Back To The River Of Time...
for what is poetry? did i tell you that it is
merely defecation and all i excrete are
trash, garbage, e coli?
you keep on saying
i disagree, i completely disagree
i am recollecting your pieces and put them
in an album and i will make
a publication, ...jesus!
socrates did not write a word.
Jesus neither.
(i am not what they were.
i am just a sigh, a sort of
a morning exercise, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale
thing)
and stephen king who says he does not write
but all these are still here...
silly life, silly life, looking for a wall
and a spray net, spray, spray, write on the
wall, draw on the wall,
keep things intact, mementos, refreshing meal
of the river of time.
i do not know. I keep on telling.
chanting. I got no book of my own.
I have nothing to own.
Let no word come back to me
and tell me
' i am your creation
and you are my papa'
for at the end i shall deny all of them
for i do not belong here neither to somebody
nor some reason.
pilgrim am i. in this river of time.
leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
There Is Nothing To Write
WELL, FACE THE BLANK WALL
STARE TO THIS BLANK WALL
THERE IS NOTHING TO THIS BLANK WALL
IT IS BLANK
IT IS EMPTY
IT IS A HINDRANCE TO WHAT I WANT TO SEE
IT IS AN OBSTRUCTION
TO WHAT I WANT TO BECOME
THIS WALL
THIS WALL IS MY JAIL
MY PRISON
MY BLINDNESS
THIS WALL MUST BE TORN
THIS WALL MUST BE BOMBED
THIS BLOCK
THIS WEARINESS OF THE HEART
THIS TIREDNESS OF THE SOUL
THIS MALADY OF BEING NOTHING
THIS HAVING NOTHING AT ALL
THERE IS NOTHING TO WRITE
THERE IS NOTHING
THERE IS
now i will write about something
from above
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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0005 Letter to a Younger Poet
Thanks for your letter. Though
you’ve caught me at a rather awkward time –
I’m going into surgery tomorrow – a rather
risky op; so I’ll try to put all the answers that I’ve got
into this one letter;
I hope you'll understand...
and that helps me to make my first point to you:
write as if you, too, may not live
beyond tomorrow – write as if
it’s the last thing that you’ll ever write –
give it everything you’ve got,
hold nothing back;
or better still – write as if
the world will end for everyone tomorrow:
write so that in their last hours, too, this
will make them feel, will make them know
we’ve faced life fully, faced it so complete
that death is relatively unimportant now…
write as if it were only yesterday
that, in an air crash, all your family –
parents, wife or husband, partner, children, and best friend,
had lost their lives; write as if,
were you not to write,
your heart would break forever, or you would go mad...
write as if you’re writing somewhere
where there’s no such thing around, as ink;
you’ll have to use your own blood in the pen,
so use it carefully; so red, so living,
look at it… so beautiful, so precious,
and so solemn – use it carefully, don’t spill a drop…
write as if you’re borrowing every word
from the very centre of the universe, where suns and gods are made;
and need thus to account for every word
with your whole life, no less; know that every word
must be given back, cleaner, stronger, brighter
with your own power, than when you borrowed it;
write as if every poet that ever lived
is leaning over your shoulder, so that you
can feel their breath upon your neck as they say
‘Tell them all that we would tell,
but cannot now; tell them all of this’…
this, now, is how you must deeply be and speak;
write as if you are the only being on earth
who can tell them this; as if tomorrow, if tomorrow comes,
you shall visit them every one, at home,
and look them in the eye; write as if
you love them more than they will ever know;
write as if you were offering to live their lives with them;
write as if you were a force of nature in yourself:
as if whatever earthquake, hurricane or flood might do,
whatever law or love may greatly do,
whatever gods or men can speak, in fullest force,
this you may do, because the sound of poetry is such;
yes, write ‘as if’ – but know you really write ‘because’…
write as if – no, write because –
you know that only poetry can tell
all, that must be told, and must be known;
and as all hearts melt in the heat of your own love,
be in no doubt – and see that all are in no doubt too –
that life was never, never more serious,
never more glorious, than it is right now;
write all this.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Dissed
I am quiet
The clock is slow
The teacher talks fast
I inhale then exhale
I am anxious
The clock moves faster
The teacher is writing on the board
I inhale then exhale
I am excited
The bell is about to ring
The teacher gives the homework assignment
I inhale then exhale slowly
I am nervous
The bell has finally rung
I walk out of class heading in his direction
I can barely breathe now
I am brave
I wait for him to walk my way
He sees me, I open my mouth, but he walks in the opposite direction
I am left motionless
poem by Pamela Mote
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Four Chord Wonder
How many bands have wrote this song before?
I can name at least fifty...
I bet you could name a hundred more.
There's over a couple thousand
Chord progressions around.
Whill someone tell me who decided
They'd run this one into the ground?!
(chorus) i'm putting a stop to it once and for all!
I'm putting my fist right though the wall!
I'm telling you once and for all...
You better not write this stupid song again!
"i've got a little plan, so listen up.
We could write a four chord wonder,
And make a million bucks!"
No need to mention names
Cause' you know who you are.
Take word of my advice
Or i'll break your guitar!
I think it's time to set things straight...
I just wrote the song i hate.
And, i'll write it again and again and again
song performed by by Ataris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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It Was A Time Of Poetry
It was a time of poetry-
A time when Beauty came easy and laughing on the page-
A time when all those things that make life happy
Seemed to be here-
A joyous time
A time when I could write and feel free
A time for poetry
A gift for now
How I must write and write
So long as I have it in me.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The First Time
My senses are heightened
As adrenaline pounds through me
Using my veins
In a personal
Pulsating
Selfish way.
That makes it seem my heart will
Break out of my chest
And,
Dance before my eyes.
Every hair on my body has risen
Expectantly, waiting for you.
I lean towards you
Like soft green grass
Dancing in the breeze.
Breathe
Eyes dilated
Pupils fixated into tiny points.
Searching
Looking
Knowing
As I inhale your sent.
A flood of emotions
Engulf me
Crash against me like waves.
A Tsunami
Hitting pebbles on a beach.
I will be swept away in the moment
Engulfed in your arms
Crushed by your mouth
As it consumes me.
Your tongue has me enslaved.
In your iron grip
My waist is anchored by your hands.
My hips begin to undulate
In some primal dance
That seems to be buried somewhere within me.
I share a secret
That escapes as a sigh in your mouth.
This secret was hidden somewhere within me
Waiting for you to unlock it.
This spell is ancient
It has captured me.
You have my full attention
All senses attuned to you.
I crave the sweetness of your mouth
Your sent
You remind my flesh of its purpose.
Remind my heart why it beats.
Remind me why I breathe.
As I breathe you in
Exhale.
Remind me why I'm alive
Inhale.
Remind me
Exhale.
Who I am
Inhale.
Tell me again and again
Exhale.
Why it is
Inhale.
Why I think
Exhale.
I love you
And forget to breathe.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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New Year
WHITE year, white year,
Muffled soft in snow,
A diamond spray whose gems are gone
Before their grace we know,
A crystal-coated spray whose hours
Melt when looked upon,
Hoarfrost stars and hoarfrost flowers,
White year!
Green year, green year,
Sweet with sun and showers,
A windblown spray whose blossoms bright
Are the seven-colored hours,
A dancing spray whose leaves are days,
A spray whose leaves delight
In azure gleam and silver haze,
Green year!
New Year, new year
From rosy leaf to gold,
A shining spray on the Tree of Time
Where myriad sprays unfold,
A spray so fair that God may see
And gather it, bloom and rime,
To deck the doors of Eternity,
New Year!
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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A matter of opinion.
Some people say I am perverse
because I choose to write in verse.
The kind of stories I compose.
They think I ought to write in prose.
They have the right to I suppose.
But I won’t do as they propose.
I much prefer to write in verse
Because I think there’s nothing worse
Than badly written boring prose.
That is the reason why I chose.
To concentrate on rhyming verse.
I see no reason to reverse.
My original decision
to conform to your opinion.
I do not choose to write in prose
I am convinced that I would lose.
My rhyming capability
reducing my ability.
To write my words spontaneously.
I don’t expect you to agree.
Although I am compelled to write.
You’re free to exercise your right
To read or not as you choose to.
Though I confess I hope you do.
I know I can’t please everyone.
That is something that can’t be done
By any writer though they try
A truth no writer can deny.
Your comments are of interest
they spur me on to do my best.
We can agree to disagree
on which is best quite easily.
A poet must choose poetry.
But other writers are quite free.
to share their thoughts written in prose
Because they choose to I suppose.
If you should doubt my competence.
I will not choose to take offence.
You are entitled to your view
Please remember I am too
Sunday,02 May 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Angels Of The Disappeared
You let me read your pretty poetry
And I fell for your trailer park majesty
And I, When I said I'd die for you (for you)
I didn't mean for you to write the eulogy
You betrayed yourself and me too
CH. I know you lie when it's true
Jesus saves white trash, baby, like you
It's too late for you to undo
Jesus saves white trash, baby, like you
I should appreciate the irony
Cause I led us both to my Gethsemane
And I, I don't hate you I hate love (it's true)
I held you so close I couldn't see
While you had the grander view
I know sometimes it's true
(Jesus saves white trash, baby like you)
We make what we can't undo
(Jesus saves white trash, baby like you)
solo
CHORUS: I know you lie when it's true
Jesus saves white trash, baby like you
It's too late for you to undo
Jesus saves white trash, baby like you
CHORUS: I know sometimes it's true
(Jesus saves white trash, baby like you)
We make what we can't undo
(Jesus saves white trash, baby like you)
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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The History Of You And Me
Everytime you think of me.
Write it all down in your diary.
And never forget you were mine.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
On every page that you write.
Move your pen, with those old memories of me.
Holding me in your arms.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
Try not to miss a word.
Don't miss a single word, about those old romantic nights.
The nights you spent with me.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
Yaahh! The history of you and me....
Love Song Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1990,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Because She Allowed It She Was Destroyed
one summer she attended a poetry workshop
upon invitation of some writers
and wannabes like her
her name is poetess
modest
shy
truthtful to every word chosen by her
in the poem that she chooses to
read before them
these writers listening to her
after which
the chopping begins, the stabbing knife, the slices of her self
the sharp teeth biting her to pieces
the slapping criticisms of her works
her poems her life
she was bleeding to death
they have no inkling to save her
she shrinks
like some sundried raisin
she shatters like some broken glass
she shuts up
she runs away and throws all her poems to the trash can
she is ugly she is a witch
since then she never wrote again
because of them
these writers ahead of her
she was the object of their ridicule
she was utterly destroyed
because she allowed it
she had known better
that one should write
because one must write
not for anybody else
but for oneself alone
one need not even win
or excel
one only needs to write
because you love to write
because you must
survive this love of your life
your poetry, now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Holy River
Lets go down 2 the holy river
If we drown then well be delivered
U can still see the picture upon the wall
One eye staring at nothing at all
The other one trying 2 focus through all your tears
U can try and try but theres nothin 2 hide
U cant run from yourself and whats inside
U got 2 find the answers 2 the questions that u most fear
So over and over u ask your soul
Whyd u come down 2 a world so cold?
And the voice inside says 2night the truth will be told
U surrounded yourself with all the wrong faces
Spending your time in all the wrong places
Puttin your faith in things that only make u cry
People say they love u when they wanna help
But how can they when u cant help yourself?
The more they say they love u, the more u just wanna die
So here we go again, the self analysis
Have another glass of port and uh.. forget this
The bands playin at the club 2night and theyre bound 2 groove
There u are, u think ure high
U cant ask yourself cuz ud only lie
If u had a dollar 4 every time u tried
U cant call nobody cuz theyll tell u straight up
Come and make love when u really hate em
Relationships based on the physical are over and done
Theyre over and done (theyre over and done)
Ud rather have fun
With only one, with only one
Only one... one (one)
And then it hit cha like a fist on a wall
Who gave u life when there was none at all?
Who gave the sun permission 2 rise up everyday? (ooh, oh yes)
Let me tell it (gon)
If u ask God 2 love u longer
Every breath u take will make u stronger
Keepin u happy (happy) and proud 2 call his name (gon and say it)
Jesus (jesus)
And over and over u ask your soul
Whyd u come down 2 a world so cold?
And the voice inside said 2night the truth will be told
And this time I was listening, hear me
Lets go down 2 the holy river
If we drown then well be delivered (yes we will)
If we dont then well never see the light (no)
If u die before u try
Ull have 2 come back and face the light (oh yes)
When u believe it, u got a good reason 2 cry (oh my, my)
So I went on down 2 the holy river
I called my girl and told her I had something 2 give her
I asked her 2 marry me and she said yes, I cried
Oh, that night I drowned in her tears and mine
And.. and instead of a glass of sorrow and wine
Looking back yall, I dont miss nothing except the time
And when I see that picture upon the wall
The one eye staring at nothing at all
My eyes trying 2 focus but these are much different tears
Oh, yes they are
Lets go down 2 the holy river {x3}
Lets go down 2 the holy river {x3}
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chris And His Golden Arches Brick Wall Graffiti
Well... it had the police mighty puzzled...
The graffiti red spray painted on the wall...
But for me and my pals we know who done it...
And it will be his name that we will call.
He left a very bold message to Eric...
Long about last Wednesday night...
With bright red spray paint he left his mark...
He's a vandal with not one bit of light;
He has no remorse for defacing property...
Now that the brick wall is broken...
Ain't that just calling the kettle black?
Leaving the words as a sure understood token! ! ! ;
For on the brick wall of: 'The Golden Arches'...
Right here in my town came the words of the dim wit...
Ringing out as: 'a sunshine island 'clear as a bell'
Yo-'Eric-Lets Fix It;
A poem about vandalism
In my town last week
And the perp who is no doubt
Behind it!
We aim to find out!
poem by Theodora Onken
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In The Middle Of The Busy Hour
there is always a space
between all
these pressures
an opening
a vent
where you rise up
and breathe
you love air
but you miss the vacuum
where you fit
and satisfy your lust for
verisimilitude
no word
no words
in here we do things
without words
breathe: exhale inhale
live life
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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040310z Where People Take Their Money
streak of shopping carts
rolling with flashing light
now even a kid could do
like before 'mano o mano'
yes i agree it's wall to wall
it's better run than city hall
strawberries are still fresh
veggies under auto rain spray
bananas multiple fingers
pointing upwards in unison
checkout line is very long
equivalent to one album
poem by Manonton Dalan
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The Word That Wouldn’t Fit (Fun Poem 25)
A writer’s life is full of woe,
you find a word you like,
then you write something,
and try to fit that word in,
but when you look again.
That word you thought of
it just won’t fit in,
no matter how hard you try it,
that word just will not go.
In a fit of frustration,
you stick it here and there.
Just like jigsaw puzzle
where the pieces will not fit,
so this word will not go anywhere.
In the end you say, “OH heck! ”
Then you put the word
to the back of your mind.
Maybe another day
in another poem,
that word just might fit.
Having said all that,
I’m not betting on it.
poem by David Harris
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A Wall Of Fog
Inside my head
Shutting out
The words I said
Closing off my
Fragile voice
So I have no
Other choice
A wall of fog
Upon my tounge
Ringing like
A bell been rung
Covering up my
Every word
So my screams
Can not be heard
A wall of fog
A circling band
But there's a crack
Upon my hand
So I can write
Where I'm at
Against the fog
I can fight back
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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