En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Paper

A blank piece
Of
Notebook paper

Is like me.

It's empty
Of
Ideas and
Thoughts.

It's vacant,

Waiting to
Be
Scribbled on soon,
To
Absorb words and speak.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Blank Paper

the blank paper
is like a virgin
woman,
it is not blank because
it wants to
there is this inner desire
to be scribbled
be it love or lust
or whatever
it is just its nature
to be written
anything that fills it up
with words
for its perfection
or even for its destruction
and soon
it will have its fate
a love letter kept for years
or a scratch paper
crumpled in the
bin
burned by another man's
lighter or
torn by a woman's
anger.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Liberty Sought For All

Words keep filling my brain.
I rarely write them down.
Because as soon as I empty my head.
Words start filling my brain again.

I can never empty my head.
For there remains too much unsaid.
Poignant thoughts, enlightened ideas, ideals.
Waiting for a poet to bring them to heal.

Words. Words. Words. Words. Words.
Whirling Whirling Whirling Whirling Words.
Waiting for a chosen moment, of precise creativity.
Waiting for a special moment, of ordained existence.

Waiting to transform
a corrupt materialistic world.
Waiting to put compassion
back into heartless hearts.

Waiting to restore love
vitality freedom and nobility.
Waiting to herald a new age
of heaven sent realized liberty.

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blank Page

Blank page leave me be!
Blank page please stop taunting me,
reminding me of what I have failed to do.
Oh how I long to fill you,
to take up your very last line
with creative, riveting lyrics of mine.

Blank page stop harassing me!
I wish to show you my thoughts,
desires, emotions and all.
How difficult it is to answer your call.

Blank page how sweetly you whisper
tempting my pen to caress your paper.
I immaturely expect the verses to flow
then I realize that my thoughts are much too slow.

Blank page so often you defeat me
teasing and challenging until hours later
all that is left is the tiny dot
where my pen merely touched your paper.

poem by Shaqueena Celestin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blank Pages

Blank pages
Blank books
Lie with only drowning white
No pretty messages in the sand
No clocks to turn a hand

Blank pages
Blank books
Looking into an empty void
Like staring at purgatory
Words with no meaning making up a story

Blank pages
Blank books
Stay staring at the celing

Empty without effort

Nothing without words

poem by Autumn Winds
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writers Block

The worst thing any writer can experience
is the most dreaded writers block.
Sitting in front of a blank sheet of paper
waiting and waiting for the words to come.
It is the curse of all writers
whether they are good or bad.
The frustration of trying to unblock their mind.
We try it with reading others words or soothing music
hoping to stimulate the little grey cells into working.
However it is never as easy as it sounds
as a writers block can sometimes last for years,
I know that from experience as
I have been down that road before.
Then the inexplicable happens and you pick up a pen
and that blank page is not blank anymore,
it is filled with words galore.
The torture is over and a new start begins.
You give a big sigh of relief as your writing begins again,
but being always weary in case that block comes back again.

14 January 2011

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shedding

They always like to be full with some thing
But I like to be very vacant and empty
By shedding of my life
From anything to everything
As it has got junk
Old fashioned
Overused and tired
Unsuitable for the modern…
Unable to explain
The life of unpredictable
Meet the challenge
Of the present demand.

Though they are very fearful
I am very brave
To be ignorant
As before
I started to learn
Ignorance was bliss
As even a slight piece
Of anything used to keep me pleased.
As I did not know how to calculate the loss and profit
In love
In life
I always kept smiling
As I did not know
What was happening behind!
In their mind!
Now it is a burden
As I know what's going on
Under the layers and behind the curtain

The soul was like a white paper
Now full of black ink
It is blocking
The new…….
Very fast getting rust
Like a piece ……
I like to be reboot again
Fresh and clean

I like to shed
Like a tree
Before spring
To be an innocent
Like New leaves.

I like to log off
To log on
With a gust
Of wind
With vitality
To run again
Fresh and clean.

To gather new
To think about you
Peace and love
Life and death
I have to delet
Files and cookies
To have a blank space.
I need a place
Full of cool, calm
And loneliness
To feel and think deep
Out of the din
Of the thoughts
Of the old streets.

poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Scribbled Song

And the song shall live on.
For all the ages of the rising sun.
In till the very last human is gone.
For a voice to no longer sing.
It echos through times of suffering and plenty.
It becomes of the divine.
So pure it is no longer of this world.
A immortal being in its own right.
And yet it sits scribbled on piece of paper.
Just waiting to be picked up by someone.
By anyone.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sloughing

They always like
To be full with
Knowledge
Something
Old fashioned
But I like
To be empty
And vacant
To renew
To be light
By shedding
Anything
Of my life
as it becomes
Junk scripted
Bond
Overused
Tired
Unsuitab le
For the life
Modern
Unable to explain
Unpredictable
Meet
The challenge
Of the present
Demand
Though
They are very fearful
I am very brave
To be ignorant
Again
Of loss and profit
In love and life
As it was bliss
Even a slight piece
of anything used
To keep me
Smilling and pleased
As I did not know
what was happening
in their mind
Behind
Now it is a burden
as I know
What going on
under the layers
Room green
Back the curtain.

The soul was
Like a white paper
Now
Full of black ink
It is blocking
The new
Removing
Simplicity and virtue
Very fast
Getting rust
Like a piece
Metal iron
I like
To shed
To reboot
Before spring
Born again
To be
A new leaf.

I like to log off
To log on
With a gust
Of wind
full of vitality
To run again
Fresh and clean
To gather anew
On peace and love
Life and death
I need
To delete
Files and cookies
To have
Space.
A place
Blank
calm, cool
welcome
Loneliness
Out of the din
Rouge thoughts
Of the old streets
To think
To feel
Deeper and more deep.

poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Piece Of Paper

A diploma hanging on the wall
is really not you at all.
It's just a piece of paper.

A marriage certificate in your file
of when you two walked down the aisle
is just a piece of paper.

A birth certificate, signed and sealed
made you legal but concealed
that it's just a piece of paper.

A death certificate proves you're gone.
The truth is you've just moved on.
It was just a piece of paper.

All these papers that yellow with time
were really not worth one thin dime.
They were just pieces of paper.

Your life was never all those things.
Your life was when you took on wings
and soared with love for all.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Written Word Rules!

At the idea of poetry, some people seem to scoff,
As they consider it is an art form only for toffs.
They may think that the concept of poetry is boring,
And that it will leave them fast asleep and snoring.
There are all types of poems: modern and classical.
There’s something for everyone: it’s not boring at all.
The lyrics of songs are poems as such;
They often rhyme together very much.
People like to sing along with their favourite songs,
So why does the concept of poetry feel so wrong?
I’ve only started writing poetry in the last few weeks,
And, I have to admit that I thought it was just for geeks.
But, now I can see, that whoever you are,
Everyone has the potential to go really far.

I have to admit, I much prefer
The written, to the spoken word.
At night, I lay awake tossing and turning in bed,
With random thoughts running through my head.
By my pillow, I keep a pen and note pad,
To jot down any thoughts, which I’ve had.
At the top of the page, my thoughts I jot,
And I always plan out a really rough plot.
I like to include words which have a nice ring.
Words, like these, into my poetry, I like to bring.
I continually go through the alphabet time after time,
Searching for useful words which, pretty much, rhyme.
In simple terms, my ideas, I always like to express;
Complicated and fancy words, my mind doesn’t posses.

I’m sat here, writing this poem, on a speeding train,
As thought after thought, floods into my brain.
I’m writing notes on a mini pocket timetable,
In any tiny blank space which is available.
In my handbag, I’ve got no pad, but I’ve got a pen;
My scribbled notes, I just hope I can comprehend.
I really must start carrying a notepad everywhere;
To forget all these thoughts I’ve had, I couldn’t bear.
When I’m thinking of ideas, I just can’t relax;
My mind seems to buzz to the absolute max.
I’m not far now from my final destination,
And the train is due to pull into the station.
On this subject, there’s not much more to be said,
So, I’m now putting this poem well and truly to bed.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words (A True Poet)

We speak words of wisdom
when the heart is full of sadness
sometimes thoughts of happiness
when we bless the morning sun
other times just for fun
that's where a true poet comes from

We speak these words of poetry
in a timeless past
a masterpiece so vast
where motions and emotions
rush by so fast

We are all, but only one
on a empty highway lane
frost like snowflakes
on a window payne
we hold not the anger
from within
but express our lonliness
with paper and pen

Though our days are not forever
our words will always last
in this world of reality
like hours that never pass
in pastures of green grass
we're pieces of shattered glass
(spiritwind-1997)

poem by Spiritwind Wood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Blank Space Inside Us

there are blank pages
some say that it is a must that something must be drawn
words to be written
thoughts to stifle, capture,
stuffed,

there is a day that you prefer
to keep a blank sky
a dark sky without stars
no light

when you close your eyes
you are at home with this blank page
words become
invincible
but they are all there
perfectly correct
well viewed by the eyes of your heart

somehow you go beyond
your every
day fences
move away, jump and run towards
an island of light
a patch of green grass

still no stars
pure blank
it is when you do not believe in the power of thoughts
when what preoccupies you
is nothing when you are finally one with all
space
it is too peaceful to even dropp a word
like a pin on
a shiny floor of tiles....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strong And Alone

when i am taken
away
and you cannot do
anything
but stay

ah, you cannot but
learn the
tricks
of life's final
decision

you live alone
and strong on the waiting
for the next trip

where your name is listed
on a yellow paper
on a bus that has no
return
that driver that does not
speak
on a name tag that is
blank

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paper Door

I step through the open door
upon a blank sheet of paper.
It's a room to dream into
but, it is often cold, and so damn empty.

It's cleansed and illuminated
by the presence of a holy melancholy.
Hasten the words come, and
take the loneliness away.

The pen is a train
passing through this small paper-room.
The thoughts are tracks
it lays down.

Picking up passengers of the night
it moves ever along.
The riders so briefly talk and sing
with such sweet stories to tell.

Soon all the traveller's will have left the station
and the room again, becomes Void.
I take my leave...
and softly close the door behind me.

- so many see the facts of life all about them,
yet are blind to the beautiful metaphors within everything -

poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The unwritten is also there

a blank paper
limitless as space
to fill the knowledge
here and beyond
and words of God
here, the learned plot
the stars, moon and universe
day and night

to the untutored
the blank paper might
as well be carrying space
limitless, enthralling
yet not fathomable
reachable

the blank page
catches the
essence of the mind
the written is there
the unwritten also there
if you could read
between the lines
if you could sense
the universal mind
the waves at sea
afford only a little view
of the power of the wind

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Page Of Poems For You

i tried to dismiss
thoughts of you
like a blank page
torn off
from the notebook
and crumpled
and thrown over
the window

i look back
i have written a lot
of poems
for you, and oh

my heart speaks
again
about love
so broken....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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the poem that N A M E D itself

it crawls out
slithering snake
onto the paper
spread like the Bible
out before me
and I think:
what shall I write?
and it seeps out
bleeding black
onto the paper
words that form
from the hollow
places inside me
that sometimes
I can’t find
and it calls forth
emotions that
deserve the words
I can’t give
—except
I give them
my pen is sharp
and my hand aches
the words are
pouring out onto
the face
of blank paper
and I am staring
outside myself
not writing the
words but merely
a vessel for them
to contain themselves
when it is done
and the hollow places
are silent I ask:
what shall I
call it?
but it is already
N A M E D

poem by Elizabeth Rebel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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1. One

I am trying to find my poetic rhythm.
Pen my flow of thoughts.
Words running through my mind,
Ideas running through my mind.
Incoherent, Scattered and disjointed

I am trying to make words and ideas one
Create a world of words, in this world of chaos
Words running from one end
Ideas running from one end
On a path of collision

Ideas and words unite, one
One, the beginning
One, the universal beginning
One, the number of the gods
One, my first poem

poem by Anand Dixit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Idea

An Idea can change the world, how many
things can be done from an idea, every piece
of object was an idea, sense the beginning of
time idea was the first thought created in the
mind, an idea is what surround’s every being.
But an idea is still only an idea and it can't be
felt, you cannot touch an idea or kiss it, or hold it,
ideas do not bleed or feel pain or love, an idea
cannot be seen or heard, its created in our thoughts,
but then again an idea can become real. An idea
can be what ever you which it to be, an idea can
be destructive, an idea can be brilliant, I've seen
people get killed in the name of ideas, ideas,
we walk around with a little
light bulb blinking in our thoughts, ideas.

poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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