Poem and The Thesis
While reading and thinking
From somewhere else
Disturbs me
You come to me
Behind words
Between spaces of sentences
Blossoming up and erases the read paragraph
You insist me to open a blank page
I forget all
I sleep with you
Whole the day in happy
Write not what I want
Write what I like
Line by line fill up flowing like a stream
Finding an undreamed end
Body and mind bathe and lighten
Like a pregnant mother delivered
Reading from up to down
To name laughing and crying baby
In the sleeping time
When I start to read and think
To go to the aim
To cure my headache
Again it slowly wakes up
Through the lines of spaces
It is an irresistible rise
But aim is also unavoidable
When find a sleeping time
Extra things to be done
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
When You Read This
when you read this
poem, i am letting you know
that i still care,
when you continue reading on
the next line
you are letting me know
what i still know
that you still care for me too
and then you are angry
about how presumptuous can i be
and so i make another line
and another line and if you continue reading
more of these lines
in this poem
you are letting me know
that you are still angry about
my untimely departure
that moment when love was
still strong
when desire was at its peak
and then you think things over
how you have been
unwittingly betrayed by my words
and you keep on
reflecting if these lines still
say the same
meanings and i keep on writing
more lines
hoping that you will understand
what i have not said
because i cannot say them
because my self
cannot lie by saying them to
you because i do not wish to
hurt you because i still
love you and then i write lines
that ask
if you still love me but then
i must put an end to all
these useless writing
time has spoken
as the lines of fate and
destiny still have it
we were never meant for
each other
the love is there
the bodies still alive
our hands never reach
till then
perhaps in the next life
at the right moment
perhaps when
our parallel lives meet
at some point
of convergence
and as you read let me put
the last line: goodbye
May God make us
meet and love again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Relax the night
At bed
Your's...
Sleeping
Time...
You read...
Some book's...
Every budy
Good reading spot
Is bed...
Bed is not
Good reading spot...
Reading spot is not bed...
But...
At your's
Bed read some book's...
At your's sleeping time
With quick sleep...
Read the book's
At bed...
With out sex...
With out crime...
With out serieas...
Just joke book's
Read with your's sleep
And relax the nighrt...
Good night...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Half Full
I'll write these words.
I'll write more tomorrow.
Will they be read by anyone,
does it matter either way?
I am reading them,
and that goes to prove that they've been written,
that my mind is not blank.
I have sympathy for the blank-minded people.
Although I'm sure,
they would sympathize with me...
if only their minds were not blank,
And they weren't just content to be.
poem by Edward Veilleux
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Rest To Read
Read any...
Any thing read...
Read...
Day with night...
Read...
Reading is
Happy...
Reading
Is boor...
Reading
Is Knolage...
Read...
Reading is
One of body
Rest...
Rest is
One of the reading
Time...
Read daily
Take rest daily
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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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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Between The Lines
Verse 1:
Ive been searching
Ive been thinking
Ive been searching so long
What I am looking for
Ive been hearing love will hit you
But everybodys wrong
Cause I just happen to notice
That certain look in your eye
Chorus:
Im reading between the lines
I didnt need no neon signs
To notice baby
I never before had you on my mind
But now I really do
Verse 2:
Nothing major ever happened
But its the greatest feeling Ive ever had
Strong emotions all have left me
Just a tenderness inside my heart
Just happened to notice a knowing smile
Chorus
(now I really do)
Just happened, I noticed
That certain look in your eyes
Im reading between the lines
I didnt need no neon signs
To notice baby
I never before had you on my mind
Im reading between the lines
I didnt need, didnt need no neon
To notice baby
I never before, never before
I knew it, I knew it
Bridge:
Started dreamin about you baby
Now I know just what Im feeling
Can it be you are my baby?
Never gonna let you go
Oh it took so long to feel it
(so very long to feel it)
But it was worth the waiting baby
Never gonna-never gonna let you go
(read between, read between the lines)
Didnt need no neon signs
Oh it took so long to feel it
(so very long to feel it)
But it was worth the waiting baby
(read between, read between the lines)
Didnt need, didnt need, didnt need no neon
(notice baby)
(read between, read between the lines)
I didnt need no neon signs
I knew it, I knew it
(read between, read between the lines)
Between the lines
(read between, read between the lines)
Im reading between the lines....
song performed by by Debbie Gibson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Pages
(graham russell)
When youre out in front and your life is unsure
What have you got goin for you after every road you turn
Its magic when you tell me and run your fingers through my hair
I dont need your persuasion, cos Im already there
Ive just read it through and I said to myself
Thats not really you, Ill keep myself to myself
Its magic when you tell me, and write the words I want to see
When I reach the last line, its just empty for me
Ive been learning so long, about the things you do
Ive been learning so long about you, about you
(chorus)
Empty pages Ive read you all through
Empty pages filled with spaces I fell in and I fell in
Empty pages Ive read you all through
Empty pages filled with spaces I fell in and I fell in.
song performed by by Air Supply
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Page
(graham russell)
When you're out in front and your life is unsure
What have you got goin' for you after every road you turn
It's magic when you tell me and run your fingers through my hair
I don't need your persuasion, cos i'm already there
I've just read it through and i said to myself
That's not really you, i'll keep myself to myself
It's magic when you tell me, and write the words i want to see
When i reach the last line, it's just empty for me
I've been learning so long, about the things you do
I've been learning so long about you, about you
(chorus)
Empty pages i've read you all through
Empty pages filled with spaces i fell in and i fell in
Empty pages i've read you all through
Empty pages filled with spaces i fell in and i fell in.
song performed by by Air Supply
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Draw The Line
You can write me a letter
But I wont tell you where I am
Oh you can send me a postcard baby
But I wont tell you where I stand
Well Im right outside of your window
And Im walking on through your love
And Im giving you all I can babe
But I know what youve been thinking of
And now baby its time
Baby its time
To draw the line
Draw the line
You may have good intentions
And I may be dead wrong
If what you see here isnt love babe
Its cause Im too tired to be that strong
Now Im burned out on your affection
Because it comes from a jaded tongue
And Im burned out on your direction baby
I know Im not the only one
Baby its time
Baby its time
To draw the line
Draw the line
Draw that line baby
Draw that line yeah
Keep it straight
Keep it close
And tell me
What do you have in mind
Im gonna take this heartache
Im gonna turn it all inside out
Im gonna find every livin last drop of love
Until Im too sure to have any doubt
Now you can love me if you want me
Or you can turn away and tell me to go
Now you can write me a letter
You can send me a postcard
But dont tell me what youre thinking
If you really dont know baby
Baby its time to draw the line
Draw the line
Yeah draw that line
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Facing a Blank: Part 1
I sit here facing a blank
and it is perhaps one of the hardest things I do
to see before me an expanse of blank things
to decide how I should fill them in
there is everything to encompass
for all the world to see, itself looking back
a mirror wouldn't do,
because the truth merely hides behind mirrors
it does not look out through them.
every random thought that I notice out of the corner of my eye
has its own appeal and appeals to me
to use it to fill the blank spaces.
To every random thought I look and in them I see the world
every one of them looking out at me and crying
for recognition and redemption
and the blank spaces agree that this is not what I should put down.
So I sit here still, facing a blank.
poem by Poet Dragon
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The Love Letter
She wonders how to begin her letter
She knows he will read each word
Greedily for any hint of love. She knows
He will sniff the paper for any scent of her
She leans an elbow on her writing desk
And clutches her pen tight. She has got
As far as, Dear John, but then the words
Stopped coming. Before she had sat down
To write, the words flowed through her
Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing
She sucks the end of the pen. Say what
You would if you were face to face, her
Mother always said. She tries to imagine
He is there before her and what she would
Say if he was, but still no words will come
He writes to her so fluently when he writes
He always seems to know what to write
And how to put it into words. She tries again
Puts the pen nib onto the paper, gripping
The pen tighter. She reads what she’s written
Dear John. The pen moves, the words begin
To flow, her hand moves across the page
The images come into her mind as she writes
The things that they said last time they met
The things they did, she blushes slightly
That almost being caught out by the maid
In a state of undress. She pauses the pen
And sits gazing at the painting on the wall.
She looks back at the paper and starts again
The words tripping over themselves to be put
Down in ink upon a page; the images open up
In her mind, the colours, the smells, the events
The pen now stops. The love letter is written
The writing done. She looks at the words
Then she seals it in an envelope and writes
His address. She pictures him reading it: in bed
In his room, sleepy, in a state of his usual undress
poem by Terry Collett
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It's Not Easy Being The Love Poet
'The Love Poet' that's what they call me
I admit it's flattering being the one and only
Other poets write love poems I will concede
But none with the emotion of mine, none indeed
But being the love poet has it's price
Everyone expects my work to be happy, be nice
If I ever feel lousy I can't write it down
Because reading it might cause the audience to frown
I'm not always Happy Harry I will admit
Every now and the, I really feel like shit
Depression a remnant of the life I left behind
Has found me again and has it's grip on my mind
But sad or not, I've a reputation to uphold
I write poetry that's warm and not cold
Push depression aside begin a new love poem
2nd draft I write on my way home
Every now and then, I will read a sad one
Which leads to another, what have I begun?
I want to make people smile not cry
And here I am reading qbout how I want to die
Even love poets have their bad days
Finding out today was the end of always
Without her, love poems just don't seem right
Neighbors hear you crying, long into the night
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Box Full Of Letters
Got a box full of letters,
Think you might like to read
Some things that you might like to see,
But they're all addressed to me
Wish I had a lotta answers,
'Cause that's the way it should be
For all these questions,
Being directed at me
I just can't find the time
To write my mind
The way I want it to read
You'll come back again
And I'll still be your friend
I got a lot of your records,
In a separate stack
Some things that I might like to hear,
But I guess I'll give 'em back
I wish I had a lotta answers,
'Cause that's the way it should be
All these questions
Being directed at me
Just can't find the time
To write my mind
The way I want it to read
You'll come back again,
And I'll still be your friend
I can't find the time
To write my mind
The way I want it to read
Just can't find the time
To write my mind
The way I want it to read
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pooh Bear learns about Enjambment
Pooh liked Autumn. Autumn means walking with a scarf round your neck and sometimes seeing your breath in the air like a silent conversation, and wet leaves underfoot and twigs going crackle or sometimes crack! which can be scary if you aren't holding CR's hand.
So here they are, walking together paw-in-hand down the path in Hundred-Acre Wood, and Pooh is humming a happy hum with words looking for it, rather like inquisitive flies that don't quite land on you, wondering if they should stay or not, and how the other flies feel if two of them land together...
'CR..' said Pooh, 'What's en-jamb-ment? ' It sounded like what happens when a wasp gets stuck in a honey jar, or perhaps a marmalade jar.
'That's a long word, Pooh...' said CR, wondering how to explain to a Bear Of Little Brain Yet Poetically Gifted, in the easiest way, when you're not too sure yourself...
'Well...' said CR at last, 'you don't really need it, Pooh, because your Hums all finish each line with a rhyme - so everyone knows just where they are....but suppose you get to the end of a line, and the line looks around like Eeyore does after a big mouthful of juicy autumn grass, and it can't see another line that wants to pair with it in a friendly rhyme.... then if you let it just go on being by itself - like Eeyore - and it's happy to be that way, if occasionally grumbly about it - that's called 'free verse'.
'So then you can just go on and on without thinking about when to stop... but then if you write it down so that other people can read it without getting out of breath, what 'free verse poets' do is like turning over the page of a book and wondering what's coming - like, is there a scary illustration on the next page, or a Surprise, or only a few lines and THE END - what these poets do, is to treat the lines the same way as pages, so that at the end of each line, you wonder a little bit more than usual, what's coming in the next line... instead of yawning and wondering if it's time for A Little Something...'
'I see..' said Pooh, in the way you do when you're a Very Polite Bear but don't really see, not yet anyway...
Then he remembered that poem by Rupert Somebody that CR had told him was an Extended Metaphor, which had that memorable line which the Poetic Bear could have written himself: '...and is there hunny still for tea? ...' though of course Pooh was always careful, himself, to have a line of hunnypots up there where you could see that the future was golden and hunny-coloured...
'CR...' said Pooh in that happy feeling when the brain seems to sorting things out for you, '...so if you wrote carefully in a book, '... and is there hunny still for tea? ...' you could write it with the first line
...and is there...
and people would wonder what you were going to ask them... or
...and is there hunny...
and they'd wonder, what you were asking about hunny; or
... and is there hunny still...
and they might be suddenly worried that the hunny had run out; or just
...and is there hunny still for tea?
which tells them exactly what you're thinking without making them think too much? '
'Exactly! ' said CR (though it sounded more 'exackly' because he was happy and excited) ' You really are a Poetic Bear, Pooh! '
And he squeezed Pooh's paw in a Specially Friendly fashion, and a hunny-coloured glow filled Pooh, as one more Useful Thing about Poetry was put into place...
And as they returned home for a Little Something, Pooh was humming a hum with words flying curiously around it, which would be his first Free Verse Hum With Enjambment which grown-up poets would read with that little extra interest, as they came to the end of each line, and know that it was written by W.Edward Bear Esquire, Poet...
poem by Michael Shepherd
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That Spot....
this is a blank slate.
when i write some words on it
and you begin to read each
something really happens
though you do not know it
because you are too busy with
the reading of the word
either a part of me dies or lives
it depends on where you stop
and when
tomorrow i shall write again
you must learn where you stopped and
when.
it is that precise moment
that you make me begin to write again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the spirit of Rumi - 67 - To Rumi
I’m not too proud to say
please write a new poem through me
and I promise not to claim that
I wrote it myself…
or if that’s too much to ask,
just a line somewhere, that I’ll watch
as it writes itself and know
that you, not I, write it
or if that’s too much to ask,
open an old book at
a page that smells just faintly
of attar of roses, and know that
Rumi read this page too
or sitting quietly waiting for a poem,
or after a poem, and there’ll be
a slight breeze for a moment
carrying the memory of a rose
from an old Persian species
mixed with the faintest scent of wild herbs
after desert rain
or if that’s too much to ask,
just the occasional memory
that you lived, and wrote,
and a poem comes to mind
as if you’re reading it first to a friend
and I’ll smile and look at
the rose in the blue and white vase over there,
neither of us caring about time
while your book lies open by the window,
the breeze turning the pages gently
as if it knew which poem to choose
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Verses From God
I’m just the pen; God is the ink, Who fills me as I write and think,
And God’s ink never runs dry, as it flows from His Spirit on high.
Penning verse that never ends, as He talks to a world of friends,
As I go to God in prayer, He pens down each blessing and care.
In a trial God helps me through, He pens verse to share with you,
And the blessing He brings my way, as He helps me, day to day.
As I write every word and line, I do not claim the verses as mine,
For as the pen to page is pressed, it is my heart that is blessed.
Blessing seem to come my way, as He helps me, in what to say,
To illustrate to all those who read, that Jesus is The Lord indeed.
His Words just seem to flow, not knowing where His idea will go,
But His point He makes every time, as God speaks on each line.
He draws from deep inside, my heart, where His Scriptures hide,
Always used at the proper place, to pen down a verse of Grace.
And as the page begins to fill, it is not my poem, but God’s will,
That fills lines with His Word, which some who read, never heard.
It’s God above who fills my pen, with words for the eyes of men,
By means of only poetic verse, to claim victory, over sin’s curse.
The page is filled by God above, with true examples of His Love,
Penning Truth for men to see, He’s a God who loves you and me.
(Copyright ©08/2007)
Like The Sun
In light of my present mess
In light of my mental weathers turn
In light of all the crash and burn
Ill open my mind as wide as ever
The line behind the lesson
Soul in the open well
It might have been fate
It might have been fortune
It might have been wine and a mellow head
Im finding my way
Finding the words
One body breaking
Someone come and rise up
Rise like the sun
Youll find the world
Somebody save me
Someone come and rise up
Rise up and hold me now
I know that at times life kinda hurts
I know that I will live and learn
So more than survive
I will endeavour
The mind behind the message
Alone on an ocean swell
It might have been great
It might have gorgeous
It might have been why Ive settled in
Im finding my way
Finding the words
One body breaking
Someone come and rise up
Rise like the sun
Youll find the world
Somebody save me
Someone come and rise up
Rise and show
A helpless man
A held out hand
Defining images
That flow through my hope
Surrender the broken moments
And pointing fingers
The closing of open minds
I might have been delayed
I might have been delirious
I might have been otherwise
Taking hammer blows
Like an animal
For others
So heavy was my way
Im finding my way
Finding the words
One body breaking
Someone come and rise up
Rise like the sun
Youll find the world
Somebody save me
Someone come and rise up
Im finding my way
Im finding my words
Im one body breaking
Someone come and rise up
Rise like the sun
Youll find the world
Somebody save me
Someone come and rise up
Rise and show
Show us
Something
song performed by by I Mother Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seeking To Uncover Hidden Meanings
If more people read words actually written,
Less time would be spent by them...
Seeking to uncover hidden meanings,
Or trying to find a way to define the mind...
Of the writer.
Or...
Make attempts to read between the lines,
When there is a lack of comprehension...
Of the lines already there that appear.
But like most folks,
Who obtain their knowledge from gossip...
A title to them given speaks,
More than their reading of words.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Is Sleepless, She Is Probing
They read your lines
They perhaps like you
They try to read you
In between
she is sleepless
And she pities you
she is probing
And she writes for you too
And you feel so honored
Comes our arrogance
You say you write
Only for yourself
For art’s sake
You say you cannot
Write for no other
You say you cannot
Stop writing
Your essence is just that
To write for no other
To write or you die
Be kind
Let them read you through the night
Let them follow you
Warn them though
They may have followed
A blind man eking his way through
His darkness
Without even a cane to feel his way.
The Virgin Mary
And Veronica
The crying mother
And the cloth to wipe a bloody face
Don’t stretch further
There is no Christ in me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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