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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Related quotes
You are afraid
To write in English is your burden
You fear the grammar of the white man
You are afraid of its intricacies
why?
because your heart is not?
don't mind it, you simply want to share with full respect
to use their language
you could have used your own and be smooth with its facilities
but you also want to be a part of this world
to think american to speak english
who know if
He finds your poem good
Enough if
He feels the beating in your heart that
There is a flow
Of gladness
In your own way of being a part of this humanity that
There is joy
In your outlook that
You have a certain projection
About love sickness death redemption life
who knows?
Honestly
Now go
Write the language where you are
At home
Write the meaning of your riddles
At your convenience
Do not be afraid of English or Indian
Strictures
do not be afraid to commit mistakes
do not be afraid to go to prison
You will speak your language
You will sing your own song
you have been in this prison
for how long?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Language I Feel Most At Home In
THE LANGUAGE I FEEL MOST AT HOME IN
The language I feel most at home in
Is not my own.
My own sacred language
Is my second best.
English is too great for me
And I am not like Joyce
Able to contend with and transcend it –
I write my small lines in the language
Shakespeare is the glass of fashion and the mould of form of –
I one more minor actor in a cast of many millions
Play my words upon the page as best I can.
But why mind and remember me and mine
When there are so many and so so much far greater?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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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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How Do You Write Poetry
There is a question I am often asked,
of which I have no answer for at all.
The question is a simple one,
how do you write poetry?
To be honest I haven’t got a clue.
With me the words just trickle out
one after the other,
if they rhyme that is great
and if they don’t, I just scratch my head.
I cannot tell anyone how to write,
for me it’s just a natural thing.
I write almost everything,
novels, short stories, poems and songs.
I have even written a couple of plays,
but that was a long, long time ago.
However to tell anyone how to write,
I would not know where to begin.
The answer I give to the question is simple;
write whatever you like good or bad.
It’s yours and be proud of it
no matter what anyone else has to say.
The more you write the better you will get.
However, the most important thing
that you should always remember and that is
that you write, write, and write!
9 November 2011
poem by David Harris
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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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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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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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I Wrote A Poem I Could Not Write
I wrote a poem I could not write-
And then when I tried to write it again
Could not write it again -
Poems written and not written
Words and more words
What do they mean?
Paradoxes and games with words
What do they mean?
If there is Beauty in the language
It is one thing
But words just to hear themselves think,
Why should they mean ‘Remembrance'?
Oh Words oh Questions oh Darkness oh Life-
Let me write myself to the grave
Believing at least
That poems too even when they can be written
Have their small unhidden meanings.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poem Written By A Confessed Bipolar (her Name To Be Revealed Upon Her Permission)
I write because I can
I write because there are so many things to be written.
I write because I can make a painting without a brush and paints in my hand.
I write because I can capture the moment without having a camera.
I write because letters and words are the only recipe I know how to cook.
I write because I want to read what I’ve written.
I write because I’m used to speak in silence.
I write because I have a story to tell.
I write because I want to strip off my flesh and live as a pure being.
I write because I can record my “voice” without having a recorder.
I write because it’s like a cup of coffee, it keeps me awake
I write because I want to live even when I do not exist.
I write because this is my throwing stones when I’m frustrated.
6/11/09 at 4: 42 PM
I write because I can flaunt my being when I don’t have clothes to show off.
I write because this is like making an encyclopedia to a coloring book.
I write because it’s more effective than my lithium medication.
I write because I’m tired of carrying these baggages on the road.
I write because I’m tired of talking too much.
I write because it’s a healthier diversion than smoking.
I write because it’s more therapeutic than analyzing my problem.
I write because I want to paint a thousand pictures with words.
I write because I can put colors to the letters and make a rainbow of words.
I write because it’s the key combinations to my hidden vaults.
I write because my ball pen is my best friend in the darkest nights.
I write because it surprises me with what I am capable of thinking&doing. 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because I like that ideas are popping like pop corns.
I write because I can wander in the adventures of my own world.
I write because I have to cleanse my collection of memories of an old home.
I write because like a mirror you need to do a lot of reflections.
I write because I want to fight the battle of life.
I write because I wanted my little voice to be heard.
I write because I want to run from the insanities of the world.
I write because pictures don’t talk.
I write because it helps me connect the dots when I look back in my life.
I write because it brings me back to my crib of silence.
I write because it makes a buzz to other bees in my beehive.
I write because unlike my bike my destination is limitless.
I write because I want to become an inspiration without extinction 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because like strumming of the guitar, it vibrates in my soul.
I write because I love to write.
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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The Language That The Poor Wants To Speak
do you speak good English?
do you take pride in it and then use it to impress others
and swindle them
into a belief that they are inferior?
they have feelings too
of humiliation
which even in such a sad state
wish that their humiliation
speak good English still
they always think that English will give them
a good job
a better standing in the society
a flare of fashionable tongue
you make them cry
but still they want to speak that cry in English too
foolish!
but can you blame them?
you who hold that power and might
you who have taken all what they once had
and made them
worse within
themselves
despite which,
they still want to be like you
to speak like you
a god
how sad!
you have never known the language of love
the grammar of generosity
the syntax of sympathy
that language that good English
sometimes has forgotten
to utter
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Song About You
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
You’re all I can every think about
How you flood my dreams each night
How thinking of you takes my breath away
When I look up to the satellites
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
The long lost butterflies returned
How I hope my number you’ll dial
And how your memory smothers me with smiles
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
You were the only one
Who had enough of me to break my heart
And when love took over my heart
You tore it all apart.
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
I gave you my heart
Caught up in the thought
That we were off to a great start
But how you threw a damn dart
Right into the center of my heart
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
About how you crushed my heart
Not bothering to look back.
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
poem by Jess Schwarcz
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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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Villanelle of Ye Young Poet's First Villanelle to his Ladye and Ye Difficulties Thereof
To sing the charms of Rosabelle,
To pour my soul out at her feet,
I try to write this villanelle.
Now I am caught within her spell,
It seems to me most wondrous sweet
To sing the charms of Rosabelle.
I seek in vain for words to tell
My love -- Alas, my muse is weak!
I try to write this villanelle.
Would I had power to compel
The English language incomplete
To sing the charms of Rosabelle.
The ardent thoughts that in me dwell
On paper I would fair repeat
I try to write this villanelle.
My effort fruitless is. O H--l!
I'll tell her all when next we meet.
To sing the charms of Rosabelle,
I tried to write this villanelle.
poem by Eugene O'Neill
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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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Hidden Within
I write more on some days
than I do on others.
On those days there is an urgency
hidden within what I do.
I cannot explain it,
nor do I ever try.
I just sit down, write,
and write to my hearts content.
The pouring out of words
is something I have got used to.
I write wherever I am, at home,
in my car when I am not driving of course.
Walking along the street, even in my sleep.
My mind is always active
exploring new avenues,
laying waste to more words.
It is my way of life
and I would be lost without it.
I once gave up for six or seven years,
but its pull was always there.
It’s something I will never do again.
My legacy when I leave this world
will be within my words
and any good things I have done.
Hopefully, that won’t be
for a long, long time to come.
24 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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Questions
Write me what you're wearing! Is it warm?
Write me how you lie! Do you lie there softly?
Write me how you look! Is it still the same?
Write me what you're missing! Is it my arm?
Write me how you are! Have you been spared?
Write me what they're doing! Do you have enough courage?
Write me what you're doing! Is it good?
Write me, who are you thinking of? Is it me?
Freely, I've given you only my questions.
And I hear the answers, how they fall.
When you're tired, I can't carry it for you.
If you're hungry, I have nothing for you to eat.
And so now I leave the world
No longer there, as if I've forgotten you.
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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yes, what if God does not speak english at all?
you were not born yesterday
and probably heard it before
that if your God does not speak english
then he must not be God
of course, something arrogant
hangs in the air
of this effortless superiority that
'englishers'
'english-plongplangs'
clai m, which, of course, we
always oppose and dub
as prettry dumb silly
but anyhow, yes, we are asked again
what if?
what if, this God, does not really speak English?
well, of course, he is still God
and he must not have considered the english language
that important
and i agree, even if i speak it,
i still have this language
of my soul,
albeit, in english, for you,
who does not speak my own language,
yes, of course, for you to perhaps
understand,
but i like it though, this thought
that God does not speak
the english language, lest, he may sound
so englishly, oh well,
arrogant.....
dear God
do you really...not speak english?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Writing Poetry
Some people write poetry
to fulfil their dream,
others write it as a personal diary.
While yet more write to protest.
Some write sonnets
for unfrequented love.
Some bring laughter
to sad faces somewhere,
while others dwell on memories
that they would like to share.
Some write of love, while
others write of God.
Write as you will on anything,
but the main point is that you write,
and give joy to all that will read.
poem by David Harris
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