En.Citatepedia^®.ro

When I Write Another Poem

for another head start
i read your poem
reflect on what you say
and what you really feel,
and then i look upon
myself, searching
on a link to my
soul,
searching the recesses
of my heart
looking for a leveling
field
where you my peer
can also feel what i
feel,
and then i realize
we are all one in this
journey
one boat sailing
on a vast ocean
one sky filled with
stars
and storms
and eventually
at times seeing
auroras of light
lightning and thunder
and emptiness
inside a cup of
consumed coffee,
i ponder upon
this humanity
of words, and right
there and then
i write this one
for you

respecting the flow
of thought
linking to the river
of your
expressed
feelings
the rage of a waterfall
of emotions
the settlement
of ideas
flashes of light
reflecting the self
that was there
even before
we have attempted to
write.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fluid Emotions

emotions you must realize are fluid
and they flow sometimes misguidedly
sometimes blocked and
dammed and you see
a jail, a cell, a wall, an island without a bridge
a sea without a boat
a rainy day without any rainbow,

you are fluid, you must realize that too,
you flow, and surge and rage and
fall, sometimes, you splatter
and feel like a splinter
of a hand
grenade.

you feel something that behaves like a river inside you
and you hear the sound of rage, sometimes just a hush
or even a rain dropping from the sky to the gutter,
and you feel you're inside this gutter
and you have no control, about where to go and what to do,
this is
what is dripping all about

drip, drip, drip, and you feel this sloshing mind like a slime
getting inside the sensational strips of your throat
like words in your mind
pouring unceasingly, to make this poem.

what is this all about? you pretend to know. What to do about it?
i know you do not really know. Gut it. Gut feel it. Trust your heart.
Let the rage seep in like it is an innate part of you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fluid

emotions you must realize are fluid
and they flow sometimes misguidedly
sometimes blocked and
dammed and you see
a jail, a cell, a wall, an island without a bridge
a sea without a boat
a rainy day without any rainbow,

you are fluid, you must realize that too,
you flow, and surge and rage and
fall, sometimes, you splatter
and feel like a splinter
of a hand
grenade.

you feel something that behaves like a river inside you
and you hear the sound of rage, sometimes just a hush
or even a rain dropping from the sky to the gutter,
and you feel you're inside this gutter
and you have no control, about where to go and what to do,
this is
what is dripping all about

drip, drip, drip, and you feel this sloshing mind like a slime
getting inside the sensational strips of your throat
like words in your mind
pouring unceasingly, to make this poem.

what is this all about? you pretend to know. What to do about it?
i know you do not really know. Gut it. Gut feel it. Trust your heart.
Let the rage seep in like it is an innate part of you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Need to Write

I need to write a poem, but how shall I do it,

First of all shall I write standing up, or just sit;

Until I get comfortable, I won't be able to start,

All the words will be muddled up, and then it'll fall. Apart.

Now! I got it right, I will choose the title to write about,

No good getting frustrated, or even sit or pout;

Just need to relax, and then the words will come easy,

Cause if I try to hard, Then my stomach will feel queasy.

I know what sort of holiday would people like,

And as I start the poem, the hall clock did strike;

Oh! It is now is what I can do, write about the time passing,

And so I have the heading, the thoughts on paper lasting.

It's got colour, size, And description, and the taste of art,

It's come from my mind, emotions, and also from the heart;

It has vision, and thoughts about where I want to go,

Yes! I think it'll get some to agree, to me they'll show.

So if you have a problem to write a poem or story,

Just read this poem, as a help, it's a help from me;

Don't force the idea, or rush it through at all,

Just go have a cuppa, read an article or a friend call.

Eventually it'll come, the words will flow along,

You might even end up, turning it into a song;

Writing poems will be rewarding, just give a go,

And you might enjoy it, they may end up in a show.

poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead And Gone

In years from now when I am dead and gone
Will people read the words that I had wrote
If they do will they agree with what they read
And if so truly, understand the feelings I had spoke.
Will they feel the pain and suffering that I felt
In the many days of my own life
Maybe they will etch my feelings inside their soul
And If so, I wonder for me if they will cry.
I wonder if anyone will go into a deep thought
After reading the words that I had spoke
And then will they think and understand that feeling too
While inside their soul or heart a memory I will had awoke.
Maybe they will be with me in those lonesome nights
When my soul and I felt so very alone
When I couldn't sleep so I had to write
While my soul stayed stationary, but my mind it did roam.
And will they feel the pain that I did feel
With every line that I suffered as I did write
Will they shed a tear that my lover never shed for me
While she was always in my heart and in my sight.
And when they finish my book and close it shut
Will they reflect my feelings as they walk away
Will they say they know the pain that I have felt
As they too had felt it in their very own days.
Will they cry the tears that was never cried for me
As they go searching for my last resting place
To give the sympathy they might say I deserve
While trying to visualize my soul through my face.
If they look and find and then walk unto my grave
I wander for me if i will receive long forgotten grieving
Telling me how sad and the pity they hold for me
After reading my words, maybe they will start believing.
And maybe they will walk to the graves of the others
The ones who did me wrong and who sealed my fate
Who made me the poet whom I had to become
Will they tell them their souls, and living they do hate.
So as I finish writing with these last few thoughts
I hope forever my words and feelings will continue on
As I know I am not alone and my pain is not fastened to me
But really who will know, until I am dead and gone.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Scribbler's Stymie

Pen and paper in sight
I've got no poem to write

Staying up all night
I've got no poem to write

Although my mind is bright
I've got no poem to write

It's windy out tonight, should I go fly a kite?
I've got no poem to write

My ceiling, it is white
I've got no poem to write

It's 4: 59! Five, but not quite
I've got no poem to write

In your arms I'd feel so light
I've got no poem to write

I've had no sleep tonight
I've got no poem to write

Will you just hold me tight?
I've got no poem to write

Outside it's almost light
I've got no poem to write

It's late, off goes my light
I've got no poem to write

poem by Julia Grace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Story Of A Search For A Poem

A man went in search of a Poem
He searched everywhere he walked
He searched inside himself
He searched inside the poems of others
He searched and searched -

And what came to him were fragments of many poems
And he thought perhaps that they themselves were the poem
But they refused to be satisfied with themselves-

So he searched for a way to put them together-
But in searching came upon more fragments
With each new fragment totally re-ordering those that had gone before-

So he thought ‘I went looking for one poem but found many
Perhaps there are only many poems’

And he began to write them down
And felt at times that he had found many poems
But always too he knew he had not found the one-

So he searched and searched again
And could not find the Poem-

He is still searching
And does not know where the poem is
Sometimes he thinks it is hidden in the many already written
But he does not have the eye to discern it the heart to feel it-

He now is surrounded by poems-
They are everywhere-
But he still cannot find the One Poem which is the Poem for him
The Poem which is his Poem and his Poem alone-

He says he is still searching and will search to the end of his days
But he is old now and soon may be too weak to search
And so the Poem he seeks the one he has longed for all his life
May never be found
Though he goes on searching still.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inspiration..

Inspiration comes and goes.
I write it down or I’ll forget while searching for a pen.
Inspiration comes and goes.
I get is from dreams or experiences.
Inspiration comes and goes.
But tell me, what inspires you.

I’m inspired by beauty, love and lust.
Giving me words and thought I dare to trust.
It’s inspiration that separates me from the rest.
‘Cause when inspiration comes words fall into place.
And things are beginning to make sense.

Sometimes I’m inspired by sorrow.
When I’m waiting in my bed for tomorrow.
And words start to become sentences.
I will start to write just to understand.
And to make me feel better so I can go to bed again.

Sometimes I write because of a pain that runs so deep.
I write cryptic lyrics about the secrets I keep.
I express them in other words so no one will understand.
But they feel not knowing what I’m trying to tell.
It’s a just way to clear my conscience.

Sometimes I write how the world could be.
Or I write about the girl of my fantasy.
Then I’m inspired by a fragment of my imagination.
And now I told a few ways where I get my inspiration.
So now tell me what inspires you.

poem by Rick Adriolo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Poetry

Through poetry,
I am set free
Better able to reveal
The secret part of me
That hides beyond the shadows
In my eyes

Every poem that I write,
Tells my life in different parts
I bare my soul, although vulnerable,
I share with you
What's in my heart
Exploring the corners of my mind
I mold into words,
The feelings I find

Each thought expressed
Is uniquely told
Wrapping itself around
The meaning it holds
Emotions are endless
It's understanding that I seek
It's simply easier at times
To write the words I cannot speak

poem by Erika Wingo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Being A Poet

I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.

Or when I’m out walking, or sat on a train,
Words and ideas, all rush round my brain.
Sometimes, ideas just appear in my head,
Or may be a result of something I’ve read.

At fellow passengers, on a train, I take a look;
Some chatter away, while others read a book.
But, me, I’m sat there, quietly composing verse;
With dozens of ideas, my creative mind bursts.

If I compose lines on my way into town,
I repeat them over, until I write them down;
If they are not written down straightaway,
Around my mind, other thoughts then play.

There are many things which inspire me to write,
Such as animals, the seasons, and the sky at night.
If I try to force ideas, they just do not flow;
The poem itself, I find, just will not grow.

I like to write on a layperson’s level;
In too much information, I do not revel.
Having chosen a decent subject or idea,
I then need to get my brain in to gear.

Of a subject, I like to consider all of the aspects,
But I keep my writing simple; not too complex.
To make a poem rhyme, words I may change,
But I only use words that are within my range.

In using unfamiliar words, I can see no point;
A nice poem, tricky words, can really disjoint.
Words, within my head, I keep batting around,
Until the perfect combination, is finally found.

With poetry, I really love the creative process,
But over time, I’ve become slightly obsessed.
Sometimes I find myself talking in rhyme;
That I am a poet, this must be a sure sign.

Of my finished poems, I often feel proud;
One day, I’ll be brave and read them aloud.
Into my swirling head, ideas continue to pop;
I love writing poetry and never want to stop!

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I See A Boat On A River

He left on a boat
Just to follow a dream
He had to find.
You can't hold a man
When he follows a dream
That's on his mind.
I see a boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
Boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
I waited for him
Such a very long time,
Don't know what for
'cause i should have known
When he left on the boat
We'll meet no more.
I see a boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
Boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
Boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
Boat on the river.
You're bound for the sea,
If you should find him
Please greet him from me.
There were people who came
And said it's really a shame,
Why did he take off
To follow just a dream.
But i guess they were wrong,
In life you're sailing along
And things don't turn out
As simple as they seem.
Boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
I see a boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to i can't say.
I see a boat on the river.
You're bound for the sea,
If you should find him
Please greet him from me.
Boat on the river,
It's sailing away
Down to

song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Letter From A Writer Searching For Her Soul And Wanting To Feel Not With Her Hands

Hello (to whom it may concern) ,

It's been awhile since we exchanged messages. Sorry, I'm not much of an |'onliner' these days. I resigned from my job. I'm, in the process of soul searching. Funny but I don't really know why I'm looking for a soul, my soul, when I cannot even see it. I'm on an unplanned vacation in some quaint town some miles outside the city while writing this email.

I guess I never had the chance to tell you how you took the glint from my eye. To write from the soul and not for the awards. I have overlook that writing is an Art. Thus it is priceless. A gold medal does not define you as an artist. Write until it ceases to become a craft.But more than just stringing words after words, conscious of your weary grammar, punctuations, right words, and subject matter. To write is to turn your heart inside out.

Beyond 'writing' and its technical definitions, it is actually a journey - a self surrender - towards the oblivion you are willing to traverse with your pen. And you find yourself in another state.

To write is to 'see' but not with your eyes. To 'feel' but not with your hands. And at the end of it all, you know that it's there. Writing takes over you. Thus, I often wonder: am i writing with the pen? Or is it the pen using me to write? But I know somewhere deep inside, there is a thing mightier than the pen that prompts me to write. And that is the soul.

I want to find my center. My creative process in writing. Ironic, but to find it, I must loose myself.

hahahahaha. whew. I know i sound stupid. Sorry. Thanks for bearing with me. Hope it's not too late to greet you a Happy New Year! ! ! ! =)

Always,
(name witheld, but this could be you)

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dawn

Do you know what it's like to feel dead at dawn?
To have slept sleep fragmented and feel battered and torn?
Do you know what its like to feel cast aside?
To feel that you're nothing, no arms open wide?
Do you know how that emptiness feels?
When your own weird imaginings become more than dreams?
Do you know that weird feeling of what's going on?
When all seems a nonsense and reality's gone?
Do you know how rejection hits sharp at the heart?
And makes you feel worthless and not know where to start?
Do you think of the other or just of yourself?
When things get so painful and you're out of your depth?
Do you ever once ponder on just how I feel?
Or do you once think that my feelings are real?
Or do you define things in a different way
And just wish that those things would all go away?
Here we agree more than you'd know
These feelings I have I just wish they would go
But wish as I may it's not worth the thought
They stay there, they haunt me and torture and taunt
But, then, as you say, its my problem not yours
So, all I can do is not enter the door
That once had a welcome and feelings inside
And so it is now that we have to decide
If we should move forwards or give it all up
It's so simple you see when enough is enough.

.

poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Morning Poem Did Not Come

THE MORNING POEM DID NOT COME

The morning poem did not come-
So this is the effort of an afternoon poem,
Warm and sun- filled and relaxing and deep and waiting.
This is a poem between times more interesting than itself.
The light is so great now.

But this too is a poem of little or nothing to say
Of afternoon emptiness after morning emptiness
On a tired tired day.

Once I thought I would write poems which would make immortal
Those I love.
Now I write poems to keep myself going.

This afternoon I am extremely tired
But if this is poem
Or even if I only think it is
I can have a rest
Before I face the evening.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I See A Boat On The River

He left on a boat
Just to follow a dream
He had to find.
You cant hold a man
When he follows a dream
Thats on his mind.
I see a boat on the river,
Its sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to I cant say.
Boat on the river,
Its sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to I cant say.
I waited for him
Such a very long time,
Dont know what for
cause I should have known
When he left on the boat
Well meet no more.
I see a boat on the river,
Its sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to I cant say.
Boat on the river,
Its sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to I cant say.
Boat on the river,
Its sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to I cant say.
Boat on the river.
Youre bound for the sea,
If you should find him
Please greet him from me.
There were people who came
And said its really a shame,
Why did he take off
To follow just a dream.
But I guess they were wrong,
In life youre sailing along
And things dont turn out
As simple as they seem.
Boat on the river,
Its sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to I cant say.
I see a boat on the river,
Its sailing away
Down to the ocean,
Where to I cant say.
I see a boat on the river.
Youre bound for the sea,
If you should find him
Please greet him from me.
Boat on the river,
Its sailing away
Down to

song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Midnoon...

now what you hear is only the sound of the rain outside

there is no lamppost, it has been taken away just this morning,
understandably there is no need for light
there is no feeling that
in the brightness of a new day
darkness can have digits

but i heard of a man who carried his flashlight
at noon
declaring that this city is as dark as the deepest floor of the ocean
where the gods
of rage have been hiding

and he warns that the rage continues
that we honestly still feel this matter inside the guts
of these modern days

that sometime the ocean will bring its own darkness
with the storms at mid-noon

and we who take pride of the light and the
grasses of the earth
will have something to write

perhaps not really that gentle and calm
and perhaps we are too clumsy for this

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thunder In My Heart

Writers: leo sayer & tom snow
Standing here alone with you
Wondiring what it is that Im supposed to do
And there you are with the love light in your eye
The bridges are burnt down
Your arms are open wide
Am I in too deep or should I swim to the shore
Is this the real thing?
I dont know but Ive never been here before
And I feel a thunder in my heart that I cant control
I feel a thunder in my heart
Should I walk away or follow my soul?
I feel a thunder in my heart
Where it comes from I just dont know
Oh no, oh no
Theres a storm ragin deep in my soul
Theres a howlin wind that I just cant control
Theresa fire inside me I cant explain
Every time you touch me my love falls like rain
Ive only known you for an hour or more
The time is standin still
Your love has opened up the door
I feel a thunder in my heart
It takes my breath away
I feel a thunder in my heart
Will I ever be the same?
I feel a thunder in my heart
Its telling me youre here to stay
Oh no, oh no
Theres a thunder in my heart
Theres a thunder in my heart
Theres a thunder in my heart
Theres a thunder in my heart
Take me baby Im all yours
Do just what you wanna do with my love
Lets not let the night overtake us
cos whats happening right now may make or break us
Do you feel the way I do?
Open up your heart now baby
Im comin through
I feel a thunder in my heart
Takin my breath away
I feel a thunder in my heart
Since I met you Ill never be the same
I feel a thunder in my heart
I know youre here to stay
I feel a thunder in my heart
Takin my breath away
I feel a thunder in my heart
Since I met you Ill never be the same
I feel a thunder in my heart
I know youre here to stay

song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Touching

Touching are words expressed,
When hearts are filled with such emptiness.

Touching is that lost contact,
We long to hold and feel against our chests.

Touching are the flow of memories,
Coming when someone has left.

So touching we are when those times arrive.
And touching we wish,
To be done when the end comes.
As tears are cried.

And those with touching emotions,
Felt with sighs...
Inside.
Rising to surface...
Are not found to be at their best.
When wept!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inner Need

I had something strange happen to me.
Someone asked for a copy of my Easter sermon.
They said the words I spoke
made such of an impression on them.
They asked if they could have
a copy of it to keep.
Of course, I said it was no problem.

Sometimes we as writers
write things we cannot see,
that fill someone else’s world
with some inner need.
The words we write bring them something
we may have never thought about.

They bring some peace of mind
that they had been searching for.
They feel our words
are so relevant to them
that they have this need
to read those words
over and over again.

2 May 2009

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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