Exercises
by analogy any unused muscle
finds retaliation through an ache
and so you have it massaged.
in the same manner is the word
and the letters
in the same behavior you shall
find thoughts
you know their revenge and you
must know how to handle it.
how can you un-think? try it.
how can you not write? how can you
keep mum?
unless you know how to practice
sleeping and then death.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Practice Every Step
Practice every step.
Do not second guess what it takes.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
There's no sleeping for someone who has a place to go,
So...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
Focus on that goal,
And tighten on your hold,
And...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
Do not second guess what it takes.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
Every journey taken,
Must be thought of as a race...
And,
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
There's no other way to straighten out a crooked road,
So...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
No matter what you're told,
There will be some doubts and woes...
But you,
Practice every step.
Yes you,
Practice every step.
Woes you hold will eventually go,
So...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ache, Ache, Ache
Stay calm
Put your mask of indifferent
Stay in control
You have gone through the worse
Stand tall
Throw the pain to the wall
Spread the smile
Even to deceive a little longer
Before it consumes you
And ache, ache, ache
Before it defeat you
With ache, ache, ache
Whisper you to break
For ache, ache, ache
Pushing you to the world
Full ache, ache, ache
Keep moving
Your body needs the adrenaline
Keep struggling
You don't want to end here
Glare angrily
It's better than being a hopeless
Act strongly
Do not let it weakens your will
Because it starts throbbing
An ache, ache, ache
Because you don't need pity
Though ache, ache, ache
They waiting you to fall
By ache, ache, ache
And wish you to slowly die
In ache, ache, ache
Focus on your duty
Forget other unnecessary mind
Carry your burden
Even you have to endure it forever
Brace the inevitable
Never let anything get you down
Give up is losing
Whatever left for you to own
But it keeps reminding you
Till ache, ache, ache
But it rounds you to the corner
To ache, ache, ache
You don't know where comes
This ache, ache, ache
And how to stop or numb
The ache, ache, ache
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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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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Today's Blank Wall
just this day
i face a blank wall
it is enticing
its white hand is signaling me to write my thoughts on it
it is empty and wants to be full
just like myself perhaps who knows
i will disappoint it in the same manner that you have
disappointed me
i will not go near it
i will not say a word
i will not write anything
but i will tell it
'you are beautiful'
untouched, unwritten
pure, blank, mute....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Death
The journey of death, I think of dying as it were
a sleeping process which it brings our thoughts
the illusion of angel's, heaven, clouds and paradise,
we see ourselves in a utopia dream world,
that brings us peace and harmony. Death is a
sad word; a word that is continually present with
melancholy thoughts that haunts the mind. I always
dismiss it from my mind, but always comes back.
It's there always trying to torment me, maybe if death
wasn't so enigmatic and dreadful, our thoughts would
change. We wouldn't think about it at all. When I think
of the old age, is like thinking, death is near, it's the
nearest thing to old age. Death, death is like a cold
and lonely sigh, Death, it comes like thieves in the
night, it takes you and it wont give you a notice nor a
warning. A deep anguish takes over our feelings;
death is a sad word, An empty sensation and a huge
grief, that torture's the soul and mind. Death we can't
defeated, escape or make it null. A reminder each
day that time will eventually stop and become eternal.
Death the only sure thing we inherit from the second
we are born, death, death, I cannot comprehend the
purpose to all, we struggle in our journey in every way,
to at the end, become dust in the wind, and then after
time has past, not even a vestige of us.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Two Word Lines
I write
my pain
and its
just another poem
its just
the same
all the heart ache that goes onto this page
only takes me back to the place where I await
behind the curtains of an empty stage
the pain
I write
I wrote this
I locked my own cage
I threw away the key to he that did see me rage
and still
I write
yes still
I fight
hoping that I might find something you feel
because these two word lines are just rhymes
when I say them back they aren't real
I'm sick and tired of talking about better times
forcing things like a relationship two people don't really want
a mum and dad staying together for the sake of the kids when the love is really gone.
Look at this back and see my two word lines
see my two word lines
are one.
poem by Daniel McCann
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Is It Really Justice or Just Revenge?
Is capital punishment justice or is it revenge?
This is the question that I want to defend.
Is it really justice if you have to kill someone?
Or is the killing of a being just for your fun?
Is a murder really justified if the culprit spends less time in jail?
If so then it seems capital punishment is just easy bail.
They should be punished and not given an out of jail card,
All capital punishment is doing is spending money, cold and hard.
Wanting them to die doesn’t seem like justice but revenge?
It leaves blood on your hands when there life ends.
Life is full of trials and tribulations this is a must,
But if you kill a man then it won’t make life any more just.
Justice is using authority to give a fair decree,
But intended death to a being doesn’t seem fair to me.
Revenge is to satisfy in retaliation,
But death’s your one hit wonder, one satisfaction.
So I will always choose the criminals to defend,
Leaving you with your decision: justice or revenge?
poem by Amy Fifita
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Love Letters
I have a bunch of
Love letters
That express just how he feels
Every word every line
Are memorized in my mind
He tells of how he misses
Sweet moments yet to be
So that we can build a future
Just for you and me
His heart so warm
His love so grand
Sends shivers down my spine
I blush at tender moments
That only we two can share
The ecstasy of love
I write my declaration of love
In those letters from my heart
________________________
As the song goes
Love letters straight from your heart
Keep us so near while apart
I'm not alone in the night
When I can read every word that you write
©Copyright Kaila George 2012
poem by Kaila George
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Writing
My words they no longer flow like a calm river
They rip, through, delicate flowers wither
Not in a long time have I wrote pure gold
One more worthless word and I'll explode
So I write these words to help express
That to me my writing can no longer impress
If the letters I write turn to heavy stone
Maybe I should try changing my tone
Even when words sing a merry tune
When the words hit me like a monsoon
I look back and scowl at scribbles and letters
And know there is a need for them to be better
So I try to write something funny, add humour
Rhythms with big cats, small rats, lions and pumas
But it all seems to lack that special spark
Something with a vicious bite and a gentle bark
Let's try and make it dark, murder and death
Something that literally stops ones breath
Words that hide the killer, build suspense
But this dark angst and pain is all pretence
A rhyme about love, happy and quite light
A poem about everything that can go right
Maybe just maybe it will all fit together
But these words take too long, almost forever
I guess I'll just carry on in this infuriating way
I'll continue writing the words I just can't say
So when I feel the need to write I'll let it all out
Then you will find out just what I will write about
poem by Rebecca Pepper
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Poetry in Me.........
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
Anger writes the feelings in the speed of thought,
I swing the axe to split the block of inspiration
Mind Pictures in my words sleeping under dreams.
Happiness and sadness hold hands in the whirlpool of words
Metaphor movies flicker in my brain,
Venting feelings to flow from my pen,
Celestial images punctuated live as
Syllables jostle for rhythm’s flow.
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
I find comfort deep within as we write together
With your silent guide my friend,
In the cutting room snakes strangle the ‘odd’ word
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
I find comfort deep within as we write together
With your silent guide my friend,
In the cutting room snakes strangle the ‘odd’ word
Then wonders mark unfolds, originality leaps forth.
My eyes close feeling tired the hour is late
On this session I must close the gate,
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts sleep,
A silent friend to keep.
poem by Ken e Hall
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My love lays sleeping
My love lays sleeping
~
Sleep eludes me
My thoughts play on
Into the quiet of the night
A whispered chatter of thoughts
Fill my restless mind
~
My love lays sleeping
Beside me, safe
While I sit writing
I write of her beauty
The gentle nature of her soul
I write as if to say
How much I love her
~
What I would give
To see into her dreams
And gift them all to her
That she may smile and laugh
And share in this love
As though to dream forevermore
~
Sleep eludes me
My love lays sleeping
Sleep on sweet beauty
poem by Matthew Holloway
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An Autumn Letter
I want to write a letter to someone in the autumn
In the Autumn, I see lonely fountain streamed from a deep valley
And want to wet the lonely heart
I write a letter in the autumn night but knowing that cannot be sent in the morning
Now there is a postman who delivers letters in the air in the days and nights
So I am sending letters
I regret but the unsent letters always cry
I send the thread tied letters in the air without stamps
The letters of the poet opens its eyes with holding their breaths
poem by Kyungdae Min
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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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Zero One Slash Seventeen Slash Zero Nine
he does not like to use numbers
and so all his numbers are letters
and all his thoughts in numbers
are written in letters including the
date when his poem is written
making it the very title of the same
and all his emotions are in letters
even though he knows that each
feeling has a corresponding number
and even the colors are numbered
in letters. Blue is the number four.
Nine is class. Forty-seven is pride.
ninety-nine is not perfect and
one hundred is too much for an
old aging man like him who likes
to arrive at zero and then enjoy
his much needed rest. He likes to
be happy and wants to sleep, so he
begins to write, one, two, three, four,
five, six.... and so on and so forth.
autistic savant, they all call him.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In my thoguhts i am alone
In my thoughts i am alone
where i fear no one understands
the pain the illness the sadness
the nightly terrors i handle alone
this experience i cant handle of this illness
they call bipolar the way im defined or labled that
one can not see past to see who i am beyond the illness
who is scared of herself who is caring for others more than herself
who will do anything to make another happy
but for one to meet someone who is 'bipolar' thats what they see
unstable depressed manic angry mood swing mess
but what they dont understand is how stable is not in our world
and it doesnt define us it makes us who we are
this illness we battle alone cause unless you have it
you can never fully understand and even if you do i dont think
we can fully understand it...
alone in this illness
alone in these thoughts
alone is how i feel
i cry alone when i feel alone
i sleep to be alone to feel nothing
to feel nothing or empty is what i need
it would be better than the saddness and hurt and
the feeling of alone
my tears fall alone
i enjoy being alone but the feeling of alone is
something i can not handle
to feel like there is no one
to feel like no one can truely understand or care
i only ache with this fear
i try to cry and scream for help but no one seems to hear
so lost in this illness and how to not feel alone
poem by Juliana Willsey
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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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I Write In Lead Part 2
You see I write in lead
cause having poetry impact my life
Everyday is empowering
Can't complete a thought 'cause
Before I can access feelings stored inside
My mind is weaving another strand of meaning and context
'Cause Poetry's deciphered my semantic properties
Unraveling down to the morphological units
Unlacing more of me
And that I don't need a pen
To bleed thoughts of truth
Let me know cause I don't understand
Can't put into concrete thoughts
My grasp of linguistics no longer suffice
To decode the relationship between
Mind and hand
pen and poet
Carefully marking down gibberish
Only understood by the two
I guess that's how it works
Some things have no outside reason to stand
But the only one that comes from within
An I write in lead cause
I can't get out the right pattern of words
I keep erasing
Always in search of a better way
To state how it is that I
am processing poetry
I don't want to use pen
cause fact of the matter is poetry
Shakes the profound core
My factory of thoughts
Engraved permanently in paper
Leaves no space to illustrate
How poetry pushes me to the edge of language
And then I realize
The edge is more like an extending bridge of vocabulary
I can continue building letters
Making meaning
There's no saying
Where interpretation will stop
That is what
poetry is
Making my hand ache
but the thought of not scribing
Leaves less space
For our bridge to extend
Connect To find a better way
to spill my insides out
Poetry's my speech therapy
Cause the more I interpret poetry's word
the more I record how its being comes forth
tough and registers in a soft key
Through syllables
The more clearly I see
through the lens I read
The world and my synthesis
is me
I want to take all of poetry in
So it lives endlessly in meaning
If the path of our voices crosses only momentarily
I'd like for poetry to still live through my expression
Aiding the love affair of
Mind hand and heart
poem by Samantha Campbell
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The Black Cloud Called Depression
The thick cloud of despair hangs over me,
Thoughts are black of my future dim,
But why do I think so? ~ Why, oh why,
When I have Trust and Faith in HIM?
Depression is an Attitude of Mind,
It lingers from time to time,
I crave for Action and things to do,
This time, and every time.
I need a shove, a push to start,
To work, write letters more,
For as soon as I do start to work,
The Cloud of Depression will out the door.
Depression is an ugly word,
It hangs like a suffocating cloud,
I wish I had a magic word,
Which I could shout at it ~ ALOUD.
But I need to conquer it myself,
To dispel its evil ways,
To clear my thoughts from out my head,
Before retiring again, to my bed.
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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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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Wake Not My Sleeping Child
Wake not my sleeping child
This world awaits not thy vision,
Talk not my sleeping child
This world listens to no one,
Move not my sleeping child
This world senses every vibration!
Think not my sleeping child
This world is void of thoughts.
Live not my sleeping child,
This world offers nothing but death!
Lie in my arms in perfect numbness…
This world will spare you its camaraderie!
poem by Anuradha Datta
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