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Poetic Heart

this poetic heart bleeds,
but you will never see blood,
there is pain, pulsating
and pricking, needles and pins
without the cushion, but there is not
a sense of bother, it is here,
and it is there, and it is everywhere,
the body does not complain
to this routine, of self-genuflection,
this is it, and it is familiar, like
old friends meeting again
with white hair and wrinkled
faces, it is full, and it knows
what emptiness is, it releases
air, it deflates, it becomes too light,
it becomes a blank sheet of
white paper. Words
write themselves. Thoughts land
like doves. It is wide like an
open sea.The winds are cool.
And seagulls begin to fly low.
Catching fishes.
Sea caps and lonely sails.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For You, My Dear, When You Are So Blank

white sheet. a paper. like you.
iwant to write something
just to fill this white sheet a little bit
some words. i can utter them.
but i like writing them
just to make this white sheet looking
full. like

'i love you'.

the rest need not be written.
i know you know and you know that i know.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blank Sheet Of Paper

I'm just a blank sheet of paper
This fool's about to write you a letter
To tell you that he's sorry
For the way he did you wrong
To ask for forgiveness
For leaving you alone
He's been looking down at me seems like forever
he takes the top on and off his pen
It's like he can't decide
Just what he wants to say
If he'd just tell the truth
I'd be on my way
Chorus
But he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he doesn't want it to end
And now it's one hour later (four hours later)
I am still a blank sheet of paper
Sunlight is shining through the curtains
He's almost asleep pen in hand
There's a tear in his eye
That refuses to fall
If it would land on me
That would say it all
Repeat Chorus
And he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he wants it back again
And now one broken heart later
I am still a Blank sheet of paper

song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pins And Needles

(Janis Carnes, Rick Carnes, Chip Hardy)
Chorus:
Pins and needles
Needles and pins
One by one I feel them at my heart again
I think I'm getting over you and then
Pins and needles
Needles and pins
I don't know why
I get uneasy
Every time I hear your name
I feel a sting from every memory
That we made
Repeat Chorus
That tiny ache
Can always find me
Anytime that you are near
Those little things
Can still remind me
That you don't care
Repeat Chorus
(Pins and needles
Pins and needles
Pins and needles
Needles and pins)

song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Blank Page Blues

I know we have all done it,
sat in front of a pristine white sheet of paper
and got ready to write something down,
and then we are confronted
with the blank page blues.
The words of inspiration
then scurry and hide away.
You are left with pen in hand,
scratching your head
wondering what to say.
There is no cure for this syndrome;
writers get it all the time.
Some call it a writer’s block,
when nothing comes into your head.
You sit in front of a blank page.
You know what you want to write,
then someone disturbs you
and the words disappear out of sight.
How many times have we had that?
We sit down to write our masterpiece
and the telephone rings,
or someone shouts your dinner is getting cold.
You feel like screaming,
but you take it on the chin.
You lay down your pen,
answer the phone or have your dinner,
and when you come back,
the blank page confronts you.
Still you cannot write anything on it.
You stare at it for hours,
until finally you get tired
and journey off to bed.
Hoping and hoping tomorrow
a little peace, it will bring
and your words on that blank page
will really begin to sing.

10 May 2008

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pins & Needles

(janis carnes, rick carnes, chip hardy)
Chorus:
Pins and needles
Needles and pins
One by one I feel them at my heart again
I think Im getting over you and then
Pins and needles
Needles and pins
I dont know why
I get uneasy
Every time I hear your name
I feel a sting from every memory
That we made
Repeat chorus
That tiny ache
Can always find me
Anytime that you are near
Those little things
Can still remind me
That you dont care
Repeat chorus
(pins and needles
Pins and needles
Pins and needles
Needles and pins)

song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blank Mocking Paper

I stare at this paper so white
I just don't know what's so right
I want to write on it
I would love to write a sonnet
I just am alone with the green lines
The red now just starts to shine
Blank as my mind is this sheet
Please can my pen and it just meet
Instead of me sitting here dumbstruck
As if I almost got hit by a truck
Ink blue as the sky not writing
Instead on its end I keep biting
I don't want to right about a caper
So I’ll just stare at this Blank Mocking Paper

poem by Zachary Clark
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Blank Page

Blank Page

This new blank page, a word processor page, I cannot touch. I ought to leave it this
way, just look at it and dream of what I could have written on it. If I delet the words
I have written now, it will be blank again, no history, no crumbled up sheet of paper
in the wastebasket. For now it is too late but I might erase it when I come to an end.
My wife was in Johannesburg once for surgery, being born in Congo but light skinned
and travelling on a Portuguese passport, she boarded a bus for the blacks.
Great consternation, she was told by police to go on the white only bus since she
was Portuguese. Racism and anti Semitism are so stupid, it makes no sense, one race
thinks it is superior to others. Now it is the Moslems who are feeling the surge
of ignorance. We want them to be more like us and not Insist of doing their own things.
In Israel, for instance the European Jews feel vastly superior to Arab Jews, This in a state
that is an artificial construct. The culture of Europe in the Middle East. We know Israel,
as it exist today must come to an end. So there I said it, this white virtual sheet has been
befouled by an opinion no one wants to know about. So what do I do know? Erase this
page so it is blank again and I can write about the moon?

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The White Of The Paper

i like the white screen
i like the white paper
because they ask such
a simple task from me

write as you wish
think as you want to
or dont want to
I feel a white dove
flying amongst wondrous
cumulus clouds

meditate as much as i wish
so that the white becomes
a mere plane of zen,
a vibration of existence

i like the white screen
i like the white paper
because they ask just
such a simple thing of me
to swing myself and exercise
my thoughts so that i let loose
clouds, birds, stars and moon
in the minds of men

i like the white screen
i like the white paper
because they always
are my best friends,
open an infinite plane
for me to act out my antics
for the good of men,
exercise their minds and
let their humours flow

i like the white of the
screen and the paper
because they are always
there to accommodate me
to let the gift from heaven flow

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Dot On White Sheet!

Green leaves of spring are not there;
Colourful flowers of all seasons are gone;
Only white snow covers all in winter!
Winter snow thick or thin is white sheet
That covers all colourful things long!

Scrubbing snow on the road is a daily exercise
To clear route for all vehicles to go smooth;
All covered with fur cloth move in the street;
This white snow is like a white sheet of paper;
All the movements on it are the dots of scribble!

Writers are hungry of white paper to write on;
Poets are fond of writing poems on white sheet;
And the matters on white paper are men on snow;
But nobody likes winter as all are for colourful life!

poem by Ramesh T A
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White Blank Paper

On a white blank paper
I'm writing the chronicle of a tormented soul
Reality and dream are two different things
Can't achieve the same goal

On a white blank paper
I'm putting the pieces of my broken heart
Vanquished & overpowered by the joy of sorrow
Relinquish to the power of thought of a new start

This white blank paper
Witnessing the commotion of another love story
Love brings tears love creates pain
But only painful love gets the imperial glory

poem by Sourav RCY
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I like the sound of violin

Sharp and probing
Pricking like needles
My heart is numb and painful
Acupuncture violin
Pricking my heart my soul

I become lost too unbecoming
My defined peace
It is here in settled absences
Nothing fills it

Now it must be something coming new
Filling pricking needles of violins
Make me live make me pain some more.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pins and Needles - Two Sides of a Coin - Tale's Ahead

PINS AND NEEDLES

Is it cramp from the damp as we camp
sit still online from dawn till lit lamp,
or hairs rising from head
when uncertain ahead
why excitement removes trace of cramp?

31 August 2009

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Pins and Needles Etymology

Date: 1813
: a pricking tingling sensation in a limb growing numb or recovering from numbness
on pins and needles: in a nervous or jumpy state of anticipation

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Needles & Pins

Saw him today
I saw his face, it was the face I love
And I knew I had to run away
And get down on my knees and pray
That they go away but still they begin
Needles and pins
Because of all my pride
The tears I gotta hide
Hey I thought I was smart
Id won his heart
I didnt think Id lose
But I see she worst to him than me
Let him go ahead take her love instead
And one day he will see
Just how to say please
Wow and get down on his knees
Thats how it begins
Hurtin him hurtin him
Why cant I stop and tell myself
Its wrong so wrong
Why cant I stand up
Tell myself to be strong
Because I saw him today
I saw his face it was the face I love
I cant let go, although I know
Hell make me cry until the day I die
But people I got to live now
Wow lord knows I should forgive now
Thats how they begin
Youll feel those needles and pins
Somebody stopem now
Stop those needles and pins
Somebody takeem away now
Stop those needles and pins
(repeat and fade)

song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paper, Only for a Limited Time

Paper, blank and empty
A metaphor only meant for loneliness
White as new born snow
Lets add some words
To make a prophesized poem

Words, only meant for rhetorical use
Clouds that clear, only meant to hide the blue
The living, moving ocean that is our sky
Words, only meant for questioning
What are words but meaning

Clearing clouds, our living pulse bleeds through
Now this blank piece of paper
Has a shadow, and my shadow -combine
Lets make music together
Beautiful, wonderful, majestic music
Lets be music together-
And dance our hearts to something holy

Paper, blank and empty
But easily filled to create art
Art that can change the world
Turn it upside down, or nothing
Paper, blank and empty
But only for a limited time.

poem by Troy Clark
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Author's Inspiration

My fingers do not type the words on the page; they do not draw delusions on a thin piece of white lined paper. They are not meant for the works of art to be used and unworthy for. My fingers are worthy enough to paint pictures inside your cognizance, more than painting a paintless sheet that means nothing to me. My fingers work as if every picture I paint in my mind, inspires them to write the unwritten page, to make it a master piece. But not every inspiration inside my mind, will take merely a second to create. It takes time, patience, and art to smear the writings onto a page. Author inspiration is from what comes from the heart; deep and dark, inspring and light - it's as if it was left inside its cage. No freedom, no light, no darkness, no being of a creature that the render of the paper, simply gave up on inspiring the little ones'. It's as if this mere creature was left within a white blank world. No colors to paint, no words to express. An author inspiration is formed when they see or hear other works of art, whether it's music to their ears, movies they wish to be in, life and feelings that they feel or positioned in, or other writings that they write something else about - but as an inspiration from them. An inspiration can be from anything from the outside world, from what happens inside one's life, to what creates such imagination within one's thoughts that coats the page with color and creativity. Anyone can be talented. Anyone can have an inspiration. You just have to feel and be it.

poem by Alicia Meyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Roses On White Lace

I saw you in your wedding gown
The prettiest dress
I came into the room that night
And made such a mess
In my own way, I lovingly kiss the bride
With your ring in your hand
Your eyes and your mouth open wide
In my eyes
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
They won't wash away
In my mind they're roses on white lace
Straight from the heart
So dead upon the bed
You hurt me in the deepest way
I'm crippled inside
I took your evil skin away
It's all cut and dried
I saw you tonight and carefully took your hand
With some smears on my cheeks
I knew that you would understand
In my eyes
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
They won't wash away
In my mind they're roses on white lace
Straight from the heart
So dead upon the bed, still searching for your head
They're never gonna find your face
It's hidden away
I found a very special place where you used to play
In my own way, I lovingly kiss the bride
With your ring in your hand
Your eyes and your mouth open wide
In my eyes
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
They won't wash away
In my mind they're roses on white lace
Straight from the heart
Blood drops look like roses on white lace
Crimson and sweet, stained on the sheet
Roses on white lace, pretty in red, dripping and wet
Roses on white lace, spilled on the walls, dark in the hall

song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wish Life Were Like It

when i was a child
mama would give me a blank sheet
of paper where i can draw lines and circles
where my imagination runs
unstopped like it were the wind
blowing anywhere

all colors swirl and figures of angels
and fairies and castles and horses are drawn &
after a while all these become too
crowded inside the four corners
of the large white sheet

and then tired of such figures and lines and
circles and colors crowding on that large white sheet
i decided to take it away and
crumple it and throw it on the waste basket
and i would tell mama that i am taking
another blank sheet for my use
and she says 'It's alright'

I wish my life were like it. Something that i can
change the moment i do not like it.
Something to crumple and throw when
necessity dictates it.
And then i take another for good start.

I wish it were like that. But simply said,

it isn't.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Once Again I Write...

This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
I write to save my sanity.
I write to ease my heart.
I write to cleanse my soul.
I write to feel alive.
I write to keep my mind strong and my thoughts clear.
I write my words of sorrow, despair, pain, and love, as well as words of wisdom.
I write so that one day someone will truly know me.
This paper, this pen is once again my inspiration.
It is the inspiration to what I see.
It is the inspiration to what I hear.
It is the inspiration to what I feel.
It is the inspiration to the art I create.
It is the inspiration to what I draw.
It is the inspiration to the love for my daughter.
It is the inspiration to the love for my husband.
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
Once again I write to say thank you my timeless friends.
Thank you for saving me time and time again.

poem by Sara Jo Andrews
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A Poem Explodes In This Poets Mind

flying flocks travel in flight,
another faulkner puts down
his shovel, and writes, writes
and writes.
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me the muddled spirits,
and write your own words
with your own blood.
flying flocks travel in flight,
sextan turns up with her friend
plath, and they both write, write,
and write with their own blood.
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me these muddled spirits,
and write with your own blood.
Flying flocks travel in flight, and
a poem explodes in this poets mind,
and i write, and write, and write,
and on this white paper, my blood.

poem by David Gerardino
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