Fiction
Tel me what is your recently invented pretense
Your latest lie?
Shape, form, color, texture,
Of your many selves like your unequal fingers
More than the number
Of your allowable toes,
Feign and feign
That is feigning
Feign in feigning
Fingers like other fingers,
The shape
Of your fingers
You make things up
You invent new stories
And without any excuses
At all, like a very clever man loving many women
At the same time,
Figment, fabric, fabricate fabrics
To entertain, you are justifying, just to entertain, not to
Deceive
To lure them to glorify themselves
To believe about some goodness and beauty and the
Truth so well expressed in fiction,
In the field of imagination things work themselves into human beings
The cows talk in affable fables, the characters talk about avarice, love, hate,
And murders done in fiction,
We learn a lot,
And in that vast field of fiction
You are the cicada singing
Alone
To a cold and dark night
Wishing to be
A black bird, the one that flies and sings
And goes to places where
You have never been.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Eleven
Tel me what is your recently invented pretense
Your latest lie?
Shape, form, color, texture,
Of your many selves like your unequal fingers
More than the number
Of your allowable toes,
Feign and feign
That is feigning
Feign in feigning
Fingers like other fingers,
The shape
Of your fingers
You make things up
You invent new stories
And without any excuses
At all, like a very clever man loving many women
At the same time,
Figment, fabric, fabricate fabrics
To entertain, you are justifying, just to entertain, not to
Deceive
To lure them to glorify themselves
To believe about some goodness and beauty and the
Truth so well expressed in fiction,
In the field of imagination things work themselves into human beings
The cows talk in affable fables, the characters talk about avarice, love, hate,
And murders done in fiction,
We learn a lot,
And in that vast field of fiction
You are the cicada singing
Alone
To a cold and dark night
Wishing to be
A black bird, the one that flies and sings
And goes to places where
You have never been.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A non-fiction writer pretty much has the shape of the figure in front of him or her and goes about refining it. A work of non-fiction is not as difficult to write as a work of fiction, but it's not as satisfying in the end.
quote by Chaim Potok
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Frenzied Fingers Run Amuck
When I get you into my arms
I can't control the things that I do.
Fingers grab the hair on your head.
Fingers caress the small of your back.
Fingers travel down your spine
and back up again.
Fingers reach to all corners of your being,
quietly unnoticed at first,
but more frenzied with passing time.
Wild fingers travel your soul
with frenzied action that is hard to stop.
Uncontrollable fingers run wild
until you beg them to stop.
But even then, there's no counting on it.
These fingers like to run wild.
Whenever I place my fingers on you,
frenzied fingers run amuck.
I See You in Your Fingers
I see your fingers
I see you in your fingers
I see your history from your fingers
I feel your touch from your fingers
They don't tell a lie to me
They don't give me a fake smile
Or promising kiss
But they give me a warm hold
and tickling touch
I see you from your fingers
I see the truth from your fingers
I see you in your fingers
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Telling Stories
There is fiction in the space between
The lines on your page of memories
Write it down but it doesnt mean
Youre not just telling stories
There is fiction in the space between
You and me
There is fiction in the space between
You and reality
You will do and say anything
To make your everyday life
Seem less mundane
There is fiction in the space between
You and me
Theres a science fiction in the space between
You and me
A fabrication of a grand scheme
Where I am the scary monster
I eat the city and as I leave the scene
In my spaceship I am laughing
In your remembrance of your bad dream
Theres no one but you standing
Leave the pity and the blame
For the ones who do not speak
You write the words to get respect and compassion
And for posterity
You write the words and make believe
There is truth in the space between
There is fiction in the space between
You and everybody
Give us all what we need
Give us one more sad sordid story
But in the fiction of the space between
Sometimes a lie is the best thing
Sometimes a lie is the best thing
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Is That You Say
No longer caught up
Big church wall
Makin' some noise with a pair of drums
Lying your thoughts out over the sky
Spinning around as you gaze at the sun
(What is that you say?)
Why don't you talk to me?
(What don't you talk to me?)
What is that you say?
(What is that you say?)
Wrapping your fingers 'round my neck
I see the grass is still when we made our beds
I see the thin weed boy ride at this edge
I see the holy Jesus and the Pharoah and the Venus
And the ghost of you and me
Gagged and given up for dead
(What is that you say?)
Why don't you talk to me?
(What don't you talk to me?)
What is that you say?
(What is that you say?)
Wrapping your fingers 'round my neck
There's something up there but I
Don't know what the hell it is
There's something up there
As you guessed
Like the sun
(What is that you say?)
Why don't you talk to me?
(What don't you talk to me?)
What is that you say?
(What is that you say?)
Wrapping your fingers 'round my neck
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sola Sistim
Come get some orange juice, it's great.
[repeated throughout the song, each time in different speaker]
My eyes burn naked,
my black cold numbers,
my insecurities,
my devious nature,
make it go away.
My rest between rubber,
my spider shadow,
my shattered dancer.
Beautiful, broken,
my crystal fingers,
beautiful, broken,
my crystal fingers.
My glass like rain,
my illumination,
my cracks are sliding,
shaker, feather,
rubber, duster,
cold, cool,
your fingers, broken,
beautiful, wonderful,
paper flaps,
how you love,
love to love,
love and stitch,
shaker, rubber, striper.
Beautiful, broken,
my crystal fingers,
beautiful, broken,
my crystal fingers.
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Science Fiction Woman
She was my science fiction woman,
I was her science fiction man,
Yet our love was no fiction
In our science fiction land.
I wore my science fiction spacesuit,
She wore a spacesuit just like mine,
While we were floating together
In our science fiction minds.
She said her name was Taylor Trippy-
A flower child light years beyond-
She was a science fiction hippy-
A spacey and vivacious blonde.
She told me of our global warming,
Greenhouse gases, acid rain,
She told me everything I know
About the structure of the brain.
So we cruised through constellations
In our science fiction ship,
Transcending time and generations-
Forever free, forever hip.
She came from some unknown planet
In some uncharted galaxy,
And we were both kindred souls
In our cosmic fantasy.
And I don't know how I knew her
Or how we came to meet that night-
She was my science fiction woman,
Who traveled at the speed of light.
At night I look upon the ocean,
The distant stars where she might be-
She was my science fiction woman,
Who set my heart forever free.
June 17,2008
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Fiction and Truthiness
He said:
'The best fiction reminds us of what truth ought to be
and simultaneously calls that truth into being
if it doesn't yet exist.
Poetry is heightened awareness of that Fiction-Truth
heightened because we often are blind to truths we need.
Story telling is the art form which reminds us we are in fact
a small band before the fire, holding back the dark. There we invent
stories of hope to get us through the night.
The writer lives inside what-is- not- yet as a hedge against bad times
which may currently exist, and preserves for the future precious meanings murdered sometimes by the present.
Speaking is a capacity of the thorax, writing is the way the soul speaks.
When speech is silenced we only have our imaginations against bad times and this has saved the world time and time again.
People die, ideas don't; that is the purpose of fiction.
The miracle of life is that I can shake your hand while dreaming of home.
The only true gift of life is that out-pouring of love from us humans into anything. Thwart that and meet Hell.
Truth is not linear; truth now may not be truth later; truth then may not be truth now, Truth travels but it is not the world that has changed it is that the world has changed us.
Find a man obsessed with the absolute truth of anything, religious or scientific, and I will show you a fanatic.
Truth is not enough even if it is true.
Find a man who thinks he is right about anything totally and I will show you a man with a stick ready to use it to prove he is right.
How many times have our ideals of what ought to be allowed us to kill, hurt and harm flesh and blood.
Ideology is a serious disease resulting from a prolonged exposure to Idiots.
The purpose of truth is to make human and life on this planet possible.
Untruth is what destroys human life and this planet.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Unheard Music
Unheard Music (Mozart)
The fingers on my left hand move all by themselves
like they are playing piano that produces music
I cannot hear. I watch my fingers play but it makes no
sense so I try to stop by holding them still with my
right hand’s fingers. So I sit like a vicar contemplating
the Sunday sermon, a mild one who hasn’t an arsenal
of fire and brimstone speeches, but would rather talk
about the coming spring. My wife brings me a glass of
water and a pill, fingers rest, but I would liked to have
heard the music they played, for all I know it could
have been music brought to me in a dream by Mozart
who died so young that he can’t believe it yet, and
tries trough, me to play his latest masterpiece.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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I Wanna Talk About Me !
Uh huh, thats right
We talk about your work, how your boss is a jerk,
We talk about your church and your head when it hurts.
We talk about the troubles youve been havin wit your brother
bout your daddy and your mother and your crazy ex-lover.
We talk about your friends and the places that youve been,
We talk about your skin and the dimples on your chin.
The polish on your toes and the run in your hose,
And God knows were gonna talk about your clothes.
You know talkin about you makes me smile, but every once in a while,
I wanna talk about me, I wanna talk about i
Wanna talk about number 1 oh my, me, my,
What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see.
I like talkin about you, you, you, you usually, but occasionally
I wanna talk about me! (me, me, me,) I wanna talk about me-e-e. (me, me, me)
We talk about your dreams and we talk about your schemes,
Your high school team and your moisturizer cream.
We talk about your nana up in muntzi, indiana,
We talk about your grandma down in alabama.
We talk about your guys of every shape and size,
The ones that you despize and the ones you idolize.
We talk about your heart, bout your brains and your smarts,
And your medical charts and when you start.
You know talkin about you makes me grin, but every now and then,
I wanna talk about me, I wanna talk about i,
Wanna talk about number 1 oh my, me, my.
What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see.
I like talkin about you, you, you, you usually, but occasionally
I wanna talk about me! (me, me, me,) I wanna talk about me-e-e (me, me, me)
(I wanna talk about me) mmmm me, me, me, me, me
(I wanna talk about me) mmmm me, me, me, me, me
You, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you,
I wanna talk about me!
I wanna talk about me, I wanna talk about i,
Wanna talk about number 1 oh my, me, my.
What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see,
Oh I like talkin about you, you, you, you usually, but occasionally,
I wanna talk about me! (me, me, me) I wanna talk about me-e-e
I wanna talk about me! (me, me, me) no me-e-e! (me, me, me)
song performed by by Toby Keith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Appendages
How many fingers do I have?
Enough to work to the bone.
How many hands do I have?
The two that I do own.
How many toes do I have?
Enough to fill my shoes.
How many feet do I have?
The two that I do use
to get me where I want to go,
walking a leisurely pace.
It seems to be a lost art anymore.
Most are in a race.
But since I am retired
I don't ever rush around.
My fingers, my toes, my hands, my feet
make me slow right down.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Twenty-five Fingers
(mccartney-macmanus)
Twenty five fingers baby
I love your nails I love your touch
I love to touch you baby
It never fails to kill me
Some say gimme five
But Ill give you ten
You could make it twenty
But youre holding out again
Think it over think it over baby
Well think it over think it over baby
I will always love you
That cant be denied
Love you up until the day
That heaven knows Ive tried
For the time being I will tell you this
Id love to love you love to love you
But theres something missing
Baby listen unconditionally
Put your hand in my hand and surrender to me
Think it over think it over baby
Well think it over think it over baby
Twenty five fingers feel so divine
Twenty five fingers wish you were mine
Wish you were mine
Well so our hands met and twenty fingers entwined
I couldnt help I couldnt help but see
She didnt quite believe me
She said listen cause theres one little thing
Where did you get that lovely wedding ring
Think it over think it over baby
Well think it over think it over baby
Some things are forbidden
Never meant to be
Well that might be all right for you
But not for you and me
Twenty five fingers feel so divine
Twenty five fingers wish you were mine
Wish you were mine
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think the darker aspect of my fiction-or anybody's fiction-is by its very nature somehow easier to talk about.
quote by Richard Russo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With Hope We Build
With hope we build our own
fingers into mission light.
Our temple fingers steeple form
to reaffirm prayer light.
Only our fingers when humanity
needs salvation hand?
Prayer our fingers steeple pray
peace earth wide in every land.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Time passes too quickly
I feel winter’s first cold fingers touching
and time flash by to quickly
as if the last years are waiting on me
and I button my jacket tighter
and know I really need a proper coat
that can rid me of the cold.
I feel winter’s first cold fingers touching
and time passes too quickly
and I wonder where I fit into it all
and everything is different from what it once was
and things have gotten other and new meanings
and I am tired of struggling against life
and I feel my winter’s first cold fingers touching me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The reason that fiction is more interesting than any other form of literature, to those who really like to study people, is that in fiction the author can really tell the truth without humiliating himself.
Given that external reality is a fiction, the writer's role is almost superfluous. He does not need to invent the fiction because it is already there.
quote by J.G. Ballard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truth must necessarily be stranger than fiction for fiction is the creation of the human mind and therefore congenial to it.
quote by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Girl with the Croissant.
You watch the way the girl
Pulls apart the croissant with
Her slim fingers and licks each
Finger in turn sucking on each
With the passion of one making
Love and yet as she pulls it apart
There is that slowness oh that
Deliberate tearing open as if she
Were now opening herself for her
Latest lover as her fingers pull and
Her eyes gaze and her tongue licks
The corners of her soft mouth to
Catch escaping crumbs as if they
Were the juices of her lover’s sperm
Then she turns her head and sees
Your stare and you just wishing you
Was the croissant in her fingers there.
poem by Terry Collett
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