On My 10thousandth Poem
when i reach that number
it is because of the days that bore
it is because of the pain that does not cease
or he joys that jump
the bliss that soars in the sky
like a bird untiring about the flapping of its wings
that seagull that dives like an odd ball
to the surface of the sea
or that eagle that keeps its sharp gaze
on the tiny prey
i am lost
but i know how to find myself in the words
of the nth poem
it is the flow of the river
which does not just end at the sea
it is the waves that keep on going and reaching
far away
it is the story that meets a story and tells a story
upon another story
it is the desert sand, the Bedouin
and his princess
it is the oasis that source of life
these poems or whatever you call it
when you are angry because
they are not
but whatever that is
i am a consciousness
and also a trance
i am speaking i am listening
i am myself i am not myself
i a confusion and a certainty
now you must understand that there is nothing to understand
there is only the emotion
that goes on and on and one
simply because i remain alive
simply because i decide to keep this life
moving upon itself
not on another man's decision
not mine alone
not mine but upon itself a being on itself...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Tell Me A Story
Tell me a story that isn't gory
tell me a story that isn't fake
tell me a story where you made a mistake
tell me a story where the cows come home
tell me a story I want to know
tell me a story where the princess finds herself
not a prince who is more like an elf.
Tell me a story that I can laugh out loud
tell me a story where storm makes lighting clouds.
For in the end we only have our stories to tell
what make them funny, give them hell.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Tell Me A Story
Tell me a story that isn't gory
tell me a story that isn't fake
tell me a story where you made a mistake
tell me a story where the cows come home
tell me a story I want to know
tell me a story where the princess finds herself
not a prince who is more like an elf.
Tell me a story that I can laugh out loud
tell me a story where storm makes lighting clouds.
For in the end we only have our stories to tell
what make them funny, give them hell.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXX: Story
Story about future is called imagination
Story about past is called memories
Story about present is called reality
Story that becomes true is called prophecy
Story that becomes unfulfilled is called regret
Story that becomes no end is called boasting
Small story is called experience
Epic story is called history
Forgotten story is called lesson
Story that becomes obsession is called ambition
Story that becomes untold is called secret
Story that becomes go its own way is called life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Grain....
when life one dark night says
that it is tasteless and so bland like the air
the leaves of the mahogany trees hear it
and the following morning confide it with the
sea breeze
who tells it all to the sands who spread same story
to the waves of the shores
who deliver it to every desert in the sand
who keep all these in the heart of their
sacred solitude
and the wisdom stops in there
every dry sand of the desert
thrives upon this story
and sleeps so soundly.
'it is a fact and we are not surprised' the grain
of sand so proudly tell the others.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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His Story
Yo, this is a story of a male female threat to society
You know being misjudged and not respected for what we are
But I want to send this special shout out to my girl tawana brawley
Cause no matter what we say or what we do
Theyll always believe his story (ow)
Chorus:
His story (yeahee, yeahee, yeahee)
Hist story (ow)
Theyre gonna believe
His story
His story
Why does it have to be that we get labeled for what we do
Its hard enough for us to be ourselves without being used
Girls have an image too
But when they get mad at you
There is no telling what theyll say to hurt you
This is a story of a male female threat to society
Why you wanna go and tell a lie on me? (yeahee, yeah, oooh)
His story over mine his story will be his story
And my story is a waste of time (aaaah-aah-aah)
Theyre gonna believe
Chorus
Sometimes I feel like there is no reason for me to explain
No matter how much we complain
You know it all stays the same
They try to call us freaks
Why does it have to be
We cant get justified until we speak up (oooh)
This is a story of a male female threat to society
Why you wanna go and tell a lie on me? (yeahee, yeah, oooh)
His story over mine his story will be his story
And my story is a waste of time (aaaah-aah-aah)
(you know its just a waste of my time)
Theyre gonna believe
His story over mine
So what you gonna do
Dont let it take over you (hey)
My story is a waste of time
Its hard enough to be ourselves without being used
So yo take it from me
Dont be a victim of society
You cant put yourself in a position to be neglected
And disrespected
You have to do whats not expected
Alright
Or all be his story
His story over mine
His story will be his story
(this is a story of) how could you do this to us
Theyre gonna believe
His story over mine
His story will be his story and
My story is a waste of time
Theyre gonna believe
His story over mine
His story will be his story
And my story is a waste of time
Youre gonna believe
This is a story of a male female threat to society
Why you wanna go and tell a lie on me? (yeah, yeah)
This is a story (peace, love and hair and grease from tlc) of a male
Female threat to society
Why you wanna go tell a lie on me? (yeahee, yeahee, ho)
song performed by by TLC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A book called life
You find a book. a book unopened for some time. binding worn, title aged and not legible. you open it to find it dusty and blank. it has sat untouched for a quite a while. this book is the story of you. a story not yet written, but exciting non the less. a story to be one of epic, and legend. a story to be passed down for generations. that will be stamped into the pages of history and inspire forever. we all have a story, we simply need to write it.
poem by Nick Feiner
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Every Face Tells A Story
Look at the man in the corner, hes sitting all alone
His blankets are made out of cardboard,
His pillows are made out of stone
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
See the man walking on the water, see the light in his eyes
He came into the world with a message to tell,
He came into the world to die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Youre always telling stories, youre always telling me lies
Youre always telling stories, why?
So think of yourself in the water, seeing your days flashing by
Its too late to see what you wanted to be,
Youve spent all your time, you must die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Step down
And make it work out right
Im trying to get to you with my warning
Been there
For nearly half the night
Look its nearly four in the morning
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Know This Story Too!
Salty tears.
Flowing down on cheeks.
Faces so young and adorable.
You know this story too!
Innocent are the minds confined.
Adopting the limits of ignorance.
And feeling helpless with no defense.
You know this story too!
Abandoned emotions cooling with age.
With a toughened exterior...
Becoming too late to save.
You know this story too!
I see in your eyes a connection with truth.
How did you manage to remain so brave?
How did you keep that crave for life alive?
You know this story too...
Don't you?
You know what it takes,
To shake away heartbreak.
And fake the existence of it!
You know this story too!
I can tell you do.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Why shouldn't poems...
…be hot out of a
news item – even if
it barely ranks as ‘poetry’ -
if it moves a would-be poet
more than many a poem…?
Here’s the story: Dr Jill Bolte Taylor,
who became a neuro-scientist because
her beloved brother was schizophrenic…
had an exceptional opportunity for research
when one morning a golf-ball-sized haemorrhage
in her left brain, gave her a stroke, which
she was able to observe as it happened…
becoming herself schizophrenic in a fashion,
so that one half of her brain said
this consciousness is boundless…
while the other half said, I’m me…
struggling to support one another as
for forty-five minutes, she tried
to find her office identity
in a blur of pixels that were a number
she must dial…
it took her eight observant years
to recover; now she tells the story,
(always herself, always as boundless
as her story):
some of us smiling through our tears, her tears,
her smiles..
maybe I could turn that into
more of a poem… but why?
Between these lines, between
she and me, I and you,
the boundless, too..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Going On
It seems like this story just keeps going on
Like an endless rant
That I couldn't stop not even if I should want
To, but it presses forward like a damnation
Or a punishment it just keeps going and going
I don't even know what I'm doing
And yet those actions done or not
Are writing my story letter by letter
Those motivational speakers say I'm the pilot
Of my life but i couldn't feel any less in control- helter skelter
But I'll just keep going on writing these poems
And through them writing my story for all time
Forever chronicled in rhyme after rhyme
Because this is all a part of me
These poems they're my problems
And my solutions, or maybe they're nothing more than words
Maybe I'm just overthinking this, but either way It'll go on
Just keep moving on, until comatose or final resting beds
I guess this story will continue until ascension
poem by David Knox
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The Poems Became The Story Of My Inner Life
THE POEMS BECAME THE STORY OF MY INNER LIFE
The poems became the story of my inner life-
A series of confessions-
Often simple and direct
They seemed to lose their poetry-
I wrote them and I write them as I need to
I do not know if their rhythm is real
Or only prose-
I write them as poetry
Because this is what I am and have now-
Still the overwhelming anxiety I have now suggests
I always in them tell only a small part of the story
As if the feeling inside
Is always more than any poetry that pretends to express and represent it –
If I doubt the value of this poem and doubt the value of all my poetry and doubt my own value, poetry or not, and doubt and doubt-
Then certainly ‘doubt’ is one keynote of my inner life and story.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dream Operator
When you were little
You dreamed you were big
You must have been something
A real tiny kid
You wish you were me
I wish I was you
Now dont you wake up
The dream will come true
Every dream has a name
And names tell your story
This song is your dream
Youre the dream operator
Its bigger than life
You know its all me
My face is a book
But its not what it seems
Three angels above
The whole human race
They dream us to life
They dream me a face
And every dream tells it all
And this dream is your story
You dreamed me a heart
Youre the dream operator
Shake-it-up dream
Hi-di-ho dream
Fix-it-up dream
Look at me dream
Ive been waiting so long
Now I am your dream
Hard to forget
Hard to go on
When you fall asleep
Youre out on your own
Let go of your life
Grab on to my hand
Here in the clouds
Where well understand
And you dreamed it all
And this is your story
Do you know who you are?
Youre the dream operator
And you dreamed it all
And this is your story
Do you know who you are?
Youre the dream operator
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forgiveness: The Greatest Lesson Ever Learned
Forgiveness,
The greatest lesson ever learned,
From the greatest story ever told.
But is it a story or a promise?
If you do this, you will get this.
That is a promise.
He did this and this is what he experienced.
That is a story.
Simply an outcome.
Their outcome.
What if this were your story?
Could it be the same outcome?
If you do not try, you will never find out.
A muscle being worked out,
Experiences pain, then growth.
The heart is a muscle.
Growth comes from pain.
Am I angry that I am hurt?
Or should I accept?
Others have hurt me,
As I, have hurt others.
From them, I hope for forgiveness,
As a result of the pain I have caused from the mistake,
I have learned.
In the end, they were my blessing.
Another hurts me from their mistake,
They too have learned,
Yet they are my curse?
We are all each others lessons.
Each other's opportunity for growth.
What we embrace, is what we experience.
If we forgive, we are forgiven.
Then we receive the promise.
If the promise is true love,
Then isn't worth the lesson?
If you do not learn the lesson,
You won't get the story.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Served With A Calabash
Visit me in the Kalahari Desert and,
Come and taste my sweet love with the heat of the sun;
And there you will meet my siblings waiting to serve you.
Visit me in the Kalahari Desert and,
You will see the moon already up high in the night of my love;
For the story of love is all that i have to serve to you!
Life is very hot out here and your love will cool me down,
For it is like the story of the Bushmen in the jungle;
But slowly you will come to understand things with me.
At times, it is like the snake with seven heads;
But with the river of love that flows beside me.
YOu have to carry your mat on your shoulders along,
For i will be there always to guide you onto the paths of love;
And my love will lead you like the sugar and the honey,
For the story of love is all that i have to serve you.
Come and learn my ways on this desert!
For it is served with a calabash to keep you at home;
And my mind will be at rest always with you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Bookworm
There's a story that like a dessert I love
And I enjoy every page slowly as much as I can
There's story that makes me desperate
And even my day becomes gloomy after I read
There's story that safe to be read anytime
And I don't mind if it's going up or down
There's story that could burn me to the core
And left me with desire to create another story
There's story that easily predict
And I could finish it without much thinking
There's story that has a very good cliffhanger
And I need to rush to the publisher to make it comes fast
There's story that goes like my dream
And I want to repeat over and over until I'm getting bored
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Story Of The Poet
THE STORY OF THE POET
The story of the poet
Is told by his poems
A long long story
Of many small poems.
Can they be read?
Can they be known?
Can they be understood,
As the story they are?
The story of the poet
May forever be unknown-
And die with the poems
Never known.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Own creation: A story
The story of my life,
Is the story of today,
It's the story of tomorrow,
And the story of yesterday.
Every waking moment,
Is a surge of pen to paper,
To create a whole new life,
A life to which I favour.
Yet from this page arises,
A world of new ambition,
The compromising irony;
I am my own creation.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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By And By (#4)
Well children by and by when the morning comes
All the saints of God together they come
We will tell the story how the Lord will come
And we'll understand him better by and by
Trials dark on every hand and we cannot understand
All the ways God will lead us
To the blessed promised land
He will guide us with his eye
And we'll follow till we die
And we'll understand him better by and by
Well children by and by when the morning comes
All the saints of God together they come
We will tell the story how the Lord will come
And we'll understand him better by and by
Temptation's hidden snares often take the sun away
And our hearts are made to bleed
For some thoughtless word or deed
And we wonder why the test when we try to do our best
But we'll understand it better by and by
Well children by and by when the morning comes
All the saints of God together they come
We will tell the story how the Lord will come
And we'll understand him better by and by
And we'll understand him better by and by
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And in reality, I don't think it's a real documentary. It's more a story of her life. It's a story of survival. It's a story of the time in which she lived. The story of success and failure.
quote by Maximilian Schell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Once when I was in Hawaii, on the island of Kauai, I met a mysterious old stranger. He said he was about to die and wanted to tell someone about the treasure. I said, "Okay, as long as it's not a long story. Some of us have a plane to catch, you know." He stared telling his story, about the treasure and his life and all, and I thought "This story isn't too long." But then, he kept going, and I started thinking, "Uh-oh, this story is getting long." But then the story was over, and I said to myself "You know, that story wasn't too long after all." I forget what the story was about, but there was a good movie on the plane. It was a little long, though.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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