There Is Something That We Must Write
we must write about the language that they are using
in the common places such as the
market
or the barbershop or at the playing fields or even in the
zoo
we must write nothing new
nothing to invent
or to make from our very own hands and minds
what we must do is simply to look around and discover
the shape of the wind
and its soft fingers
there is nothing new in our making only this sensitivity and this discovering
of what is around us
that which grows by themselves and blooms and lingers and extends
like some tendrils of this flowering vine
slowly moving
unnoticed by all except you
becoming aware of that was not there
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Write Me
Aerosmith
Write Me
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
I said, the ways of the night are evil with eyes that love the day,
but I'll never never never never never get so far away.
I said write me, write me, write me.
I said write me, write me, write me.
Well there's nothin' I can see that'd ever make
me want to be without her she's good, she's good to me.
Said there's no way to explain the kind of feeling
that you get out in the rain she's good, she's good to me.
See this emptiness inside it makes me scream
it make me crawl out of my high, she's good, she's good to me.
I love her.
Write me a letter, write me a letter, write it today, I'm goin' away.
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
Well I've been so many places hidin' from the wind and the rain,
But you could write me a letter for to save me from a goin' insane.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Don't write me baby.
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Write Me A Letter
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it has)
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it is)
Well Ive been away forever
Suicides crossin my mind
Well Ill never, never get so far behind
I said, the ways of the night are evil
Without that lord of day
But Ill never, never get so far away
I said write me
Write me
Write me
Write me
I said write me
Write me
Write me
Well theres nothin I can see
Thatd ever make me
Want to be without her
Shes good, she good to me
Said theres no way to explain
The kind of feelin that you get out in the
She good, she good to me
She good, she good to me
I love her
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it has)
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it is)
Well Ive been away forever
Suicides crossin my mind
Well Ill never, never get so far behind
Well Ive been so many places
Hidin from the wind and the rain
But you could write me a letter
For to save me from goin insane
Write me
Excite me
Write me
Write me
Write me
Write me...
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why I Write?
I write poems for myself and I write for the readers
I write for the masses and I write for the leaders
I write to imprint my thoughts in people's mind
I write to make the bad guys helpful and kind
I write to light up our path to Great God
I write for everyone home and abroad
I write to preserve values new and old
I write to make my ink precious like gold
I write for peace and I write for progress
I write to make the world a better place
All major issues I want to address
I write to see smile on God's face
poem by Asif Andalib
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Creep
the vine underneath a thick foliage
always has a way of making itself seen
so slowly it creeps and climbs
the fence
each brick, each grill, each wall
the tendrils climb
and then when it finally sees the sun
it lets go its happy smile
through its little honeysuckles
i watch and felt the art of the tendrils
curling and curling sprouting and then
blooming.
There is a purpose, there is this vision.
I am keeping it. This vine.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Making Connections
Tendrils grappling in air
Making connections be
It the wind or something else
Out there
Just to hold on to what when
Thin green sword-like palm
Hawaiian leaves stretching to the
Blue skies and sun
Making connections to whatever
Is who knows what slices thin some
Spaces in between light and dark
Some shadows playing like small
Children in the night park playground
Anything to touch life
Yawning to what-is if-this-could-happen
Then what?
Powered Rockets bulleting to space stabbing
& Lots of jet nozzles buzzing to
Vast dark silence clean cutting lines
Colored smoke curving with light
Making connections to planetary skies
Moon, Venus, Jupiter
On to Pluto to Zeus what if
One baby-finger touching fine fish
Fins swimming in ocean-space out-there
Making connections in between haze & fog
What if it is there that which lies next to this
Next to us from far and they can be then near
We are all tendrils rockets baby fingers space ocean fish fins
Making connections this empty hands loosened fingers
Dripping sands and spilling fine touches to wind chimes
Pointing stretching making fingers in between
A short distance making always always
Connections to what if what if I am there too.
Chances are, you chase and find them, footprints
They were once, and they all left, just seconds away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Write
Write, keep writing lot
Write, write before you forget
Write, make it as reminder
Write, write before words disappear
Write, for you to contemplate
Write, write before your mind changed
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Do it your way for Stephen Stirk
Sometimes the words that writers use
have different meanings and values.
For words don’t always mean the same
and common words don’t play the game.
Some words can mean their opposite
A writer must be explicit
selecting words in such a way.
Their meaning is as clear as day.
Avoiding in particular
the words that seem familiar
That sound the same when they are not.
Meanings can differ quite a lot
Like seams and seems or there and their.
A writer has to be aware
Simplicity is his finest tool
and that his readers as a rule
Are not concerned with the syntax
Your words should help them to relax
If they do not then you will fail
your efforts all to no avail.
Although your words are scholarly
perfectly composed grammatically.
Successful writers in the main
make sure they write to entertain.
They cater to the public taste
they haven’t got the time to waste
Writing works which won’t be read
That will not earn their daily bread.
Those who write professionally
research their market thoroughly.
The must be certain it will sell
and some of them do very well.
Amateurs, who post on the net
are not constrained they can forget
The publishers and critics views
and simply write the way they choose.
Though they won’t earn a single cent
it doesn’t matter, They’re content
with comments that their readers make.
They love to write for its own sake.
23/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Writers Are Born Not Made
Ocean is dry
And fount not secreting
Wind still rove the dry land
In its usual way
I want to write
Everything in me want to write
Even though ocean is dry
And fog too thick i can't see remote place
I must write
I must make thess two lovers
Starring at each otherexpressionlessly
Make love to yield readables
Writers are born not made
Writers write and write
When ocean overflow its limit
When ocean overdry that feet could
Navigate the way of ships
Writers write and write
For is in them to write.
poem by Alade Abayomi IdrisWhite
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I sit in places like Costa Coffee in Banstead and write rubbish. I need a deadline. I think about the 44 tour dates and keep imagining standing in front of all these people. Then every day I write 15 jokes minimum.
Obsession (revised)
to believe that there are heights to my own glory
is no longer possible.
On that day in that room, where they wear
all their thick glasses, their hands have already done
what should not have been done.
I was weak, and my mouth did not open.
They kill every poem i had in my palms.
They were doves.
They said they were bats.
Black bats.
No, i said they are the whitest doves i have.
They are even angels.
They were laughing.
Some giggled.
And they
said, 'Crucify him, crucify him! '
IT was an obsession.
That i have butterflies on my hair.
That there were
red roses in my fingers.
There were none, in fact.
What i had are mere words.
Syllables of my survival.
When i left that room, i did not admit that it was my mistake.
Far from that,
i look again at my hands in the mirror,
and i saw
vines, fragile tendrils, and they are so alive, like
dragonflies.
One understands somehow, that we write, not because we want
to have a brand, a name, a tattoo
a heart, a rose, an arrow, blood dripping
NO. That is not so. We write because we are here and our fingers
are always incomplete.
We press our palms on our chest and we say
Look i love myself, and this all i got.
Let me write and let it all be about me.Not for those thick glasses
Inside that room.Their rules are not mine.
I have mine only to give.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Isms, Isms, Isms
thank god poetry has inched its way
into the hearts of the common man again
let's not make its journey there too laborious
let's write poems for the common man
like Blake, like Wordsworth, like Neruda
poems that sing and dance as they make their
way out to the the sea of humanity
poems of the Creator's brush that paint an
enchanting innocent world to be unravelled
as they make their way into the repository of human knowledge
let's make it all that simple, like making tea
when all we have to ask is whether it should
be sweet or plain yet are sure it will be fully savoured
let's write poem with the common men's words
so that it can be embraced without apprehension
let's not extort an art of its life and gentility so that
they are drowned in a sea of isms, isms, isms
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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I Write And Write And Write And Write
I WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE
I write and write and write and write
I write and write and write and write
I write.
And all this writing and all these words and all I am
Forever unheard.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What I want to write
What I want to write
I could not write.
I could not write
Tiger tiger cat cat
And the difference they behaved.
I could not write
The sky and its fall
On our forehead.
What I want to write
I could not write.
I write how I loved
How flower blosom
How fruit ripe
How stream flow.
I could not know
How I write
And I write
What I want to write
I could not write.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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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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The River Flows
The river flows quiet and swift
It twists and turns as the waters drift
It branches and breaks—its fingers entwine
It grows and grows—snakes like a vine.
The river with the soft scent of a calm day
With the smell of clean—hanging—still—in the grey
And sweetness carried on the breath of morning
It caresses the river—the waters flowing.
The river—crystalline from winter melt
And sweet with the summer soon felt
It tastes of springtime—the season between
And flows the river—so blue and clean.
The river—its lazy trickle of water
The musical rhythm—the ocean’s daughter
It whispers and murmurs—a song of its own
Playing over and over—in continuous drone.
The river—so clear and cool
The water flows—the color like a jewel
Its soft arms embrace the shore
The river surging from the days before.
The river flows quiet and swift
It twists and turns as the waters drift
It branches and breaks—its fingers in twine
It grows and grows—snakes like a vine.
poem by Kailey Jennings
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To Avoid An Explosion
honestly
i do not write to impress
you
with what i have in mind
or what i am
to you or the
rest of those
who are reading
each word
i write because
i have to express myself
it is like a
pressure cooker
you know
trying to make the
hard meat
soft to my
eating
that steam being
let go
on those vents
simply to avoid
an explosion.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Write, Write, Write
Write in the language you dream in.
But this had never made sense
as far as I remember, I’ve never dreamt in nouns and verbs,
but always in huge boxes,
or dark abandoned malls,
or long flights
where my slippers are lost and my baggage,
missing.
Perhaps i should write in the language
that wakes me
That keeps me restless,
that feeds my hunger,
that reminds me that
i am alive.
it’s a matter of hearing
the heartbeat of one’s words
I can’t wait for more writers to write
Perhaps if the work of critics and teachers
will eventually bear fruit,
it will not be too far off that the streets of my town
will one day be filled again
with the lyrical lilt of my own language
I also can’t blame those
who continue to write in English
and live
in English
which is easy to dismiss as snooty
and elitist,
and alien—
even if it is the same village street,
the same home
that is being woven into words.
A tongue only becomes alien
when we keep it at the gate,
at the door.
The stranger is only as strange
as when we do not know his name,
and he does not know ours.
the job of the writer is not really
to master his language,
but to make it his own.
Not just to study its syntax
and shape but
to invite it into his home.
To kidnap bored English from the court offices
and banks
and schools,
and bring it to our beautiful messy rooms.
To tell it our stories,
whisper into its ear
our dreams,
and if the timing is right,
and the intention is clear,
then to show it our hearts
and we’ll begin to write.
Really really write.
Without guilt.
* reflections by L.L. YPIL
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Write To Write To Write
I WANT TO WRITE TO WRITE TO WRITE
I write to write to write-
A poem must be more than a straining against Emptiness-
A poem must be more than making a name.
A poem should be food for the heart and soul and mind
It should make us feel the world with new love
It should make us want to live more and more
A poem should make us love life
It should be written for its readers
And not for its poet alone
A poem should make us want to be in this world
In greater beauty and greater love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poem For Those Who Are Sad
did Octavio say that happiness
and charm are cliches?
did he really mean that he
shall write about those who
labor in pain
about those who stopped
smiling because of the
harsh rain
about those who hide
because of the coming storm?
he could be right
not writing about the cliches of
happy days
for they have all enough
that make the sweet syrups
of their eating lives
let me write a poem for those
who are sad
for those who have less
let me write about the opening
of a flower
about the butterflies moving
out from their cocoons
let me write about the
end of the bitter days
for they have less and now
they may have more
through my lines
let me write about the
rising of the sun
the waking up of the boy
from his sleep
and the beginning
of his play on the yard
with his bike
let me write more
about what i really like...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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134
i will try to write a poem like Li Po
i will write the poem like Li Po
a poem that does not need an axe
to break a coconut to eat the meat
it will just need your soft hands
to cut half the water apple *
and so easily you will hand it to your mouth
to quench your thirst & savor its watery flavor
the seeds are not even necessary
to be kept
you simply throw them away
for the next season of summer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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