used in away similar
Creating Music, where you find
Languages of rhymes

I write Prose but not Poetry
Using a regular rhythm
Where vast majority
Of languages spoken and written.

I try to be a barn, the muses were believed and inspire
I try to hard without success,
you already know, I guess.
Anyhow, it doesn’t matter
Usually I do not write
Things like this, I never tried,
for the first time I don’t know
what these lines should say or show.

Allegory, metaphor equated
Meaning lie outside the narrative
Acrostic phase when read together
Alliteration words same letter for poetical effect
Satire is a form of humour
Limerick is a short humorous poem.
And Honestly, I don’t regret
Things I did and words I said.

7. January 2008

poem by Mary Wismer
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A Hundred Times Over

A hundred times over words have flowed through my fingers to the keys
A hundred times over I have released the freedom that is in my mind,
A hundred times over I have become one with my inter most longing,
A hundred times over I have taken a journey to show you my own world.
A hundred times over I have written of pain and life, of sorrow and joy,
A hundred times over I have used my art to show you what's in my mind
A hundred times over again I will show you.
A hundred times over I have cried for those, whose names are untold,
A hundred times over I have showed you their pain.
A hundred times over I have become their connection to you,
A hundred times over I have showed you the beauty of our world,
A hundred times over I have taken you somewhere you may never see,
A hundred times over my words have screamed the horror of darkness,
A hundred times over I have sung to you the beauty of light,
A hundred times over I have taken your hand to lead you to a new place
A hundred time over I have written for those who have no words to write
A hundred times over I have tried to show truth in a world of lies,
A hundred times over I have have tried to show the world's beauty,
A hundred times over again I will lead down these paths,
A hundred times over and over again I will show you reality,
A hundred times over and over again I shall show you my world,
A hundred times over and over again until you have memorised truth,
A hundred times over again until you can repeat what I have told,
A hundred times over again shall I create an art of words, time, of life.
A hundred times over again I shall do this,
A hundred times over again.
A hundred times over.

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Randomness Of Thoughts

it is a rush,
there is no time anymore,
been busy,
lots of books piling up to read,
lots of papers to write,
many people to please and pamper,
all pleasing tiger,
losing all teeth,
resigned
to the comforts of society's pleasures,
yet still has to keep on
doing
what is it?
no direction, this wind,
no wave, is this sea,
words without assuming any meaning,
flowing
water seeking its own
level, and
why are you following?

same here
same there
you &
I,

IN THIS VOID.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Words Not Enough

I can sit and write and write,
sit and write all night.
And none of my words can convey to you
my feelings of delight.
For love is centered right in my heart
and inflames my sense of you.
And the pen and words are insufficient
for only expressions are in view.

For I'd gladly lay my pen aside
and let my fingers touch your hand.
And all of the writing I have done
could never be as grand.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Ultimate Story

When the stony silence
Becomes a shadow
Of internal monologues
And loneliness peeps out
Of door apertures....
Don't write a word!

When evening
Heavy with sorrow
Descends from the roof-tops
Sterile scenes play hide and seek
On paths coming from afar
And eyes placed on cornices
Gather dust of dreams....
Don't write a word!

When letters that spell
Yours name and my name
Get moth-eaten
And words suffocate to death
In closeted books of our lives

A story
You ought to write then
Without a word in it!

(Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)

poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Hidden Within

I write more on some days
than I do on others.
On those days there is an urgency
hidden within what I do.
I cannot explain it,
nor do I ever try.
I just sit down, write,
and write to my hearts content.
The pouring out of words
is something I have got used to.
I write wherever I am, at home,
in my car when I am not driving of course.
Walking along the street, even in my sleep.
My mind is always active
exploring new avenues,
laying waste to more words.
It is my way of life
and I would be lost without it.
I once gave up for six or seven years,
but its pull was always there.
It’s something I will never do again.
My legacy when I leave this world
will be within my words
and any good things I have done.
Hopefully, that won’t be
for a long, long time to come.

24 September 2008

poem by David Harris
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Words between words

Words between words
~
I try and say most things subtle
To slip words between words
In the hope you will read and hear
Sometimes I speak with blunt honesty
Sometimes wish I just didn’t speak
Sketching in secret characters
Telling stories built on fantasy
When a subtle look reveals
The obvious biography
Those words between words
What I write, what I speak
I understand words more than people
Words always seem easy
We all have things we wish to say
Some are said, others kept
All that is written then spoken
Are words between words

poem by Matthew Holloway
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